#207 / 2011 June Oaxaca: Meeting the Neighbors

CYNTHIA

#207

Down this path was Cynthia Roderick's place. She had the complete two-level residence. It was quadruple what I was living in and about twice the price. It was with Cynthia that I spent most of my time. She was a long-term resident like the medical student. 

Just to interject here, there was also a couple between these two neighbors, in what I would call the "big houses." Enid and Jack were New Englanders, as was Cynthia, and lived there permanently. They had a beautiful outdoor patio that they paid for themselves and they liked to entertain a lot. She was reputedly a good cook; I never made the guest list. 

He had Alzheimers and she took care of him. They had their walls full of his artwork from better days, I suppose. Enid knew a lot about the markets, but when I asked her about some local recipes and spices, she told me emphatically that "she didn't cook Mexican." I was astonished at her resistance to the environment. Why?

None of us spent much time with those neighbors.

Cynthia, on the other hand, made a great friend. She sold her house in Cape Cod and took the profits to Mexico. She had been married to eastern European aristocracy. A photographer and graphic artist, she and I swapped out services: I house sat her two cats for a weekend and she took photos for me. Along with my computer, I didn't bring a camera.

She turned me on to the green grocer, a French baker, and most of the interesting art galleries. We went to symphonies and art openings. She and I usually went to Nuevo Babel together. And she was my second Oaxacan healer.

Cynthia had been influential in literary circles up in Boston during the 60s. She had met Lawrence Ferlinghetti. She was a newspaper reporter. We had a lot in common. We had that feminine, girly bond for some reason. It becomes more rare. But there are times when you meet people with whom you have an instant affinity; that is the way I felt about Cynthia.

She was a single woman when I met her; but ironically, after befriending me and listening to my tale of woe and loss, she came to the conclusion that she didn't want to live alone anymore. And no sooner had she made that decision for herself than she was dating a retired British barrister. They met at the Oaxacan Lending Library.