You see, my mother could possibly be the Mexitalian Madonna. I have seen every color in her hair. From "blue black" Nice n' Easy to no, I'm not a clown red. Her fashion is equally ever changing, "which gold lame leopard print dress goes best with these shoes?" she would ask me as I ruffled through her jewelry to complete the ensemble. So, when it came time to move she was equally impulsive.
I recall an amazing loft-type place that we had in Mexico City during one of my parents trial separations. The place was big and it had a sunk in living room, just like I've seen in the soap "Quinceanera". Quinceanera was by far a gem in the world of early 80's soaps. I always thought of myself as the pretty 15 year old girl, whose biggest concern was to find the right boyfriend to take to her becoming of age Mexican tacky mess. I was jealous.
The loft also had a bathroom with a huge tub, oh, and it also came equipped with my mom's trial separation boyfriend, Hugo.
Hugo was not very tall and had curly hair. As with everything in my mother's life, her eclectic taste in men was not disappointing.
A new place also meant new friends and I didn't have that many, but every so often a couple of them would come by and we would go out on the huge terrace. That's where my mother would teach aerobics classes to the neighborhood women. She would type up pretty signs and post them at the local store or even in phone booths, and at the meat shop down the street. "Aerobics classes Mon, Wed, Fri. come sweat in style ladies".
The signs were a hit and on aerobics days the terrace was a reminder that the Jane Fonda workout video would never die. Women big and small, all trying to follow my mom's leotard and leg warmer moves. My friends and I would run in between them acting as if we were judging a pageant. I would point at one of the women and my friend would nod yes or no.
Aerobics nights were so intoxicating. The music, the leg warmers, the boom box were all signs that we were on our way to becoming the next big thing in the hood. It was also a sign that my delusion was apparent, even as a child.
My friends also liked to come over because unlike their parents, my mom would buy sugary soda and give us potato chips with hot sauce as a snack. The combination is really a party for the senses. They also marveled at the fact that unlike their homes with suede couches and cherry wood furniture, the furnishings at my place were made entirely out of vegetable wooden crates, yes, like the ones at the grocery store. Mama would buy them for cheap at the market and paint them in candy colors; green, yellow, pink.
My mother was a pioneer of the modular furniture. Our book cases were lime green and my "platform" bed was cherry red. The dining room was what I would call Japanese style dining. The table was 2 crates high and we sat on pillows that my mother also made. Her creative mind knows no boundaries. What do you do when the latest trend calls for wide, bright colored bangles? buy some? why? take a can of tuna, rinse it out well, cut out the bottom, and voila! wrap it in upholsterers foam and vibrant colored fabrics. Do you want wooden platform shoes? take remnants of wood flooring, stack them a few high and glue a pair of sandals on top. My mother would not miss out on the latest trends.
My new friends were impressed. I thought they were just sheltered. Then again, compared to their lives I probably seemed like a character on "Beverly Hills 90210". Fun but devastatingly insecure; hot but unaware, and a dysfunctional family in which the parents act like teenagers.
Not long after the aerobics craze and the pioneering of modular furniture, my mother and Hugo broke up. For my mother it meant failure. To me, it meant the end of a sunk in living room, and the cherry red "platform" bed. It also meant we would have to move in with my grandparents.
