She is not Alice. She is Serena and her husband isn't Woody Allen, but she has something in common with them. She divorced her wealthy husband, a highly respected doctor, after 25 years beside him as a nurse and partner working hard each day with emergencies and illnesses, indifference, and painful situations.
Now her turn had arrived. Her children no longer needed her; they were married and began to make her a grandma. She and her husband no longer had much in common to share, so, though they continued as old friends, they smiled at each other and split.
She didn't use a real-estate agency to sell one of their homes in Naples, Florida, where they had lived as a perfect couple. She just talked with the neighborhood and told them about the end of her marriage and the decision to sell the house. Husband and nostalgia were not included in the price. For the neighborhood, the husband was more valuable for the prestige, of course, and his absence would break the social equilibrium in the exclusive area. That night, after she announced her decision to sell the home, the telephone rang continuously and in 48 hours, the neighborhood found another prominent resident to live there.
A circle of Serena's life was just completed. She emptied her closets and gave her sister eleven Armani dresses and suits that she got while modeling for the big Giorgio in the '80s. Modeling was another natural event of her life. It happened spontaneously when she met a New York representative of Mr. Armani's, who said she was a natural for wearing his fashions. He didn't want a fake doll to show his creations but a real woman, with everyday problems and an authentic sense of life: there she was...perfect in his designs.
Once again she let go of this part of her life like a snake sheds its skin, She filled her car with some good books to read, a yoga carpet on which to meditate, some comfortable dresses, skirts and t-shirts-no more Ferragamo shoes, only a big sunhat, sunglasses and AAA maps and car insurance. That's how she started her trip to Mexico.
Ajijic was the place where some Florida friends formerly lived. When she arrived, she rented a nice little house right in the center of the village and fell in love with the intensity of the colors by the garden walls. And those little Mexican mosaics in the bathrooms and the kitchen-they were gorgeous!
However, in a few weeks she found out that the real Mexico wasn't there. It was a shock: there were too many Americans around her. She then decided to move to San Nicolas, a little village around the lake. She arrived there in early December on the fiesta of the patron saint. A lady in an old sarape (an authentic hand-woven Mexican shawl) immediately invited her to follow the village procession and later offered her a glass of atole to drink. It was a chilly night. Another old lady with a big, warm smile brought her into the church with the villagers. They didn't speak English and she didn't speak Spanish. Since Serena was a lady and alone, above all, she was now a part of the neighborhood. Then they offered her tamales and sopes with beans and papas to eat.
Soon, thereafter, she called her sister in the U.S. and talked all about her sweet, new adobe casa. They were both happy, because the Armani jackets perfectly fit her sister. And as for the old sarape that Serena got as a warm welcome present her first night in the village, she could wrap herself into it like a cat with another life to live. After all, we are not in New York; we are in Mexico. And she is not Alice on 5th Avenue. She is simply Serena, who now lives happily here.
