“How sweet of her!”, said Chick out loud, as the delicious treat melted in her mouth. She flipped through the mail, hoping not to see anything marked Final Notice. There was a letter from Bernadette in New York, a postcard from her old friend, Michael, the usual assortment of junk mail, pleas from charities Chick gave to when she had any extra money, and…..What was this? A square pink envelope with a Toledo return address, and above it, P. Little. Why, that’s my name, thought Chick, confused. She stared at the unfamiliar address, finally flipping it over and, using her fancy silver letter opener, slit it open.

‘Dear Chick’, the letter began. ‘I know this will come as a shock to you after so many years. My name is Precious Little and I am your sister. I’ve spent considerable time tracking you down since I first learned of your existence. I believe, in fact I am certain, that you are the right Chicken Little. I was unable to obtain a phone number for you, nor an email, hence, this letter. I am very anxious to speak with you, in part because I will be in Gainesville on the 24th of this month and I see that you live nearby. I do hope you are free to meet with me that morning before my conference, as my schedule after that will be crowded. My phone number is 502.971.4960. Please call me. I am looking forward to meeting you. Your loving sister, Precious.’

“Oh my God! OMG!”, yelled Chick. She swallowed the rest of her wine in a huge gulp, her feelings a mixture of disbelief, pleasure and dread, with a tad of suspicion thrown in. “How could this be? I’m 63 years old! And I have a sister I’ve never met and she found me? How?”  Maybe it’s a scam targeting senior citizens, Chick thought suddenly. Older chickens could never be too careful. Well, I’ll just call her and…….Wait a minute. The 24th?. What was the date again? Of course, she had just returned from Mexico, today, the 23rd. And that meant her sister, Her Sister!, would be arriving tomorrow morning.

“Oh, my God!”, Chick said again, falling back on the much overused phrase of the day. This was all entirely too much. She had to tell someone. Chick picked up the phone and punched in Goosey on speed-dial.

“Helloooo”, answered her friend in her best professional realtor voice.

“Hey, it’s me! I’m back from my trip and I have big news!”, screeched Chick into the phone.

“Oh no, honey, please don’t tell me you’re going to move to Mexico! I just knew it! Oh,I don’t want you to leave!”, wailed Goosey.

“No, no, Goosey, it’s not that at all. It’s……it’s……I have a sister!”, Chick blurted out. “And she’ll be here tomorrow!”

Next: Precious and Chick

Still jittery and disoriented on the dark streets, Chick squinted up into the darkness. The voice sounded familiar, but was it anyone she knew?

“It’s Doris Rodgers, from Tio Lucas”, said the woman kindly. “Whatever are you doing out here so late?”

“Oh, Doris!”, Chick breathed with a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad to see you! I’m……I, I think I’m lost!”

“Oh, it’s very easy to get confused in this maze of streets. The same thing happened to me when I first arrived. Now,what’s your address?

Chick gave her Emily and Sharon’s address.  “Why, we’re practically neighbors!”, said Doris. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

In half an hour, Chick was safe and sound, in her jammies, teeth brushed, climbing into her cozy bed. Another crisis averted, she thought as she dozed off. I truly do lead a charmed life for an old bird.

The next day, Emily felt well enough for an outing, and the friends piled into the Prius to visit Em’s new horse, Little Blue. Chick was less than thrilled, envisioning herself the object of an ill-placed kick, but Emily assured her that their horse was polite and well-mannered. And Blue was a sweet horse, but simply enormous next to Chick. She declined an offer of a ride, without divulging her secret, that she had never been on a horse and never intended to be, unless one counted merry-go-rounds.

Soon only three days of Chick’s trip remained and she wanted to make the best of it. I want to do something meaningful, she thought as she perused Atencion!, the English weekly. There! Mattress making. St. Paul’s Church 10AM. Volunteers needed and welcome! Early the next morning, our dear chicken trudged across town, arriving right on time. Toni, head of the project, explained what was involved. One would twist up a clean plastic shopping bag, trapping a bit of air in a loose knot.  The bags would then be stuffed into a sturdy fabric cover. One thousand of the plastic knots made a child-sized mattress. The comfy beds were distributed to children out in the compos (country) and in orphanages, who would otherwise be sleeping on a dirt floor.

“What a worthy project”, said Chick as she sat working with other helpful souls. “I’m so happy to help”. And lo and behold, one of the other volunteers was a bilingual goose named Francine, who had recently moved to San Miguel. Oh, how Chick missed Goosey Loosey! She and Francine hit it off right away and, when the group had finished, headed out to Cha-Cha-Cha’s for a tasty lunch of cheese enchiladas with mole sauce. It was wonderful for each of them to have found a comrade, another farm animal who had assimilated into society. Their kind were few and far between.  And indeed this was to be the start of a lifelong friendship.

The next day ,the new friends were able to book a day trip nearby city of Guanajuato,  the charming town some thought the most beautiful in Mexico, with every house a different brilliant color. Still, they were both agreed, San Miguel was their favorite place. All too soon the day was over and Chick squeezed back tears, as they said their good-byes.  “Come to Melrose, Francine! I’d love for you to meet my friends. You’d fit right in! E-mail me soon”.

Chick’s last day was full. She finally connected with a friend of Turkey’s from Palm Beach, who took her out to another delicious lunch of chile rellenos and over to visit her condo, rather too fancy,in Chick’s humble opinion. “Stay with me anytime, Chick. This would be your room”, said Sheila, opening the door to a lovely room overlooking the manicured lawns. How generous, thought Chick, though privately she viewed these huge condo complexes as part of the creeping Americanization of San Miguel.

Chick packed late that evening after a quiet dinner with her wonderfully helpful friends, who by their generosity, had saved her from those undesirable lodgings. She left many of her clothes for the maid, Lupita, to give to her children, and filled her suitcase with souvenirs, metal nichos, coconut dolls, and a kilo of milagros. At OneAM, Chick sunk her head deep into the memory foam pillow and settled in for a few hours sleep before her airport pick-up at 5. Images of San Miguel and the faces of her friends, old and new, flitted before her eyes as she sunk into a peaceful slumber. Now it’s Mexico I’ll be missing was her last thought before she drifted off. She didn’t hear the mosquito buzzing around her ear. Nor did she hear the gentle rain that fell for hours, polishing the stone streets to a shiny new.

Nor did Chick hear her alarm. She awoke with a start at 4:30AM, and had to hurriedly  scramble bleary-eyed and half-asleep down three flights of stairs with her suitcase and no coffee. Chick put the house key on the hall table, said a silent farewell to Emily and Sharon,quietly shut the front door, and stood waiting outside for her ride, for the dawn of a new day, and the next chapter in her life.

Next: Back In The U.S., Back In The U.S.A.

Now, what shall I do today?, she mused. A walk through the market, a nice lunch, and then the biblioteca at 2pm for the movie…. That was the library, though it was nothing like a library in the States.You could bring your dog, relax in the open courtyard, shop in the tiny thrift store or gift shop, have lunch in the restaurant, or take in a movie. Today’s offering was a documentary and talk by local resident, Karen Cross, examining why she and so many Americans lost their heart to San Miguel. Afterward, Chick thought it was most certainly geared toward people with far more excess funds than she herself possessed, but she did buy the DVD to share with her friends. We’ll have a party at Junie Moon’s and show it on her 60″ widescreen TV, Chick thought with a twinge of homesickness.

On her way back, she stopped at Bonanza, a 15′x40′ grocery, which amazingly stocked everything one needed, except fresh produce, which one bought in the mercado, all at a fraction of U.S. costs, though still expensive for a Mexican family of little means. An enormous new grocery, Mega, sat on the edge of town, and Horror of Horrors, a Wal-Mart was going up by the bus station! What would happen to the family run tiendas, indeed all the small stores, when this greedy behemoth opened it’s doors? Financial devastation, the same as in the States!  Chick’s busy brain was already designing Boycott Wal-Mart bumper stickers and planning protests.

Even though it was after 8pm when Chick arrived back at her friend’s place, Em had just gotten up. Ordinarily , Emily was a person with boundless energy, and it was shocking to see her so weak. Sharon helped her to the roof terrace where the three sat and watched the orange sun set over domed and spiraly steeples, with even a glimpse of the Parroquia, lit up like a Christmas tree. The old dog, Ruby, ambled up to join them, though at fourteen, she was nearing the end of her life, yet another sad loss looming ahead for her friends, thought Chick.

Sharon cooked dinner  again, as she did nearly every night. Chick didn’t want to be a burden, but she couldn’t resist the tasty meals. She stood on a chair at mid-night, washing the dishes. It was the least she could do to repay her friend’s hospitality.

The next few days passed in a blur of activity, endless shopping for trinkets, a tour of a glass factory, lunches and chats with new friends she’d met around town, and a marvelous dance recital at the Angela Peralta Theater. Dancers from 4 to 64! Granted, it would have had more meaning if Chick had a better grasp of Spanish, but it was great fun, with the audience shouting loud salutations and encouragement frequently. And music truly  is a universal language, she said to herself.  Firecrackers and music to celebrate everything and anything here, even the dawn of a new day.

Yes, she could live here, Chick thought, as for once she rode home in a taxi. The fare was only two dollars, and it had begun to drizzle. She was sharing it with an acquaintance who lived in the same direction. Rather abruptly Chick was asked to get out a bit before her destination, so the taxi could avoid a long one-way circle. I may as well have walked, she thought as she picked her way along the bumpy cobblestones, on the suddenly unfamiliar street. Where am I?, thought Chick looking around with a twinge of alarm. This corner should be Aparicio, but it wasn’t. She walked a block further, and the sign read Animas, which she didn’t know at all. Remembering she had passed a still open tienda when exiting the taxi, she began to retrace her steps.  “I’ll just go back the way I came”, Chick said out loud. But after two blocks, when she arrived at where she thought the welcoming light had been, all was shut tight. In fact, the huge wooden doors all along the street were dark, closed, and foreboding.

Oh, why didn’t I buy a cell phone that worked in Mexico?, Chick thought miserably, as she stumbled along, now unsure of what direction she should take at all. Oh, dear, I’m doing just what all the guide books say not to do!. I’m a chicken walking alone at night on a dark street! Chick bit her bottom beak. I will not cry, she thought. This is silly. She struck out blindly up the street, looking down to avoid stepping in a gringo hole, when a dark shape above her blocked out what little light there was.

Chick froze, ice in her veins, heart in her throat, and looked up.

Next: Good-Bye San Miguel

Next: The Good, The Bad, And The Scary

Next: A Friend In Need

“Wasn’t it supposed to start at 11?”, asked Mary. “Hey, Mom, chill. We’re on Mexican time”, answered Julie. Chick didn’t really mind the waiting. She had already fallen in love with Mexico, with San Miguel, and everything about it. Her little head was chock full of plans and schemes to move here and become an ex-pat. It was all so exotic and wonderful.

Last night Chick had sat with a bottle of Corona on the roof of their casita and watched a fiery pink and orange sun set over the dark blue mountains. The church steeples were awash in shades of ochre and gold, the houses all in a jumble of magenta and yellow, turquoise and mauve. Colors good enough to eat. Dogs barked, roosters crowed, strange blue-black birds screeched. A hummingbird hovered right in front of Chick’s beak, momentarily mistaking it for a flower. Chick soaked in the luscious flavor of a culture far different from her own. To her, San Miguel appeared peaceful, relaxed, warm and loving, and she yearned to be a part of it.

Yes, there were people begging in the streets, and Chick could not pass a person in need with an outstretched palm without dropping coins into that hand. And small children sold gum and trinkets in the jardin.  The city was a study in contrasts. This town is straight out of a movie, thought Chick for the hundredth time. She had been here for a week and it felt like forever. Her minimal Spanish came back to her when she needed it, which was frequently, since most folks, of course, spoke Spanish. Chick was spending a lot of time on her own, as she simply could not keep up with the others, and was loath to take a taxi as a point of pride. She loved to walk, but let’s face it. She was no match for a person with legs. By the time Chick arrived at a restaurant, her friends had already eaten and she couldn’t blame them. And she had to scurry across the cobblestone streets, as buses, trucks, cars, jeeps, and the popular ATV’s made unexpected turns without benefit of traffic lights or stop signs. But it worked. She had yet to see an accident or road rage. Everyone was incredibly polite to each other, and it warmed Chick’s heart.

The Mexican people were so friendly, loving, and happy! Oh, Chick knew that was a blanket statement. Of course not everyone was happy, nor even well fed, though it did seem that folks in this town were prosperous, partly due to the large influx of American dollars. But surely Mexicans suffered from the same neuroses, fears, and foibles as her compatriots. Didn’t they? There was no heading in the phone book under mental health therapists.

Life was different here. Even the birds were different. With a bang and a clang, and blaring horns, at long last the Locos parade began. The biggest, most colorful, wild, and yes, crazy, parade Chick had ever seen in her life! Hundreds of costumed characters, jumped, clapped, sang, and marched along to the tunes of ear-splitting music. She saw people dressed as huge bugs, coal black cavemen, a bizarre bunch of babies and storks, clowns, every sort of animal, including chickens, Bugs Bunny, Nixon, Cheney, and George Bush, all throwing candy, beads, and kisses. Thousands of people, a sea of humanity, and all kinds of street food Chick and her fellow gringos were afraid to eat. They could only drool at the huge bowls of sliced watermelon, papaya, and mango, while smells of fried tortillas assailed their nostrils. Chick and Mary had already suffered through two Pepto-Bismol mornings, the cause of which could be anything, even water in your mouth when showering.

Her diet was out the window and Chick relied on cheese enchiladas as a staple. She could only hope all the walking would compensate for the extra calories. Their days were filled with new adventures. A highlight was the trip out to La Gruta hot springs. Cascading blue pools, high rock walls covered in bougainvillea, and the magical surprise, a deep tunnel you swam through, ending in a high rocky dome of steaming water, a small beam of sunlight the only light source.

But now it was the last night for Mary and Julie and the four friends were gathered for a farewell dinner at Tio Lucas, along with a Canadian fellow named David they had met on the jardin. He does look a tad like David Niven with a red nose. Probably a heavy drinker, Chick mused. She felt a twinge of jealousy as it was obvious that David was quite taken with Julie. Why, he was old enough to be her grandfather, thought Chick indignantly, suddenly feeling every bit of her sixty-two years. And when the three ordered steak, Chateaubriand, nonetheless, Chick could barely hold her tongue. At least Teda was a vegetarian. They both had the eggplant which was filling and delicious, and hopefully not genetically modified. She soon felt her minor irritations fade away as she enjoyed her wine and the soothing sounds of Doris Rodgers, a jazz singer long a fixture in San Miguel. She reminded Chick of Nina Simone. Yes, Chick was a most lucky chicken!

Alas, plans are just plans, and the best laid plans can change in an instant. The next morning, Teda was unexpectedly called back to the States. The others had departed, and Chick could either cut short her wonderful trip, or gather her wits about her, and find another, less expensive casita. Luckily, she had just learned to use her ATM card.

Our intrepid traveler would be on her own in Mexico!

Next: Mysterious, Magical, and Mundane

It feels like I’ve been gone for weeks, and then in a day or so, it will seem like I’ve never been away, she mused, settling back with her mug of tea in front of her computer.  She’d received only three phone calls in her absence, but she had 179 new emails, not counting spam. Most were from political organizations or news sources like Common Dreams, True Majority, MoveOn, a few from friends, and several from Hillary and Chelsea. Back to reality, thought Chick.  She couldn’t face the fact that Hillary might not win the nomination. There’s still a chance, she thought bravely.

Puzzled over the sad fact that so many women she knew were not backing Hillary, she did understand the total frustration with the Democratic Party, since primary votes in Florida still were not being counted. A lover of polls and statistics, Chick followed a link from The Huffington Post to the latest Presidential polls.

“Aaaagghh…..agh…agh!, said Chick loudly. It showed McCain virtually neck and neck with Hillary or Obama. Nearly a dead heat. How could this be? Half of the country was going to go for another Republican? She thought of Henny. How was her friend? Chick had pushed thoughts of Henny’s strange behavior to the far recesses of her brain, along with her big peace plans. She felt a twinge of guilt, but it was after 10PM and too late to call anyone. It was her general rule not to make phone calls after 9PM or before 9AM, though she had friends who had no such qualms. To prove the point, her phone rang.

Caller ID told her it was Goosey. “What’s new, Goosey?”, Chick said as she answered. “What’s new with you is the question! Tell me all about the Keys, you lucky girl! And nothing’s new with me. I haven’t sold a house in 6 weeks”, Goosey lamented. Chick told her about the weekend in detail, leaving out the menu incident. “I would move to Key West in a heartbeat if I could sell my house here”, finished up Chick with her tale.

“Sure, Honey, and I’ll bet all you could buy would be a tin tepee smack up next to some old geezer in a trailer park for what you’d get for your sweet little cottage in Melrose. And what about your friends? You may very well need them in your old age. Not that you’re in your old age, or anywhere close to it”, added Goosey quickly, conscious of being a few years younger than Chick.  “Oh, I forgot, there is something new. You know that silly agent over at Century 21? Well, I know you don’t like gossip, but……”. Goosey launched into a long, convoluted story about the exploits of Real Estate Professionals. Chick had to hold the phone away from her ear. I do like a bit of juicy gossip, thought Chick, but gee, let it be about somebody I know!

“I’m beat, Goosey. I’ve got to get to bed”, she finally told her friend after trying to get a word in edgewise several times. “I’ll see you Wednesday at the Cafe”. Chick hung up. Life, she mused.  The mundane daily soap opera struggle of most folks just to keep a roof over their heads and a modicum of sanity in this crazy world. And thank the Goddess I don’t live in China or Burma, or was it not Burma anymore?  I should be grateful for what I have, and I am, she thought. But disaster could strike me at any moment, she reminded herself, pessimist that she was.

Chick had one foot in her jammy bottoms when the phone rang again. Who was calling at nearly 11 o’clock at night? A number she didn’t recognize flashed on the screen. It wouldn’t be a telemarketer at this hour. Intuition told her to pick it up.

“Chick?, it’s Teda Miller, from the coffee shop. Sorry to call so late, but I wanted to get with you as soon as possible. You know I mentioned a trip to Mexico, to San Miguel, in early June? And you had said how much you’d love to go? I’ve just found out that there’s an extra room at the place we’re staying. It wouldn’t cost you anything, except meals, of course.  Didn’t you say you had a credit on Continental? I’ve already checked and there are seats available on our flight. It will be my friend Mary, her daughter Julie, myself, and you, if you want to go. We’d love for you to join us”, said Teda.

How lucky could one chicken be! Chick barely gave it a thought before she said yes. “I haven’t even unpacked from my last trip. But yes, I will join you. Thanks for inviting me,” Chick said warmly.

“I know it’s late, so I’ll fill you in on the details soon, Chick. Nite-Nite”, said Teda.

It never rains but what it pours, thought Chick, though perhaps this old adage no longer held true. It hadn’t rained in months, except for a few pathetic sprinkles.  She felt guilty letting the water run long enough to get it warm. Should she invest in a point of use water heater instead of taking this trip?  Was she becoming too self-indulgent?

“No!” said Chick out loud.”I’m going to Mexico. Good fortune is smiling on me and I’m going to make the most of it!

Next: South Of The Border

“Look, sweetie! The first thing we do is get out of these wet clothes”, answered Pearl.  “We’ll head over to the condo, freshen up, then hit the streets.

And just when our dear Chick thought things couldn’t get any better, they did.

“Like it?”, smiled Pearl, as she opened the door and Chick’s beak dropped open in awe. The condo was beyond gorgeous, right on the water, brand new, and designer decorated. They each had their own bedroom with a balcony overlooking the beach.

“Could I just live here forever, Pearl?”, sighed Chick as she flopped down on the bed. “It’s beautiful!”

“You can visit whenever you like, girlfriend!”, laughed Pearl as she poured them both a glass of red wine. In another hour, the two were strolling Duval Street with throngs of other tourists. And throngs of other chickens. For once, Chick wasn’t the only chicken on the street, though she was the only one sporting a turquoise backpack and wearing a flowered sundress.

Yes, there were 2000 wild gypsy chickens strutting their stuff in Key West. It was wonderful! Chick was in heaven! She felt happy and safe. Gone was that uneasy nagging worry that kept her glancing over her shoulder, even in Melrose. Here, as a chicken, she was revered and protected. All around her, in the streets, the parks, the old cemetery were chickens! That they weren’t dressed like her and didn’t speak, at least in English, Chick barely noticed. They were her fellow beings, wild and free! How strange and amazing life could be!

Giddy with happiness, Chick proudly marched beside Pearl as they headed for the sunset. The friends had stuffed themselves at The Place, a great vegetarian cafe tucked on a sidestreet. Now, they clapped with everyone else as the sun dipped below the water in a blaze of radiant orange. The only bummer, in Chick’s opinion, was the man who coerced housecats to jump through hoops of fire and perform other humiliating tricks. Chick had turned this jerk in to the Humane Society in Atlanta a dozen years ago, and now here he was again, still plying his cruel trade. I’ll have to deal with it when I go home, thought Chick. Pearl seemed to think the show was cute.

So off they went to watch the turtle races at Harry’s where they had one too many cocktails, then hailed a taxi back to the condo, where they quickly donned their jammies, neglected to brush their teeth, and fell exhausted into a deep and peaceful sleep lulled by gentle waves breaking on clean white sand, yet sprang out of bed by 8AM, eager for the day ahead which they crammed with as much Key West flavor as they could. A glass bottom boat ride,  Nancy’s  Secret Garden, drinks at Hemingway’s, shopping, a visit to The Chicken Store, of course, coconut cake in Bahama Village, and a swim in the condo pool. By evening they were decked out in their best finery and headed for dinner at The Blue Heaven.

Sadly, this is the point where our story takes a 90-degree turn, where the idyllic  little pastel colored bubble Chick had been floating in, bursts, where illusions are cruelly shattered, and the grimy, seedy reality of life once again triumphs over a lovely dream.

Blue Heaven! This charming eatery came highly recommended and was jammed with tourists and locals alike. Pearl ran into two old friends, Charlene and Sunny, and the four sat together chatting and downing Bloody Mary’s for a good hour before being shown to a table. Chick was famished and ready for a great meal.

“Yum! Let’s see….what looks delicious?”, said Chick, opening her menu, and smacking her lips in anticipation. Her eyes froze! There, right in the middle of the menu was……..Chicken!……..Jamaican Jerk Chicken!

“Oh!”, gasped Chick. “Oh!……Oh, no!……I thought……I thought.”

“What is it, Chick?”, asked Pearl. Her companions  looked at her with concern.

Chick wasn’t born yesterday, as we’ve mentioned before. She was no spring chicken. She knew that 96% of people in the U.S. ate meat. If she wanted to fit into society (and she did) and go out dining, she had to go with the flow. She wasn’t about to put a damper on this little party. Inwardly devastated, but relying on her innate social graces, she put on a happy face, swallowed her sorrow, and ordered the tofu. She prayed that no one at the table would order the chicken entree, and thankfully, no one did.

After dinner the foursome hit nearly every bar on Duval Street. Chick danced long into the night. It wasn’t until the long drive home that she even allowed herself to think. She tried to curl up and sleep, but she could not get that nightmarish menu out of her mind. People ate chickens in Key West, just not the Key West chickens. Chick had tried all her life to educate folks, by example, by giving speeches, by supporting PETA, seemingly to no avail. People would not eat their pet dog, but they would eat a chicken, a far more intelligent species.  Chick knew full well that billions of these innocent beings were raised and slaughtered under horrific conditions yearly in her country alone.

But Chick, in her naivety, had briefly believed that in the tiny paradise at the edge of her world, Key West,  the chicken  had found a true sanctuary.

We all have our cross to bear. I should have known better when I saw that giant yellow M, thought Chick bitterly as she fell into a fitful sleep.

Next: The Search For Inner Peace

Next: McNuggets in Paradise

Pearl confirmed the arrangements swiftly. “Fantastic, Chick, I can’t wait to see you! It’s been way too long. I’ll pick you up Friday at 8AM. We’ll have a fabulous dinner at the Blue Heaven and then catch the Sunset. And bring your dancin’ shoes, girl! We are goin’ out!”, shouted Pearl.
And just like that, in the wink of a blink of an eye,Chick’s world turned bright and beautiful. The sun came out, the music came on, and she danced round and round the living room to her favorite Donna The Buffalo CD. And…..life was good.

Next: Paradise