A Balloon in Cactus

By Maggie Van Ostrand
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By popular demand, this column has reverted to its original title, “A Balloon In Cactus.”

Well over three fan letters urged me to go back to the original title. Here’s what I mean:

--Dear Maggie,

--What’s the big idea? First your column is called “A Balloon In Cactus,” then, “The Buck Starts Here,” and now they say you’ve changed your mind yet again and gone back to “A Balloon In Cactus.”

--What's up with that? What’re you, some kind of nut? Can’t you make up your mind?

--What do you mean by balloon anyway? Sounds like you're floating away filled with gas. What are you, the Hindenberg?

--Yours in Confusion,
--Expatriate Don (last name withheld)

When people without surnames are nice enough to write, I try always to answer, just like my etiquette-conscious Mom taught me. Here’s my response to Expatriate Don:

--Dear Don,

--I can understand your confusion and yes, I am some kind of nut. Thanks for your comprehensive diagnosis.

--“A Balloon In Cactus” originally meant that I was as fragile as a floating balloon for a couple of reasons; the aftereffects of the California earthquake of 1994, and apprehension about moving to Mexico, a foreign country far away from the life I had known in New York and Los Angeles.

--Mexico, as you may have noticed, is full of two things: cows and cactus. Cows can only hurt you or squirt you. But being pierced by a cactus smarts and stings like the dickens. So there I’d be, a fragile balloon, floating among spiney plants with points all over them and maybe getting stuck as badly as if a porcupine shot off all his quills at me at the same time.

--Now, however, nine years later, the same name means something entirely different. While I’m still balloonlike, it now refers to my shape and not my fragility.

I’ve also become balloonlike in that people frequently find me thin-skinned.

Regarding the cactus, it's quite true that there are still plenty of cacti in Mexico, but now I'm referring to other things in life that prick.

--I hope this answers your question and that my habit of changing my mind does not burst your balloon.

--Sincerely,
--Maggie Van Ostrand

It was either go back to the original title or start an entirely new column for us over-40 femmes. I would've called it “Sex and the Biddy.” Sarah Jessica Parker has nothing on us, eh girls?

Oh, by the way, keep those fan letter coming.

Maggie Van Ostrand, writer, lives in Ajijic Mexico and Pine Mountain California. Her stories appear in the Chicago Tribune, the Boston Globe, El Ojo Del Lago, and various magazines. She co-authored "Home Is Where The Hurt Is" with Tony- and Grammy-winning country humorist Roger Miller, and ghostwrites for television sitcoms.

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