Now, Voyager -- Once More

Catching up before signing off

2009-06-18T09:58:00.005-06:00

First and most important -- Larry has his life back! He drove into Puerto Vallarta on his motorcycle this past Tuesday for check up appointments with those who were involved with all that surgery he had about a month ago. Everyone very happy. And I might mention that he made that drive on the motorcycle after four days full of activity: a kayak paddle to the island and back, two several-hour surf sessions in waves with nine foot faces, and on the fourth day, he and a friend dropped the transmission in our jeep to insert two "indispensible" bolts that the people in the auto repair shop in Lubbock failed to put back last August. Can't believe he drove that thing all the way down here. "Hmmm," he says. "I was wondering what that rattle was." But anyway, he's b-a-a-a-ck. And making me feel like a slug.

So while he was in Puerto Vallarta doing the check up thing, I went with friend Ann and her friend Paul to Tepic and sat in Samantha Bejar's office for two and a half hours. We weren't going to leave until the job was done. Samantha is the attorney that so many people down here have used for their real estate transactions, a busy mom, a competent attorney -- just a little lax on follow up details. Sigh. I'm afraid I can relate. But then, I'm not getting paid for following up on details. (This is a special note to our new CPA in Ajijic -- Marian, I will answer your tax questions. Promise, promise, promise. I hate that stuff!)

I know, I know, swallow a frog first thing every morning and get it out of the way. Well, it's Mexico. Isn't a frog once a week good enough? I swallowed a big one in Tepic. So did Ann. We both feel better for having done it. Ann bought her house from her friend Paul, and they have had unresolved issues with paper work for three years. It wasn't a big deal between the two of them, but now Ann has resold the house and she's HAD to get those issues cleared up so she can get her money. As far as Larry and I are concerned, when we went to pay our bank trust fee this year, a sharp-eyed clerk noticed that the trust had never been transferred to our name! Sure the property was in our name, according to the documents, and we have been paying the yearly fee, but officially, the trust is still in the name of the previous owners. Paperwork never received from the attorney. As Pooh Bear says, "Oh, Bother." Well, we've got the paperwork NOW, and I'll hand carry it into Bancomer tomorrow morning, along with Paul and Ann when we go to PV for the weekend. Frog swallowing accomplished!

Now comes the good part --

Reason for going to Vallarta: A FREE CONCERT ON THE MALECON!!!! Alejandro Fernandez and 20 other singers are giving two huge concerts over the next two weekends, one here on the coast, and the other in Guadalajara, to give a boost to Mexican tourism. Some of the other singers are Enrique Iglesias, Paula Rubino, and Gloria Estefan, though no one is sure who is showing up where. But the music starts at 8 on Saturday night and ends at one in the morning. A group of us have reservations in a restaurant overlooking the place where it's going to be held, and Roberto has borrowed a condo from a friend in Conchas Chinas, so we don't have to be out on the road late at night. Hooray! Viva Mexico!

And VIVA la lluvia! At last we had rain. Blessed and blessing big fat drops that have cooled the air, washed the dust off, and tempered the rays of the sun. Glorious wonderful rain!

Did I mention I'm signing off here? Ah, yes. It's in the title. I think it's time to officially move to Virgin Territory, the blog I've begun to support my book of the same name. It was getting responses from faithful readers of Now, Voyager -- Once More saying, "You should write a book," that planted the idea of writing the book in the first place. The manuscript is not yet complete, but it has an eight chapter start, I know what goes in the next four, and I know how it ends. Now all I have to do is write it! My goal is to have a completed working document by the time I turn 60. That's July 21, only weeks away. If I keep saying that publically, I'll have people holding my feet to the fire. That's YOUR job!

"Platform is everything," say those in-the-know in the publishing world. Well YOU are an integral plank in my platform, if you follow this blog. I'm so grateful for your comments and encouragement. Please keep at it. But let's just move over a notch and give ourselves an official name. From now on, I'll be posting on Virgin Territory. Come join me there!

Hanging Out on Sunday

2009-06-09T21:46:00.002-06:00

Larry was watching NASCAR last Sunday (what else is new?) so my friend Lin and I ran away to check out Chac Mool's new location near the beach in Chacala. We were two very happy cappuchino sippers. Not a lot going on, just hanging out and being happy. I've been working steadily on Virgin Territory, and finally seeing it come together. I know where the holes are to fill in.

Nose to the keyboard,

sweat on the brow,

I'll blog now and then,

but more "sometime" than now.

Good thing it's not going to be a poetry book, right?

Being There

2009-05-26T12:51:00.007-06:00

Anyone who spends longer than a week or two vacation in Mexico knows that it's not what you do with your time that's important, it's who you do it with. Connecting with people is what is most important in this country, being there, definitely, for life's big events, but even more important, being present for the small daily stuff that ultimately determines the quality of human life. The guy who shows up each morning to sweep the main plaza in La Penita, Oscar who comes regularly to service the pool and water the plants, Josefina and Marta who arrive like clockwork to mop the floors and keep the cobwebs and dust under control, the man who runs out with the dolly to help the fishing boats over the sandbar into the ocean -- every last one is needed, and if they don't show up, they're missed.

"No one will miss me," is not an acceptable excuse for missing one of life's big events, either. Even if wedding receptions appear to be little more than "sitting around," you can bet that if you're not there, notice will be taken. Far from being a social pressure thing, there's something precious in the importance imputed to each individual. It's nice to know you're valued, an essential part of the social fabric, and there would be a hole if you weren't there. A party at Thomas Bartlett's Hacienda La Penita a few weeks ago is a good example.

The occasion was wishing a friend Godspeed on a healing journey -- to let her know we loved and supported her through the challenge she's facing. A large group gathered under the palm trees, shared pot luck finger food, and circled together for prayers and affirmations for our friend. But most of all, we just "sat around."

The important thing for our friend was for us to be there.

On a more mundane level, a group of us needing an excuse to get out of the house on a regular basis, have started meeting for breakfast Tuesday mornings at La Casita, a local restaurant in La Penita. When the weather gets hot, I for one tend to go into hermit mode. It's good to emerge and make contact with real live people from time to time.

La Casita is run by recently-divorced Irma and her daughter Ceci, and our morning gatherings offer a good opportunity to support these women in their new enterprise. They're always surrounded by brothers, grandchildren, and other family members who drop by.

Irma's ex-husband got the restaurant they used to run together. It was situated in a prominent location at the end of the main avenue right next to the market place. It did a bang up business and was always crowded. Irma's new place is out of the way on a side street. You have to know where it is to find it, but it's slowly being discovered. It's worth the hunt! The standard breakfast of two eggs, beans, tortillas, bacon (or ham or "winis") is 25 pesos. A tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice will set you back another 15 pesos. But I've grown very fond of an avocado sandwich on whole wheat that's not on the menu. They make it up specially. I told Ceci last week they HAD to start charging more than 15 pesos for that sandwich, especially when they add bacon to it. She was protesting the size of the tip the five of us had left, which basically equalled the amount of the whole check. But we want these women to stay in business! We want them to be there.

Besides, you never can tell who will drop in to La Casita for breakfast. This morning there was a Green Angel.

These are the guys who are dedicated to helping distressed motorists on the highways and toll roads all over Mexico. They aren't volunteers; the program is federally funded. They carry water, motor oil, extra gasoline, jumper cables, and all are trained for medical emergencies. The service is free, aside from the cost of oil and gas the traveller may need to replenish his vehicle. Tips are probably welcome, but always optional. Those of us at breakfast agreed, Los Angeles Verdes are just one more example of a society where watching out for each other gets a high priority, where being there is the most important thing of all.

Chocolate? Aaaaah....CHOCOLATE! And coffee, too!

2009-05-21T09:41:00.008-06:00

I'm escaping from a hot kitchen for a few minutes and coming into my hermetically sealed office to enjoy the A/C. Thought I'd share with you what I've been doing "out there." I've been playing with chocolate. (This would be the place for a great big emoticon happy face.) Oh, what the heck? :-))))))))

I have been guilty, as most gringos have been, to responding to friends' inquiries of "What can we bring you?" with a vociferous, "CHOCOLATE!!! GOOD CHOCOLATE." It has always been a matter of consternation to me WHY in the country (even before it was a country) which gave chocolate to the Old World it seems impossible to find a decent chocolate bar. There doesn't seem to be even anything on a par with a Hershey's kiss, which is setting the bar pretty darn low. I have hovered lovingly over gifts of San Francisco Ghirardelli's squares, Suchard and Frigor bars from Switzerland, and bags of Dove kisses purchased on sale at Walgreen's in Lubbock. If I exercise self-restraint, I'm faced with the dilemma of storage -- too cold in the fridge and freezer, but getting way too warm to leave them out in the tropics. What's a chocolate lover to do without a local source to satisfy that dark-tinged hunger?

And then I had chocolate fondue at my friend, Karen's, across the estero.

"WHERE did you get this chocolate?" I asked, dunking my second piece of fresh pineapple in a deep dark puddle of almost black chocolate laced with cinnamon, vanilla and almond flavors. It clung to the fruit with just the right consistency. There were also strawberries on the plate, and they were going even faster than the pineapple, but chocolate tends to run off round things, where if you've got a flat surface you can sort of pile it up and get more on.

"At the grocery in town," she answers. "It's those tablets you get in the cardboard cartons, you know the cylindrical ones -- Abuelita, Ibarra, Don Somebody. I just stick them in the microwave with a little cream and stir. That's it."

THAT'S IT??? That's all that's required to reach Nirvana??? When did life get so simple? Those tablets -- and I've seen them for ages in grocery stores in the States -- have always been a mystery to me. Right on the label it says, "chocolate for the table." Hard as a table, I've thought. About three inches in diameter and half an inch thick, they're sectioned into pie shapes. Try breaking them in pieces and they shatter. Bite one, you're liable to break your teeth. You probably wouldn't be inclined to bite one, as the tablets are riddled with sugar crystals and other stuff that looks gritty and inedible. This is a product lacking all the charms of chocolate -- until you MELT it. Ahhhh! Then it gets magical.

There are no paraffin or preservatives in this chocolate. Put some chunks in a teacup with a little water and nuke it for under a minute. It's rich enough you can make cocoa with water or milk. Add Maizena (basically cornstarch), boil some more and it thickens into champurado -- what Mexicans think of when they think hot chocolate, but is more like hot chocolate pudding for us gringos.

Just melted with a little liquid provides you a fudgy paste for scooping up and eating with a spoon. You can drop it in your hot coffee, or add it to smoothies and ice cream. For the last week or so, I've been in search of duplicating George's coffee-shop-in-Guayabitos mochachinno, since he closes from 2-6 every afternoon...and that's when I NEED a mochachinno!!! I'm getting close now, with this chocolate mixture.

I brew cafe de la olla and store it in the fridge. I freeze milk in ice cube trays. When the urge strikes, I pour the cold coffee in the blender, add a scoop of the fudgy chocolate stuff, and dump some milky ice cubes in there. Hit the button and varooom! We are very happy campers indeed. Every recipe needs adjustment for personal tastes, however. And that's what I've been doing in the kitchen this morning. Playing with chocolate and coffee. Hey, I'm good to go....and go....and go.

Support for Mexico - Amazing Race

2009-05-19T13:06:00.003-06:00

Here's an email I received today. Thought it worth posting here and getting the word out.

Hi; unless you've been living under a rock, you know Mexico needs a tourism boost. In PV, alone, hotels are down 90%, we all know friends and neighbors who are struggling to stay employed or keep their businesses going. So Mexico has a chance to be chosen as a site for Amazing Race on TV which would bring a much needed positive PR shot in the arm to this country.

Go directly to the Amazing Race site and vote:
http://www.tudiscovery.com/race/inicio.shtml

Non-Spanish speakers - When you get to the Amazing Race sight, it's in Spanish - just look for where it says "Encuesta" (survey), vote for Mexico , then click "Votar"...easy!
Send this to everyone you know who is a fan of Mexico and let's help get Mexico back on it's feet!!!

Lucy in the Streets with Dancing

2009-05-15T23:10:00.003-06:00

For those of you who have followed this blog, you've heard about Lucy. Maybe you've even met our young British writer friend who has compiled a group of minimalist stories about her life in the funky beach towns of Guayabitos and La Penita. Now you can see her, courtesy of Xaltemba.TV, the creation of our film-maker friend Juan Gonzalez, who was inspired to start putting some of these little stories on tape. Follow this link to get the first taste. Set against the real backdrop of Semana Santa and the spontaneous revelry that takes place in our streets, Lucy meets and dances with a mysterious stranger....who looks a LOT like Sergio the waiter from Xaltemba Restaurant and Gallery! (And surprise! Xaltemba.com has this video featured on its homepage! Lucy, you're a star!!!!)

SOMEBODY needs to spend money in Puerto Vallarta

2009-05-12T22:35:00.003-06:00

So we did. Not exactly a weekend at the Westin, but we left the economy considerably pumped up after three nights in San Javier de Marina Hospital. Kidney stones. Larry. You really don't want to know the details. Suffice it to say we're back home again, the stones are pretty much gone or going, and he's looking forward to having his life back. For people in Puerto Vallarta, it's going to be a bit longer. Caught between very diligent goverment efforts and horrific foreign press, tourist activity-- almost any activity -- has come to a screeching halt.

It's been two weeks since a cruise ship has docked. It's strange to see the marina without at least one floating city at anchor in the harbor. Usually there are two or three. Every car coming into the city is stopped for inspection. We were when we came in Friday. The guy in uniform was appeased when I said we were headed for a hospital. Then he asked me what the English word for tos was, illustrating his meaning by imitating a cough. If you don't look healthy, or have even a little tos, you are turned back to where you came from.

As we came into town, we saw lines of yellow cabs sidelined along Avenida Francisco Medina Ascensio, the long main thoroughfare that leads into town, waiting for non-existent fares. Hotels are experiencing their lowest occupancy rates ever. Most airlines have cancelled all but one flight a day. Westjet has suspended their flights altogether. Bars, movies and nightclubs have shut down completely. Restaurants might as well be closed. On Saturday afternoon I took a break for a couple of hours and visited my friend Char. She had gone to Vitea's for breakfast/brunch earlier by herself at 11:30. It's a popular bistro, oceanfront on the malecon. An easy place for meeting friends, it's usually crowded, especially on weekends, even during the hot summer months. She was their FIRST customer of the day, and the ONLY customer during her whole meal. As if she were personally responsible for the solvency of her favorite restaurant, she ordered a huge meal and left a ginormous tip.

Char's condo is in a building just off the malecon, opposite the ladder statue. When I drove to her place, I was able to park right around the corner from her entrance-- a feat unheard of on any normal day. But at least she's been able to sleep at night, with Senor Frog's, Hilo, and performances at the Arches all closed and cancelled. Even though Char was full to the gills, we stepped catty-corner across the street to Maria Gallo, where I got the one full meal I enjoyed the whole time I was in PV. Comida corrida -- or plat du jour if you were in France. It was an agua fresca, soup or salad and choice of plato fuerte, all for 55 pesos. Char wrapped hers up and took it home. I scraped every delicious bite off the plate.

As in the States, when the going gets tough, the tough go to Walmart. I headed there before going back to the hospital. I think this was the busiest place in town! Why not? It's cheap and it's air conditioned. The staff there were all wearing masks. The busiest personnel were those using squirt bottles to sanitize the handle of each shopping cart as it was returned, and then once again before offering it to a new customer. I suppose this would be an ideal time for masked bandits to pull off a job....but I haven't heard of any. Believe me, nothing exciting is happening in PV right now.

Things will change. They always do. Business will pick up again, tourists will return. The first ones back will be welcomed with open arms and phenomenal deals. Think about coming down and shoring up the economy of a country that's been really hard hit from bad press and caution. Puerto Vallarta has so much to offer -- and you're sure to have a better time than we did whereever you stay!

Huichol Bead Work

2009-05-02T22:37:00.004-06:00

(Double-click on the image above to get a really detailed view of the work.)

I spent several hours this morning with Eduardo, a Huichol Indian from the village of San Andrés high in the Sierra Madre northwest of Tepic. The only way to get to the village besides a very long hike is by air. Eduardo spends the tourist season down in our area selling his beadwork at the Thursday market (which is now cancelled because of swine flu fears) and on the beach near the all-inclusive Los Cocos resort at the far end of Guayabitos. He is getting ready to return to his village for the summer months (much cooler up there!).

He was not happy to return without fulfilling a promise to a friend of his – to sell a piece of artwork she had created, and which would provide the major source of funds for her family this year. She is one of the elders of the tribe, and was one of the first to begin using the colored beads about twenty five years ago. Prior to that, Huichol beadwork was done in earth tones.This kind of beadwork is not sewn, but the little glass beads are embedded in a beeswax surface one at a time. There is no space left between the beads. This particular work took her two months to complete.

It is of a size and value that is beyond the budgets of most of our local tourists, especially this year. She was asking the equivalent of about $350 U.S. dollars. I told Eduardo I would take it to a party we're going to tomorrow, and try to sell it for him there, but I would need to know something about what the picture meant. "It's the story that will sell it," I told him, and this is the explanation he provided as we sat in my kitchen this morning.

In the center we see a ceremonial house which is where all the rituals and prayers take place and are participated in by the jicareros. These are like priests, and the marakame or chaman is like the high priest. Directly below the house, looking like he's carrying a chain saw, we see the marakame who is in charge of ordering the deer hunt for the ceremony.

In order to have a ceremony, Eduardo told me, it's always necessary to have a deer present. "A live deer?" I ask. "No," he says, looking at me like I'm a little slow. "We kill them. All that's necessary to have is the head of the deer." The deer is always "invited" to be present this way because each Huichol considers the deer as his or her older brother. "Interesting way to deal with sibling rivalry," I think. Anyway, for this reason we see to the right of the ceremonial house several invited older brothers who probably have no idea what's in store for them.

The picture seemed to me to be divided not only in three tiers, but in two distinct halves, the left half being feminine, and the right masculine. Eduardo agreed that this was the way it was meant to be. So to the left of the house balancing out the older brothers, we see the corn girls. According to Huichol legend, one of the beautiful daughters of the goddess (who is kneeling just to the right of the six girls) was carried off by a man and installed in his house. When he returned to "claim" her, all he found was a corn plant which grew and flourished. So legend has it that all her daughters were converted to corn plants, which would be a way of not only protecting them, but turning them into objects of reverence. They are depicted in the six colors of corn: yellow, white, blue, purple, brown and pink.

What this picture really deals with, says Eduardo, is the time when the world was lost and covered with water. On the right hand we see the canoe with the man who saved all the animals. "Noah?" I ask. "He could be." "Is this a story the Huichol got from the Bible?" "Well, who knows?" Eduardo shrugs.

(The Huichols and the Kora, which are the indigenous tribes of Nayarit, never were converted to Christianity, and their ferocity in resisting the Spaniards caused the Spanish conquerors to move the capital of "Nueva Galicia" away from Compostela to Guadalajara. And so our adopted home state has remained a remote Mexican backwater for centuries.)

On the left is the woman responsible for the flood. Yes, a woman -- Takutsi Nakawe who is the goddess of rain and water. That's also her in the upper left hand corner taking care of the corn, with her own little "canoe" filled with animals. Just to the right of center on the upper tier is another marakame bringing Takutsi Nakawe an offering of corn from the field behind him.

Having the story definitely made the difference. Right after Eduardo left, I got a visit from one of our neighbors. They bought it! Happy ending and I'm a lot more knowledgeable about the Huichols and their legends.

Looks like Palm Desert....but it's Guadalajara!

2009-04-20T22:59:00.002-06:00

I've posted a few pictures of where Agneta and I stayed in Guadalajara during Semana Santa. They're in one of the photo albums you can reach by clicking "Susan's Photo Albums" over there on the side bar. Or you can click here. It was a lovely week's get away!

What do you call a surfboard stuck on a wall?

2009-04-14T00:43:00.003-06:00

ART! Last Thursday saw the opening of "Endless Summer: The Art of Surfboard Shaping" -- complete with professional hula dancers and a personal appearance by premier shaper and humble hubby of mine, Larry "Cobbo" Cobb. I wasn't there for the big event (off to Guadalajara for a week) but I took some photos just after the exhibit was hung.

Those of you from the Sano crew (that's San Onofre, CA) will recognize prints of Fred Hope's watercolors and the oil painting "Circle of Friends" of his that Cobbo gave me for Christmas a few years back.

There are also photos of the master shaper at work and on the waves,

as well as that long, long drawing "Friends of the Three Wisemen."

And then there were also the boards. Standing in corners

And hanging from the ceiling over the bar.

It was a fun event, and brought in some of the tourists that were here for Semana Santa, the week leading up to Easter. Ah, well. A great way to end the season for Xaltemba Gallery and Restaurant, one of the nicest places to gather here on Jaltemba Bay.

Washing a Chicken

2009-04-05T08:00:00.002-06:00

In economic melt-down times when everything seems out of control, it can be a relief to focus on daily details that make a difference in the quality of life. Like this guy attending to the personal hygiene of his chicken. Cleanliness is next to godliness, right? In La Colonia, it's also next to the highway.

Lots of good bye events, "last time" for whatever-s, and fond farewells these days. Gringos headed north, even though I hear there's still snow on the ground where a lot of these people are headed. I made some very good friends of some incredibly interesting people this last season. La Penita has become a place for writers, artists and creative types from the frozen latitudes to come down, thaw out and live cheaply over the winter. My friend Lupita and her husband Angus (yes, he's from Scotland) bought a bungalow hotel (kitchens included in each room). The tall wall that surrounds it hides a sweet little swimming pool, palapa-covered patio, and about eight small units. Renters pay one hundred pesos a night for pretty basic but extremely clean and more than adequate accomodations. Perfect for, to take one example, my new friend Becky who lives most of the year in a yurt in northern Idaho. Check out her book.

Today is Palm Sunday and the beginning of Semana Santa when most of Guadalajara comes to Rincon de Guayabitos to enjoy the beaches. I for one am headed to Guadalajara with a friend to enjoy five days of quiet. If there's internet I'll blog. Then I can tell you about our sailing trip on a 43 foot catamaran last Sunday, the exhibition at Xaltemba featuring surfboards as art -- all shaped by Cobbo. And -- just got a call from travelling companion. Her meeting this morning has been cancelled! She's going to be ready to go four hours early! Yikes. Adios! Hasta the next time.

Coming soon -- Poolside Yoga in Guayabitos!

2009-04-03T00:05:00.004-06:00

Swaying palms, fishing boats and lots of early morning bird sounds. Ah, yes. And there's also Agneta. Now you can join the early morning yoga stretch sessions for beginners to intermediates that we've been having this season down on our pool deck. We'll have our last time together tomorrow morning before most everyone leaves for the season. But before Agneta heads north, we got it all on tape. The DVD's should be available soon, so look for a link. I'll keep you posted! (And no, that's not me holding the cue cards. I'm taking the picture!)

More to Mexico than you can imagine

2009-03-25T00:32:00.002-06:00

My mom tells me her friends constantly ask her, "Are Larry and Susan still down there? How about all that violence?" In response, let me share this link. There is a LOT going on down here that you never hear about in the States.

Virgin Territory -- Introduction

2009-03-12T10:06:00.005-06:00

Hooray! Two of my paintings have sold! The Face in the Crowd at Chichicastenango remains on display at Xaltemba, and perhaps may also find a home before the show closes on the 15th of this month. Today is market day, and I'm headed over in a few minutes to check it out.

In the meantime, I've been writing more on Virgin Territory. I had another reading last week, and those attending were enthusiastic. Also, their feedback was invaluable. I'm coming to appreciate the communal nature of creativity. Raise the rate of circulation and the work itself is invigorated. I've decided to start posting some of the chapters here on the blog. Here's the introduction --

In late 2006, my husband and I moved to the Pacific Coast of Mexico just north of Puerto Vallarta, having sold practically everything we owned in the United States. It was a decision made in a moment of either inspiration or sheer madness, but we have had not one regret. Our new home is in a rural area, though visions of a glitzy “Riviera Nayarit” dance in the heads of the governor and local movers and shakers. It hasn’t happened yet. Perhaps with the current economic meltdown, paradise may be safe for a while longer.

For me, like thousands of other gringos, Mexico these days represents a new beginning. It is definitely “virgin territory” in that sense. But our new beginnings are planted in the dust of ancient civilizations. Vestiges of those who have been here before remain in various forms and practices. Most notable of all is Our Lady of Guadalupe, “Goddess of the Americas.” She is an indigenous icon with origins that stretch back thousands of years, and her presence and influence continue to grow stronger both north and south of Mexico’s borders. Clothed with the sun, heavy with child, she graces more pickup windshields, notebook covers and shopping bags than she does church altars. Though appropriated by the Catholic Church, she transcends any religious denomination. She may very well be the reason women in particular feel nurtured and protected in a country that is so completely “other” from its neighbors to the north.

Christianity, in general, has not dealt well with the Virgin Mary. It’s sort of been “thanks for the baby, lady, now go get lost.” Many Protestants look on her with downright suspicion, like adoptive parents fearful of the claims of a teenaged birth mother. But in Mexico the Virgin, La Madrecita, is honored as no other place on earth. On December 11, pilgrims converge on the second-most visited Catholic site in the world, the Shrine of Guadalupe. The number grows exponentially each year. This past year there were over five million. They come to “watch” with her on the day traditionally celebrated as the anniversary of her appearance to Juan Diego on the hillside of Tepeyac outside of present day Mexico City. Smaller crowds, no less fervent, gather in other parts of the Americas from Anchorage to Tierra del Fuego. Where I live now, it’s celebrated in tiny, makeshift shrines in the dirt streets of La Colonia and La Penita – and it is celebrated exuberantly in Technicolor and surround-sound. Evidently Guadalupe loves fireworks.

“We’re looking for Christmas lights,” my Canadian neighbor says, speaking in the clipped, exact tones of her native South Africa. “White ones that don’t flash.” We’ve met in the tianguis, the Thursday market in La Peñita on the American Thanksgiving Day. “Tupperware Alley” is what gringos call the extension of the market which stretches away from the Indian handwork and colorful displays in the main plaza. Here vendors spread the more mundane items that are needed on a daily basis – plastic dishes, clothes pins, pirated DVD’s, patent leather sandals, some of the most formidable padded bras I’ve ever seen, and now, Christmas decorations. There is not a white light to be found. Guadalupe likes color, and preferably color that flashes.

Very shortly after we moved to Mexico, both my parents had major health crises. My mother sent my sisters and me notes she’d made for obituaries -- hers and dad’s. My father’s ran on for pages; hers was no more than a paragraph. Mom, who had always been there. Dad, who even when physically present was mentally preoccupied with something other than the child before him. I received the notes when I opened my email the morning after the night I’d spent at a velada for Guadalupe, an all night watch which I’d left at midnight. Scrolling through the pdf attachment written in my mother’s still strong and legible hand, I felt vindicated for our move to Mexico. Here I was in a country that honored La Madre, that told and retold her story, celebrated her appearance each year with hot chocolate and tamales and fireworks at two in the morning. Mothers matter in Mexico, and Guadalupe is the archetype.

Not that Guadalupe is the only virgin in Mexico. Oh, no. She appears in many forms and places, a great variety of virgins – the one at Talpa, at Zapopan, as well as others. The dust of Mexico is heavy with stories of how and when she’s graced humanity with her presence. In the New World, it is usually in a field, usually to a peasant farmer, and usually the virgin asks for a shrine to be built so the indigenous population can convert their pagan worship to a more institutional form. Telling other people how they should pray is a time-honored tradition that continues alive and well today.

And yet there is a growing tendency to refuse religion in a box, to resist having one’s spiritual content accounted for with the detail of Nutrition Facts on the back of a cereal carton. Perhaps this is why Guadalupe’s influence is growing. More than any other icon, she epitomizes a popular religiosity unconfined to any institution. An unmediated experience of divinity is no longer the privilege of an ordained few or of a specific gender. And Guadalupe isn’t just for Hispanics and Catholics any more. She is a current symbol of an ancient ethos, a touchstone for what is colorful, primitive, and free-flowing.

In 1810, Mexico’s Father Hidalgo raised a flag emblazoned with the Virgin of Guadalupe to encourage rebellion of the indigenous classes against the despotism of the ruling Spanish. Guadalupe still symbolizes resistance to “the man.” Her image has been appropriated for better or worse by street gangs in the States and narco-traficantes plying their trade across borders. But she also provides a rallying point for creative rebellion. For anyone at odds with engrained church doctrine and tradition of any denomination, she offers new mental and spiritual landscapes to explore. For the hurt or wounded, the mentally, physically or spiritually abused, she reflects an image that is unbroken, unharmed and intact. And for anyone who longs to claim a unique identity and an intrinsic value above and beyond conventional roles and relationships, the Virgin embodies a one-in-herself-ness, that says “YOU are complete and worthy right now, just the way you are and just because you are.”

For anyone who longs to reclaim their own inner virgin, I dedicate these pages.

Women Who Watch

2009-02-25T15:30:00.007-07:00

As I promised -- Here are the three paintings I plan on putting in the opening this coming Sunday at Xaltemba Restaurant and Gallery.

"The Virgin on the Jetty" -- oil on canvas 11" x 14" (28cm x 36cm)

La Veladora -- Keeping Watch -- mixed media 12-1/2" x 15-3/4" (32cm x 40cm)

Face in the Crowd at Chichicastenango "14-1/2" x 18-1/2" (37cm x 47cm)

And here is the accompanying narrative:

The series “Women Who Watch” evolved from observing those who are present but often unnoticed –

The Mayan flower seller, sits hunched on the steps of the church at Chichicastenango, watching the colorful mayhem of market day. Who looks into her face when her flowers are so vibrant, her clothing so arresting?

A velador is a night watchman, but veladora is the word for “nightstand,” a piece of furniture that often goes as unnoticed as the prayerful constancy of the woman who waits alone, thinking of child, husband or friends absent from her life. Is she the watcher – or the watched over? The quotation is a Spanish translation from Mary Baker Eddy.

The Virgin on the jetty at Guayabitos has her back to the tourists, but engraved beneath her feet is a misspelled assurance of protection for the fishermen and sailors who leave Jaltemba Bay. She is cemented there, assaulted by sea spray and splotched by pelican poop – keeping watch.

Zack and Friends

2009-02-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

I'll answer the question before it's even asked. Cody has a really short haircut right now and is getting special treatment for an itchy condition. So he's not doing spa trips at present. Instead he's getting a bath twice weekly with something that smells antiseptic. But fuzzy furry Zack gets a day out once every three weeks. Couldn't resist taking this photo with him and his friends and putting in a plug for friend Melanie's place in Lo de Marcos. It's doggy day camp and they love it. Cody will be back soon with his playmates.

Travels with Susan -- North, South and Center

2009-02-21T14:47:00.014-07:00

This looks like a great big time machine, doesn't it? I'm not sure what it's called, but it shares part of the plaza in front of the Shrine of Guadalupe. It depicts all sorts of ways to keep track of time. I'm putting it here as an acknowledgement that I have indeed let time get away from me. But I'm ready to remedy that right about . . . now:

I started traveling after Christmas, mostly short trips like up to San Sebastian and Mascota in the mountains back of Puerto Vallarta, into PV itself for a few days at a friend's time share (ah, the good life!), up to the Four Seasons at Punta Mita to visit friends staying there (ah, the very good life!), and another trip to Tepic to introduce more friends to that great vegetarian restaurant, Quetzalcoatl.

There was also a recent trip north to Lubbock to check in with my Mom and Dad. That was a five day trip going and coming, as I drove to Phoenix with a friend and did Lubbock as an airplane side trip. Won’t be doing THAT too often! But Ann and I had no trouble at all with our trip through “tierra caliente,” which is what the Mexicans call the Sinaloa corridor along the Pacific Coast from Mazatlán to Nogales that's been in the news so much lately. There were lots of checkpoints and the occasional Mercedes or Suburban with dark windows and no license tags whizzing by. And there was that hotel in Los Mochis with a machine-gun-toting uniformed guard on every balcony. No I don’t know who they were or what was going on, but we decided to find some place else to stay. Nobody bothered with two middle-aged white ladies in a Toyota RAV4. We’d bought some apples for the trip and kept lying to the agricultural inspection guys about not carrying fruit or vegetables. After about the third time I didn’t even break a sweat. We might be ready for some big time smuggling sometime in the future, but don’t bet on it.

I spent several days in Mexico City right after the first of the year. My time there was jampacked, thanks to my friend Jorge, his family and friends.

Jorge and his wife Irma are friends of mine from San Francisco. Irma was back home, but Jorge was in town visiting some of his five brothers and five sisters. Sounds like my mom's family!

My first evening in town, his brother Wilfrido joined us and accompanied us to the northern part of the city to introduce us to Wilfrido's friend, Horacio, an expert on the history of the Virgin of Guadalupe.

Horacio's office, tucked back into a rabbit warren of rooms filled with relics and treasures, is stuffed to the rafters with memorabilia from his studies and writing.

He is not only an expert on Guadalupe, but on popular religiosity and traditions throughout the world. Horacio has written three books about the legend of Guadalupe, its origins and its significance. He received a gold medal and citation from the Pope for his work separating fact from fiction about the history of Juan Diego and his encounter on the hill of Tepeyac. OK, so the fiction prevails in popular thought. I'll tell you more in Virgin Territory. I AM still working on my book.

Horacio, was very generous with his time, and it was the wee small hours of the morning when we arrived at Armida's house far to the south of the city. Happily there isn't as much traffic in the federal district at one in the morning!

The next day I explored the Dolores Olmedo Museum with Pimplo, another friend of Jorge's family. It is near Xochimilco, only a short distance from where I was staying.

A haven, an oasis, a paradise -- I don't know how to describe this 400 year old hacienda and former home of one of Diego Rivera's last lovers. She was more than his lover. She was his patron who collected his work and then converted her home to a museum to house it and some of the work of two other women in his life, Angelina Belhoff and Frida Kahlo. There are also temporary exhibits featuring current artists, and an extensive exhibit of Mexican popular and folk art. One visit is practically the equivalent of a semester at an art institute.

So, fired up and inspired, on my last full day Jorge and I painted, I with borrowed canvas, brushes, and acrylic paint. Painting seems to be the primary Perez family passtime. Another family friend who I never knew by any name other than "maestro," maintains a workshop/studio, which is filled mainly with work from Jorge and his sisters.

Armida collected us late in the afternoon, and the three of us headed north of the city once more, this time to visit Guadalupe’s basilica. I wanted to see the new one, as one whole chapter of Virgin Territory consists of my visiting the old one back in 1957 when I was eight years old. I figured there might have been a few changes. There were. Lots more scaffolding in and around the old shrine. But the new yurt-shaped basilica was worth the visit, and like I say, more about that in the book.

Traversing the city southward once more, Jorge wanted one last visit to the Zócalo, the main plaza of the Federal District.

It was magic, the last hurrah of the holiday season before all the decorations come down and the lights go out. A good place to spend my last evening in the heart of Mexico.

A Pre-Christmas Escape to the Back of Beyond

2008-12-27T11:10:00.013-07:00

What does a hostess do the day before she’s expecting houseguests from New York and thirty plus people for a dinner buffet? Run away! Run away! That’s what I did, and I’m not sorry one little bit. Tuesday was a day to remember.

What had started as Oh Lucy, why don’t you and your family come over, meet Carol and Bernard, and we’ll do a turkey or something, was growing exponentially. Larry was getting a wild gleam in his eyes and I was looking nervously at the number of potatoes I had on hand. We had both collapsed on the couch in the house where Lucy’s folks were hosting a little “drinks party” – that’s what the British call it. They were planning an outing for the next day with Vicente Peña’s new comfy little tourist bus, a visit to an Indian village up in the mountains north of Tepic.

“Why don’t you come with us?” Auntie Karen asked me, she of the perpetual stand-out-in-a-crowd white hat. No way, I thought, but as the plans progressed I realized this was an excursion I didn’t want to put off any more. "Count me in!" I said.

Our route followed Highway 200 northward. I’d been to Tepic when we signed the papers to buy the house. The lawyer’s office was just off what I thought was the main square. I hadn’t been impressed. For good reason.

That wasn’t the main square. THIS is the main square. We stopped and looked all around.

It has a beautiful cathedral

with an impressive mural on the ceiling above the main entrance.

The inside is lovely.

and there are banners hanging beside the front entrance.
Across the street there are fountains, trees,

and a huge Christmas tree courtesy of the Coca-Cola company.
Further along in the main plaza there is also an artisans’ market, classy shops, and the food market

where you can buy menudo and pigs trotters,

quail eggs, rattlesnake skins,

and chewing gum shaped like little shoes.

There were also mandarinas – fat and juicy tangerines that smell like Christmas trees if you close your eyes while you peel them.

Tepic is a city of some 450,000 people, and is the capital of the State of Nayarit.
It’s most famous citizen is the poet Amado Nervo (1870 – 1919).

His massive portrait presides over people waiting in line at the Capital building. It would be fitting if they’re getting marriage certificates because Nervo’s poems are romantic, moody, and full of sensual images about first kisses, first loves, first touches, first glances. He was a diplomat, representing Mexico in Madrid, Buenos Aires, and Montevideo.

We worked up a good appetite visiting the square, and headed happily for Maria’s brother’s restaurant – Quetzalcoatl, one of the first if not the first vegetarian restaurant in the city. It has been going strong for over twenty five years. Maria and Juan have the closer-to-us restaurant Rincón del Cielo up at Punta Raza. Good cooking runs in the family genes. Even strapping Sam, Lucy’s brother, chowed down eagerly on the buffet. We spent much more time than Vicente had allotted for lunch, as everyone kept going back and trying something else wonderfully tasty.

We went through several pitchers of green juice – a mixture of pineapple and parsley.

We had another hour and a half drive before we reached the large dam that holds back Lago de Agua Milpa. The lake isn’t huge, but it holds three times the amount of water as Lake Chapala, Mexico’s largest lake in area. Agua Milpa is deep, with an average depth of 200 meters. That’s well over 600 feet! It’s even deeper these days, as there was so much rain this past year.

Those wooden frames out in the water show where last year's embarcadero was, now under water. For the first time in the twenty year life of the dam, last summer authorities had to release water into the valley below to keep the lake from overflowing. The resulting wall of water was ten meters high and cut right through a small mountain in its way.

Our intrepid group set out in a minuscule boat for a twenty minute ride across the deep, intent on seeing Indians where they lived, rather than in the square on market day in La Peñita.

The village of Potrero de La Palmita lies on the shore of the lake where the Rio Grande Santiago (Mexico’s longest river) meets the Rio Huaynamota. There have evidently been a lot of changes in the last few years.

Potrero de La Palmita is not a Huichol village, but primarily Kora, and they are much more social. Evidence of this is that they have opened a guest house for those seeking “alternative tourism.” That’s when you really want to get away. They do NOT have a website, but I picked up a brochure.

You reach the guest house by following a newly constructed rock ramp up from the shore.

The accomodations are stark, but the view is amazing. And the Kleenex box they provide is a work of art!

On past the guest house, it is another short hike to the village.

There is a new health center.

An ancient generator that was only used in emergencies has been replaced by strategically placed solar panels. Here is a small one just outside one of the typical houses.

Most of the houses are built up on stilts to protect the occupants from snakes and scorpions.

The word went out that we were there, and the women of the village gathered at the market center to display their handiwork, mostly weaving and beadwork. We had come intent on buying, and were careful that every woman sold something to our group.

I made the major purchase of the day – a beaded image created by Teresa, shown here with one of her children. It took her three months to complete this image, made with the tiniest of little glass beads. I paid her asking price of 800 pesos, and watched the excitement of her children and other villagers. Vicente told me this was a major cash infusion to an economy that really needs it. Tour operators from Puerto Vallarta have quit sending trips up this far, as it is such a long trip. The guest house business has not kicked in as yet either. He assured me that spending money with the women is what makes a real difference for good in the village, as every centavo will go for the benefit of feeding and clothing the children. And Penelope, this is where the three boxes of clothing you sent to me in Lubbock and we carried down with us last September ended up. Best to get them out of our basement and onto bodies that need them, and it was fitting to get it down just before Christmas.

It was almost dark as we made the return trip back across the lake, the lights of the dam finally coming into view as we rounded a corner. This is where you can see stars and stars and stars. An hour and a half later, closer to Tepic, I reached Larry on a cell phone, warning him not to look for us soon.

There was one more stop in Compostela where we had coffee in a second floor shop facing the lit cathedral. It is a very old town, founded in the late 1500’s as the capital of Nueva Galicia, a territory which encompassed basically all of Western Mexico. But the resistance from the native tribes towards the Spanish and their modern ways was so intense that Compostela was essentially abandoned and the government was moved east to Guadalajara. The Huichol and the Kora never were conquered by the Spanish. They never gave up their traditions, their way of doing things. So today, we tourists go to visit them and buy their beadwork. Sort of makes me think twice about holding on to “the way we’ve always done it.”

So here’s a new tradition fit for the time and place where we live now: Merry Christmas! – two days late. And PS -- the Christmas Eve party was a great success anyway.

Virgin Territory

2008-12-20T06:55:00.004-07:00

Friday a week ago, December 12, was the Festival Day of our Lady of Guadalupe. As part of the celebration, I was asked to read aloud a part of the book I'm writing, Virgin Territory. It's about moving to Mexico and discovering the heart and power of virginity.

The event took place at the Xaltemba Restaurant and Gallery. Juan Gonzales filmed the event for Xaltembatv.com. You can find some of the clips at the following link.
http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=xaltembatv&search_type=&aq=f

The ancient meaning of the Greek word translated virgin in the New Testament, didn't have anything to do with physiology. It didn't mean being chaste or physically untouched. Rather, being a virgin meant belonging to oneself. A virgin was someone who had authority, who was the author of her own experience because she was not defined by any human relationship. She was un-captured, intact, self-complete, whole, self-governed. Virginity was power.

While the book is the story of my own spiritual journey, I hope it conveys that everyone, man or woman, revolutionary or rebel, has an “inner virgin.” The spontaneity, liberty, autonomy and free expression The Virgin represents has stirred individuals and movements throughout history. Father Hidalgo raised Guadalupe's banner when Mexico declared its independence from Spain, and the Virgin of Czestochowa inspired Lech Walesa's Solidarity Movement. The image and ethos of The Virgin may be just what we need in our own revolutionary times of change and challenge.

Perigee -- Up Close and Personal

2008-12-14T20:37:00.005-07:00

It's been a full moon weekend. Friday night it was official. The moon was big, full, and closer than it's been for fifteen years. My friend Agneta conducts new moon and full moon ceremonies, and promptly at 5:15 there were six of us gathered on the beach near our house. It was still daylight, but Agneta had lit a fire and was explaining to us that the the previous two weeks (kicked off with a proper new moon ceremony) had been a time for defining our intentions and nourishing them with prayer, and that the full moon was a time for rejoicing and grateful acknowledgement of the good already received and that which was expected to mature during the waning moon.

It was a fairly simple ceremony. Everyone had brought something to make noise with -- a drum, rattle, or a piece of wood and a stick -- and there was something cathartic about just making noise when that big orange disk edged up from the horizon. The firmament is so very close here, its depth reflected in the vast ocean as well as stretched across the sky. There's something inside me that yearns to acknowledge its presence, glory in its magnificence, and it's really a treat to do it with unbridled enthusiasm in the company of good friends. Our little crowd grew with the arrival of Lucy and her family, so there were twelve of us that circled the fire and took turns saying what we were grateful for.

Then someone said, "Let's sing something!" And the only song that we Americans, Canadians and Brits could agree on that we all knew was the Coca-Cola advertisement from the 1970's! "I'd like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony...." Agggh! What hath globalization wrought??!!

So next time maybe we should try this alternative: "When the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we see..."

Checking in and catching up

2008-12-01T18:18:00.002-07:00

Oh my. Where to begin? Had to reread the last entry to remember what I’ve said. What was that I said about being happy to once again be “communicado?” Puras papas, as they say down here. Lies, lies, lies. So, catching up:

We are still very happy to be down here. The weather has broken and we actually need a comforter in the night. We know when the temperature drops below 80, because Mexicans start wearing hoodies and fleece running suits and go around stomping their feet and rubbing their hands. But even gringo women are starting to carry rebozos or sweaters when they go out in the evening.

There are Christmas trees lit up in the windows of houses in La Peñita. December 12 is the Feast Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe. From that point on through January 6 very little gets done in Mexico. It’s a magic time as far as color, lights, music and action. I’m really looking forward to it. Lucy’s family has rented a house in La Zona for three weeks over Christmas and New Years, and there are twin girls who are having their thirteenth birthday on December 18. I’ve volunteered our house, so they can make a deal of decorating the Christmas tree. We should have another party before they leave so they can also take it down!

Lucy, if you remember, is our young British friend. She has returned to Guayabitos and is installed in our guest room. She’s enrolled in a writing program at Oxford, where she has deadlines for poems and essays, but she can write them from any place in the world. She picked here! We keep each other good company, because I’ve been concentrating on the book everyone says I should be writing. Well, I’m writing it…enough said on that for now. Except to tell you the title: Virgin Territory. I’m to read from my “work in progress” at the Xaltemba Restaurant and Gallery sometime around December 12, celebrating Guess Who. I doubt I’ll be sitting on the bar in shorts, like this shot of Lucy, who was reading one of her short stories. Works for some…not for me. (scroll down in the most recent edition of Jaltemba Sol.)

Larry has been working hard on a construction project in La Peñita which we trust will help recoup some of our finances. (Did I mention that the bulk of our nest egg from the sale of the house in San Clemente was lost in a fraudulent investment deal? Probably not. State of Florida is prosecuting. It will take years. Never mind….onward ) Larry and a partner found an excellent piece of land right in the middle of town -- walking distance to everything – formed a Mexican corporation, and when we got back in September, began construction on a 14-space RV park – one where people can buy the slots rather than rent them. There will be a full time live-on-property caretaker, so residents can leave their motor homes there and not have to haul them back and forth between here and Canada or the States. It’s first class all the way, complete with pretty pool, club house, storage facilities and lots of landscaping. (This was Larry’s background work before he started shaping surfboards). So that is coming to completion and should be ready to sell in the next three to four weeks. There has been a lot of interest, with a number of people coming in and saying "THIS is the slot I want!" Hooray.

He’s also been supervising maintenance for the homeowners association here in the Residential Zone. They didn’t paint the curbs white this year, because both the electric company and the sewer company have been tearing up the cobblestone streets and sidewalks laying new lines and pipes. Driving around here has been like navigating a war zone.

We have a new “staff” working at the house. Oscar keeps the pool sparkly clean, the patios swept and the plant materials in shape. Rosa has just started. She’s a widow who has never really worked outside her home before, so my friend Agneta and I are training her, as she trades off days between us. She had never seen a dishwasher and was unfamiliar with a lot of the cleaning products I use, but she’s eager to learn and very diligent. There’s a lot of catching up to do, both with her and with the house.

There are a few more English invaders in the area. A schoolmate of Lucy’s from her undergraduate days at Oxford married a lovely Mexican guy this past July, and they have opened a restaurant in Chacala, Café Chac Mool. Check out their blog and video. Millie and Arturo bring movie-star good looks and a touch of culture to that local scene. While Larry watches NASCAR or goes surfing with his friend Colin Sunday mornings, I’ve been going to Chacala with friends, scarfing up phenomenal baked goods, then swimming at the wonderful beaches there. Millie’s parents are a bit non-plussed about what their daughter – who got a First in French and Italian (“or was it French and Philosophy,” wonders Lucy. “I know it’s something terribly highbrow) is doing off in a remote Mexican beach town making sweet rolls and croissants and perfecting her capuccinos. Good question. You just have to be here to understand.

Watching Xaltemba.TV might bring you a little more enlightenment. Our friend Juan Gonzales has created this site to document goings on around here. Check out the categories for Nature, and for Art and Culture in particular.

What more??? Ah, yes. YOGA! Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday out by our pool. 7:30 in the morning. Great group of ladies, usually about 3-6 of us. Wonderful way to start the day. Throw in a walk up and down the beach in the morning, and maybe a walk across the footbridge into La Peñita to a little abarrotes store for the spare tomato, stack of tortillas or liter of milk, and I’m getting plenty of exercise. So grateful to be able to do it! So happy to be healthy!

Gringos are back and the social calendar is filling up. Also volunteer opportunities and good works…like the plastic recycling program, the spay and neuter clinic, beach clean up campaigns. There’s no lack of things to get involved with The art group is meeting once again, but I’m trying to stay focused on the writing for a while. When Melanie the water color teacher, comes down in the spring, I’ll join back in. She always has a specific project for us to work on, which saves me from having to think about what I want to paint. Give me an assignment! I did a couple of catrina watercolors for the Día de Los Muertos opening at Xaltemba, just because Roberto asked. The Guayabitos Artists Collective is having an art show and sale on December 14, at Bobbi Attwood’s house. That’s where we the art group meets. (Xaltemba has been so successful that they expanded the restaurant space into the gallery space) I may have something. Yikes! Two weeks??!! (I know this would be a great opportunity to insert photos, but I don’t have any!)

We hope your holiday season is joyous and blessed wherever you are. We started it off with Thanksgiving dinner with young friends from San Antonio who were here for a couple of nights. They’re thinking it would be great to move here. We are telling them we wish we’d done it years ago when we took that first long trip together down here in 1973. It’s interesting times, these. I look at people in their twenties who are just starting off and just love them and bless them. What a very different world they’re going to have. Let’s start filling it with prayers. Much love to all!

We've been having a blast!

2008-10-04T22:44:00.002-06:00

Or better said -- we were blasted. By lightening. That's why it's been so quiet from this quarter. We just got phone -- and by extension internet and Vonage -- restored this past week. It was out for a solid ten days, and then on again, off again for another three. We trust it's here to stay, at least until the next rainy season. We HOPE the last of the big storms is over!

Two weeks ago from last Thursday we had another of our evening thunderstorms that consistently brought at least three inches of rain each night, and sometimes as many as six. These would roll in from the ocean about eight o'clock, making the TV picture go all pixelly, and filling the neighborhood with ominous rumbly noises. So we would unplug the television and computers, and head for bed, where depending on the severity of the pyrotechnics outside, the dogs would either quiver on the floor or jump up between us and look very concerned. They were in the very concerned mode that particular night with good reason. I've never seen such simultaneous light and noise. We were right in the middle of it. And then KABOOM!!!! The whole house was filled with blinding light and the thunder clap came right at the same time. But the lights on the bedside clocks were still lit, so we hadn't lost electricity. Hooray! It was the next day we found the phones were out. Our first clue was all those dangly frizzled wires lying in the street that we had to step over when we took the dogs out for a walk. There were even a few remnants remaining on the charred telephone pole just outside our living room door. Our neighbor reported that there was now a big black smudge on his wall where his answering machine used to be.

So we've been quiet, waiting for repairs, sticking close to home, always in the hope that someone with a Telmex shirt would show up at the door. They eventually did, and returned, and then returned once more. We've now got new wiring and a lot of other stuff that I won't bore you with all the details. But that's what we've been doing the past couple of weeks. And somehow the world went on without us. Nothing compared to Galveston or New Orleans, so we really have no room to complain. But, all the same, it's nice to be communicado once more.

Water World....with fur

2008-09-15T06:36:00.002-06:00

"So, whatcha been doing?" friends ask. And I hesitate to say, 'cause it sounds like whining. Truth is, we've been cleaning up. It seems like it's something we do every fifteen minutes or less. Between constant rain and an enthusiastic, ravenous puppy, there's always a task at hand. If I could locate my camera, I'd give you evidence. Zack is brilliant. . .or determined. He knows where the food is stored, and he's figured out a way to bounce the pantry door open if it's not shut completely. Barring that, if there's a scrap of food left within paw-range, it's scarfed up. Made the mistake of leaving four formerly-frozen graham cracker pie crusts on the kitchen table the other night when we went out. Zack didn't exactly eat the aluminum and plastic, but he shredded them nicely. Every buttery crumb though was cleaned away!

Cleaning up after puppies is compounded by the weather. I know that with the devastation reeked by Ike, and before that Hanna and Gustav, what I have to complain about is pretty puny papas. But over here on the Pacific side of the continent, it's been wet, wet, wet, as well. Our sun sightings are few and far between. Keeps things relatively cool, but sodden. Everything grows. The weeds on the lot next door have become trees. The tennis courts have become a swamp. The streets are green carpets studded with shiny black cobblestones. Our neighbor down the street reports the rainfall to us each morning -- one inch, three inches. The other night we had five. It came down for hours and hours. Does anyone know how to toilet train doggies? They look so pathetic out there in the courtyard, legs dutifully hitched up, fur getting all wet and droopy. We have a pile of old beach towels by the front door -- along with piles of sandy, wet shoes. Would almost rather have the rain come in one big deluge, like it did a week ago -- along with sustained winds of about 65 mph. We really need to get a back door.

The limbs on the guayaba tree next to our house are laden with ripe fruit that's knocked off by the rains each night. Leave them lying on the courtyard bricks even for a day and the fermentation smell is overwhelming. So far I've been successful in sharing the bounty with neighbors and passersby. They are a real delicacy, rarely sold in markets -- BECAUSE THE SHELF LIFE IS TOO GUAVA-PICKIN' SHORT!!!

So Larry is poking his head in the door, wondering if I'm going to join him and the furry guys for a morning walk. This is the coolest and dryest part of the day, and I'm outta here to take advantage. Yours from the sodden south.....

Sharing a short film

2008-09-14T14:08:00.003-06:00

My friend Evan shared this short film on his blog. It not only gives the flavor of Mexico, but a potent lesson in how we present ourselves, no matter what our situation. It's about five minutes long. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! (I keep watching it).... click HERE!

Home again, home again

2008-09-03T22:36:00.005-06:00

Not exactly dancing a jig! That last 1515 miles from Lubbock to Guayabitos seemed to stretch on and on and on. Especially driving about 50 miles an hour. Hooray for a two night layover in a good bed in San Antonio. Thanks, Mark and Susie! And it was great getting a last visit with Larry's family there. Adios, Jim and Rhoda! We're home and happy.

Little to complain about on the trip south. Larry drove the open unairconditioned black Jeep that we picked up out in California (the one he traded his OLD Harley for about a year and a half ago). I followed behind in Hummercita carrying two dogs and dragging an overloaded trailer behind. Inside the trailer was Larry's NEW Harley -- or the one he bought last summer. Object of this trip was to get all his toys in one place, Mexico. Mission accomplished!

No inspections, no military stops, and only two flats on the trailer. One was coming through Guadalajara, and I was able to pull into a Pemex station with a llantera attached. Not too many of those around! Twenty pesos to fix the flat and we were back on the road. The next flat happened somewhere just outside of Guayabitos. We didn't discover it until we turned into our town. I was passing Larry, thinking he was letting me go ahead of him. But actually the Jeep had quit running. Wet distributor cap. Larry was towed the last mile to our house. And as I write, the trailer sits empty, tilted and with a crumpled fender at the curb in front of our house. I don't know WHAT I hit! But we're home.....sigh.

It was a summer full of adventure -- making new friends and seeing old ones. I can't begin to thank everyone through this blog. And there were so many people we didn't see this trip. I guess we'll just have to go back! Sometime.... and I think we'll fly.

For a while we were separated. From June 30 to July 8, Larry took a 3,000 mile motorcycle trip through the Midwest with his old high school buddy, Ken Pierce. From July 10 - July 22, I was in California by myself, mainly travelling around in the mid-section. The rental car I picked up in San Jose and dropped off there a week later said I covered 876 miles. That was catching up with friends and family in Pacific Grove, Danville, Roseville/Sacramento, Truckee, Reno, Santa Rosa, Petaluma, and San Francisco. A lot of them seemed to live WAY off the beaten path.

"Turn right at the pigs," was the final step in Dave's instructions on how to find him and his wife Laura outside of Petaluma. It was worth the trip. They fixed lunch -- Chicken Caesar salad, raspberry lemonade, a phenomenal chocolate cake -- and we ate it outside in their garden. The air was heavy with roses and sunshine.

"I'll come meet you," said Pam. Which she did, in St. Helena. After we raided a local grocery store, I followed her up Spring Mountain Road toward Santa Rosa and then somewhere she turned off onto a little asphalt lane. Ten (I counted on the way back down the next day) switchbacks later we came to where she and Gene hang out. Heavy smooth sheets, good smelling soap and absolute silence high in a live oak forest. I slept like a baby. But "remote" doesn't begin to describe it.

Well, it wasn't as remote as the commitment ceremony Larry attended for Theora and Colin. They live in a tent -- a geodesic dome -- which they've erected on land outside of Alpine, Texas. Theora is our niece, and she made all the arrangements for their celebration down at Chinati Hot Springs -- a 1930's style resort two or more hours drive south of Alpine, down near the Rio Grande River. Actually it was built in 1934, so the style is authentic. Larry attended along with our dog Cody and about 35 other guests before he headed out to California to meet me. The four inch layer of mud all over the Hummer spoke volumes as to what "remote" really means. I think he left it on until he got to Orange County as some sort of statement: Ours is not an urban assault vehicle. It really gets used off road!

Larry and I had a week together in Orange County, spent mainly with his surfing buddies, and our good friends. This is the "old time" beach crowd. Four couples one night celebrated our annual wedding anniversary dinner. It was at Cannon's above Dana Point Harbor. All of us together had 153 years of experience -- with the original partners! Thanks to the cachet of Infinity Surf Boards, we got special treatment. In turn, we sent our regards down to the bride and groom who were having their reception on the patio below us. In the dark the bride's teeth were as white as her gown.

Larry and I headed back to Texas the last day of July. On the way we managed to burn up the transmission in the Jeep we were dragging. Somehow it slipped into gear somewhere in Utah. That was between visiting Penelope and Tim in St. George and Danny and Nancy in Lake City, Colorado. Pioneers all of them. Penelope and Tim (who met on an Indian reservation) live about twenty miles outside St. George in the adobe house they built themselves on land purchased 23 years ago. Danny and Nancy remember the "old" days (post-mining, pre-tourist) when Lake City was a hippy hangout and everyone gathered in one big house to share food and warmth. I have never seen such starry, starry nights as in those two places. The moon was absent, or only a sliver, and the Milky Way was a broad white swath across the sky. Both these couples appreciate remote.

"Remote" seems to be a keynote of this blog. Our friend Todd had us meet him in Salida, rather than our driving sixteen or more miles out to the lodge he bought a few years ago. He moved there from hectic, fast-paced Orange County, and hasn't looked back. But he tells us he's looking to move into town. "Town" is big by Lake City standards. Lake City has 375 people. Salida has 5,000. But everyone keeps each other good company in the wintertime.

Our friends Chris and Ken had just sold their house in Santa Fe. It's up a dirt road and felt remote when we had dinner out on the deck in the evening. But the glow of the city lit up sky beyond the pines. There were stars, but the Milky Way was much paler. So they're moving....HERE! Well to San Pancho, just south of us. We had to agree with them. The Santa Fe of Larry's and my college days is long gone. Gentrification has taken over the central square. But our friend and neighbor down here, Roque Garcia, is still selling carnitas on the corner. We stopped for lunch, and he told us all about his new Guayabitos restaurant project. Yummm!

From Santa Fe to Lubbock was a day's drive. And it was in Lubbock we spent the last three weeks of our time north of the border. Larry had lots to occupy him getting all his toys in order and ready to travel. Ahem, a new transmission in the Jeep.

And I spent the time hangin' with Mom and going to see Dad. Speaking of remote, that seems to be Dad these days. He still has a sense of humor though. Or a sense of something. I showed him the photo Nancy took of Larry and me near Lake City -- the one you see at the top of this blog. I asked him if he knew who it was. "This," he said pointing to Larry, "is Harley Davidson. It says so right on his shirt. And, this one," he said pointing to me in the picture, "this one, I think, is writing her own script." He smiled at me.

Well, Daddy, I guess that pretty well describes it. If you wonder who I am these days, I guess I'm wondering, too. But I'll keep writing, and try to figure it out.

Love to you, Dad, and love to all. We're home!

A Fresh Furry Face

2008-08-27T19:36:00.006-06:00

When Larry and I head out of town toward Mexico Friday morning, in the back seat of Hummercita, there will be a new attraction. Joining Cody the Keeshond is his new buddy (ta dah!) Zack -- a keeshond puppy Larry fell in love with (OK, me, too) at a rescue center here in Lubbock. (We are since informed that there is a TV show named Zack and Cody, but we honestly had not heard of it. We haven't watched a lot of the Disney Channel.) Anyway, our stellar top dog Cody doesn't have a jealous bone in his body. Zack was his instant buddy, and the two even sleep curled up together. It's about the only time Zack is still. Here are some shots taken on Mom's patio this evening.

Cody is still Mr. Mellow. Wait. He doesn't have his paws completely crossed in that Steve Martin/Jack Benny way. Could he be just a little tense? Hmmmm, I think it's just the camera.

So adelante we go. Elder statesdog and fresh young face.....
Come on, friends. All together now.....say "ahhhhhh."

On the road...

2008-07-28T15:40:00.002-06:00

Larry and I are in South Orange County, mid-way on our summer odyssey. I'm installed at my favorite coffee place in San Juan Capistrano, taking advantage of their free wifi and excellent paninis. Paying bills, catching up on correspondence -- and I thought I'd do a long blog, but Larry has just shown up and is ready to boogie out of here. That's the way it goes up here in El Norte -- everyone is "ready to boogie." Fast fast fast..... Looking forward to slowing the pace down again, but for now enjoying seeing lots of friends and family.

I will tell you that my friend got out of jail before we left Mexico, and is now in a whole legal process that requires keeping tight lips and lids on further conversation. But people keep asking me, so this is to let you know she's home safe and healthy.

So for now, don't forget me....I won't forget you. But will have to wait for another coffee shop and another hotspot -- and another moment alone. :-)))

Wherever I am....

2008-06-13T15:37:00.003-06:00

The jail in Compostela is very old, but it doesn’t smell like urine. That’s a huge plus. It’s clean and the people, both jailers and inmates, are very nice. Two more big plusses. Our friend, though, burst into tears when she saw the five of us, bearing books, groceries, bedding, and blessings. Mexican jails provide nada zero zilch to the people they keep inside. It is up to friends and family, or the good graces of local charities, to provide for every daily necessity. That is every necessity. The first thing this woman wanted was a toilet seat.

She’s received a lot more, as she’s well-loved in the community. Local lips curl in derision when speaking her ex-husband’s name, “the guy who put her there.” Through his issuing a demanda, making very serious charges, the police are obligated to get the dangerous supposed criminal off the streets and put her in jail until she can either post bail or prove there’s no reason for her to be there. Proof can take a long, long time. The potential for quick protection, but also unfair abuse is obvious. We’ve all been getting civics lessons: Magna Carta-derived English Common Law which Brits, Americans and Canadians hold dear (innocent until proven guilty), and the Napoleonic Code which basically says “prove it ain’t so.”

But I’m not writing to take one side or the other, just to record the facts. There are a lot of people who might be interested in just what one can expect in a Mexican jail. Those who know me from my former life know I’ve seen the insides of plenty of detention facilities. The last time I counted it was running about 65-70. Among those were an ever-growing number of state-of-the-art sensory-deprivation centers along the lines of Pelican Bay – where inmates are confined to “pods,” and are totally separated from the rest of humanity, rarely having the chance to interact with anyone inside or outside. Very sterile, but very, very scary. There were also turn of the last century institutions such as Marysville, Ohio, or Elmira, NY, where crenellated towers rise high above formidable red brick walls. There were dirt-floored, low-ceilinged centers for substance abusers in San Felipe, Mexico; a park-like federal women’s prison in southern Ontario, and a women’s federal prison filled with rose beds and children’s playgrounds outside of Guadalajara. I’ve been in juvenile detention centers from Oakland to Jacksonville, Iowa City to Austin, and one on the banks of the Mississippi River. I’ve learned to not wear an underwire bra or carry car keys in order to enter sprawling and sterile desert compounds up and down California’s central valley, gray-faced downtown highrises, lower-security honor farms, as well as the famous Los Angeles Twin Towers temporary home to celebrities who trangress. Let me tell you, there’s where I smelled urine.

The central yard at the jail in Compostela is paved with gray concrete and smells like Clorox. It is vigorously cleaned early each morning by the inmates themselves. It measures about 40’ x 40’. The walls are painted mint green for about the first ten feet, then change to apricot and fade upward another ten feet or so into that mossy, drippy melange you can always find near roof lines in the tropics. On one side is a row of four cells where the seven men inmates sleep. All have barred doors. There is a “W.C. Baños” which has a swinging panel with space above and below. There is one toilet there which works.

The two women, my friend and a much younger woman, are assigned to a storage room directly behind the jailer’s office. There are two concrete pads which serve as beds, and a tankless toilet bowl. A bucket of water sits beside it for flushing. It is the public restroom for the jail during the day. There are bicycles and bullet proof vests which take up a lot of the space, but it’s safe there, and my friend and her cellmate can pull their chairs up to the bars of the door and watch CSI Miami reruns every night over the jailer’s shoulder. There is a desk, a chair, a table and a filing cabinet in the little front office, and the television sits on the desk. It is angled so that it is also visible to any inmates standing at the barred window which looks out on the central yard.

Standing, that’s the key word. Lengthy TV watching can be very tiring. Better to sit under the corrugated metal roof which defines the all-purpose area used for eating, church services and general visiting. Here the house rules are hand-painted on the wall, black on white, for all to see. There is no excuse for either inmate or visitor to say, "Sorry, I didn't know." A space toward the rear of the covered patio serves as a kitchen: a small free-standing gas range, a shelf for cooking equipment, and a rust-encrusted refrigerator. The refrigerator functions a lot more efficiently after my friend defrosted it last week. There is a big concrete sink/trough with fresh water located between the entry door and the covered area. Pelón, a young man from Chiapas, stands in the rain washing pots, pans and serving dishes. It is he who has woven the volleyball net which stretches and shimmers across the central yard. It is made out of raspberry colored nylon raffia. He has also made a hamaca from the same material, though it is draped over a rod in the ceiling, up and out of the way of today’s visitors.

Hospitality is hard. There are four molded plastic chairs and a variety of Comex paint cubetas. One of the chairs has a broken seat which has been sewn together with nylon raffia cord, again the work of Pelón, the Chiapas craftsman. If a church service is offered by a local priest or clergyman, as there was yesterday when we were there, they must bring their own chairs. But they also take the chairs away when they leave.

Thursdays and Sundays are visiting days. Families come, bringing children and comida. Everyone shares. We were invited to join a buffet which featured pots of stewed macaroni, rice heavy with garlic and onions, shrimp cooked with chilis and onion, hearty beef birria, pulled chicken and lots of corn tortillas. There were stacks of styrofoam plates, paper napkins and plastic cutlery. Antonia, housekeeper for Hacienda La Peñita, travelled with us and brought nopalitos, strips of prickly-pear cactus leaves mixed with tomatoes, onions and chilis. It was the only green dish on the table.

Our friend needs her veggies. She’s sixty-five years old and diabetic. Her cellmate, an amply-proportioned young woman named Sylvia, has taken it on herself to watch over my friend’s diet and medication, as the nature of her illness is to droop sluggishly down and look drunk when she doesn’t eat right. On hearing detailed instructions as to what could be eaten and what couldn’t be eaten, the jail authorities threw up their hands. Not their responsibility. The jails don’t provide food, anyway. Sylvia asks us to go shopping before we leave town for broccoli, cauliflower and chayote. We didn’t find any of it. But we took in plenty of bananas, pears and papaya. Also a batch of chocolate chip cookies to reward our friend’s companions for the care they take with her.

And they do care for her very tenderly. Because she doesn’t have access to her cell during the day, one of the cells opening onto the central yard has been set aside for her, a futon placed on one of the three concrete benches inside where she can lie down and put her feet up. Her legs and ankles are swollen, and she’s not able to tie her shoes. But she makes the effort to walk around the yard for twenty minutes each day, and to join in a volleyball game later in the afternoon across the raspberry-colored raffia net. But for the most part this little cell, a blanket draped over the bars for a bit of privacy, is her little world. Here she does her morning situps, reads one or two books a day, and contemplates the artwork and writing on the walls. Yes, there’s a naked woman. Is there a jail cell wall anywhere without one? There’s a drawing of a man playing a guitar, a drawing of the Virgin of Guadalupe above the broken toilet. And a prayer scrawled across the less-than-white wall above my friend's head, a remembrance from someone who's been there before….

La luz de Dios me rodea,
El amor de Dios me envuelve,
El poder de Dios me protege….
doquiera estoy, Dios está conmigo.

I'm still here, and it's raining.

2008-06-12T08:45:00.002-06:00

The rains have started and the streets are starting to green up -- cobblestones black with moisture and fresh green mossy little plants poking up in between. There are scarlet-colored scatter rugs of fallen ponciana blossoms here and there, and the ecological park is alive with the screes and scrawks of various winged creatures. Some not so winged, maybe. Nancy and Danny swear that the deep electronic digiridoo racket coming from the guayaba tree beside their gate is a tree frog, not a bird. I thought it was a very loud radio on an alternative rock station.

In June there’s hardly a gringo left in La Zona. Most have fled north to escape the heat. Ha. Ha. Fooled them. It’s been fresh and cool here. I even wore long pants and long sleeves when we went out last night to celebrate Agneta’s birthday. OK, it’s DAMP, but when we turn on the AC to dry things out, we freeze!

My walk has been getting longer and longer, since there’s no one to talk to. I do it early. Highway 200 pulses with the sound of traffic long before dawn. Fishermen from La Peñita gun their engines through the estero and hit the sandbar with a resounding thwack. It’s a team effort shoving each ponga up on a loose axle and pushing it over the last few meters of sand into the ocean beyond. The Thursday market continues, minus the colorful crafts that tourists like. “Tupperware Alley” is still full of vendors offering every conceivable everyday need. Life goes on even when no white people are watching.

In fact, life gets a little more colorful and bawdy. Construction workers making an early morning start on projects to be completed before the return migration are more likely to crank up the volume on la música, and more likely still to break into song themselves. Even Harry Beckner’s parrot – a gawdy multi-hued, multi-lingual macaw – entertains himself and anyone within earshot by imitating the sounds of construction noise. One bird alone sounds like an entire work crew, from the the chink, chink repetition of hammer and chisel to the high-pitched whirrrr of an electric drill.

And speaking of work – that’s what is keeping us here in Mexico for longer than we planned. Larry and Danny are knee deep in paperwork and meetings, forming a Mexican corporation. They’re putting in an RV condominium project -- a place for people with big RVs who aren’t inclined to shuttle them north and south anymore and would like someplace permanent to put them. Larry and Dan have a nice walled lot where they’ll build a pool and clubhouse, a casita for a year-round caretaker, and individual concrete pads with tiled roof patios and some other amenities. It’s walking distance to everything. Fourteen slots. Highly restricted. Very nice. And a LOT of interest.

But we’ll head north, maybe this coming week. Hopefully the triple digits in Texas will have subsided by the time we get there. Larry wants to pick up his motorcycle, I’ve got a talk in Los Angeles. We’ve got Mom and Dad to see in Lubbock, a niece’s wedding down in the Texas desert near Big Bend, friends and family all over the southwest to meet and greet and give hugs to.

Sorry not to have been blogging. I HAVE been writing otherwise. Rain tends to bring out that urge. It’s the best excuse to cozy down with the keyboard on the verandah, listen to the water flow through the palm leaves and out through the downspouts and pound away at the keys. Shades of Somerset Maugham. Well maybe.

I hope there's someone who gets that reference to Somerset Maugham. My little friend Lucy, English lit major that she was, is sure to. I miss her! She's off for a month in Mexico City with a temporary office job, wearing high heels and translating reams and reams of instruction manuals for a personal care/pharmaceutical company. Their major products are hair removal creams and condoms. Well, that sets the imagination running, doesn't it? Ah, dear Lucy. Come back to Guayabitos!

So I'm off to jail today in Compostela to visit a friend of a friend. Sixty-five year old woman. Gringo. Well, actually, African-American. It's a story.....I'll share it another day.

Is the party over yet? Please??!!

2008-05-18T12:00:00.001-06:00

It is party time in La Penita! Fireworks! Every night about midnight, every morning at 4:30 a.m. on the dot (yes, that is A.M., as in 0 dark thirty), and all times in between. Tonight we were once again at Xaltemba just off the plaza, and the thundering booms and gunshot cracks made it hard to have a dinner conversation. Do our neighbors across the estero know how to party or what?

There's a reason for these fireworks and concerts. Oh yes. There are concerts. At the bull ring, the bull ring which has never seen a bullfight, but has seen lots of enthusiastic banda groups. Banda is a particularly dissonant type of music which relies mostly on drums and trumpets and great big electric amplifiers. The groups usually start around ten o'clock or so and really get rocking about midnight. As I write this in our bedroom about a half hour past midnight, ceiling fans spinning madly and air conditioner humming along, I can hear the music loud and clear. But as I was saying....

The reason for these celebrations is that little straw virgin back in the mountains. Nuestra Virgen del Rosario de Talpa. Turns out SHE is the official virgin of La Penita, and they celebrate her festival NOW, following the big holiday week that kicked off the month of May: Children's Day, Labor Day, Cinco de Mayo, Mother's Day. That was the first ten days of the month. Now we've had eight full days of Virgin festivities.

During this week there has been a huge banner across the front of the church off the central plaza welcoming her and her bishop to town. She's installed over the altar, and dear Guadalupe has been relegated to the sidelines. She's over there off to the left in the photo above, halfway hiding behind the large pink banner. The church in La Penita has to be one of the ugliest unfinished buildings in all of Mexico, but it is exuberantly adorned for these feast days, which are exuberantly celebrated. Twice this weekend we've found ourselves in the middle of all the exuberance. It was fun, but a little overwhelming.

Friday we went to dinner at Xaltemba with friends from the States. We got there just in time for a parade, up close and personal. Kids from the neighborhood dressed in these strange costumes that I'd like to know more about. They are much like the ones I saw in Chichicastenango, Guatemala, last March.

Later that night -- after obligatory fireworks -- there was a big dance on the plaza and a cockfight. (No, I didn't watch, so don't look for photos.) This amongst the vendors, tilt-a-whirl, ferris wheel and merry-go-round that have been installed there all week. And there's more of the same tonight -- which I THINK is the last hurrah. Hey it's Sunday. Someone's got to go to work sometime, right?

And someone -- namely me -- has got to go to bed. The music's stopped!!! I'm headed to the island tomorrow morning. First time to explore that big half a hairy coconut chunk of land about a mile or so off shore. Tell you all about it .....later.

Little Tiny Footprints

2008-05-09T14:28:00.013-06:00

Hilda, our housekeeper, and her family should be back from Talpa today. As I wrote in my earlier post about our trip to Mascota, this past Tuesday, Hilda, her teenage son, her elderly mother, and husband Chano left early in the morning to drive to San Juan de Abajo, a small town north of Puerto Vallarta. From there, they were to join several thousand other pilgrims and follow the highway to a small town with big shrine dedicated to a tiny little virgin. All on foot. Three days of hiking. Footprints.

So what inspires such devotion? Hilda shared the history of the Virgin of Talpa one morning in our kitchen. She was scrubbing the stove and I was loading the dishwasher. Here's my interpretation of her account in Spanish. Obviously something might have been lost -- but more probably added -- in translation. Here goes:

Like many appearances of the Virgin, it started in a farmer's field. This particular farmer thought he'd found a child's toy, a diminutive straw figure, no more than a foot tall. He carried it home, and a few days later presented it to the daughter of a neighbor some distance away. But his first night without the small doll under his roof, he had a very vivid dream. The doll announced that she was the Virgin, Queen of Heaven, and that she belonged there, in his house. She was not to be removed. She further admonished him, that if he didn't wish her presence under his roof, he was to destroy the doll.

Waking, he of course thought “Whoa, weird dream.” But AHA! There she was, the very doll he had carried away to his neighbor's place. She had returned, leaving a trail of tiny footprints behind her right up to his front door. He stared into her face and wondered if what he had experienced the night before was indeed a dream -- or was it a bonafide vision? Hmmm, Let's see, he thought. Taking his cigarette, he placed the lit end on her cheek. And the doll began to cry. The trace of the tear is still evident on the right cheek of the image lodged above the altar in the shrine. Because, of course, a shrine was inevitable. What else is a peasant to do when the Virgin puts her foot down? Build a shrine! Build a shrine!

Forgive the tongue in my cheek. Perhaps it is the phalanx of "formidable protector" portraits -- all male of serious and heavy-browed countenance -- hanging on the walls of the church-sponsored museum just behind the shrine at Talpa that makes me raise my eyebrows with just a smidge of doubt. Here are the bishops, one after the other down the centuries, all charged with the care and keeping of the tiny little virgin. These guys have sold a lot of souvenirs and hosted a whole slew of pilgrims over the years. In fact, according to the Bruce Whipperman guidebook to Puerto Vallarta and environs, the bishop of the church at Mascota, jealous of the success of the church at Talpa, twice kidnapped the little straw virgin and installed her in his church. And twice she came running back to Talpa, leaving little tiny footprints behind her.

Have a look at the photo album I posted on Shutterfly. (To do this, move your cursor to the left column of this blog. Look under "Links to More Info about Life in Mexico -- and Me," and click on "Susan's Photo Albums." The collection of photos I took in Talpa is there, and you can bring them up as a slide show.)

What I found most fascinating in that museum were the pictures, hundreds of them, drawn with all degrees of competence. Each depicts an instance where people felt the Virgin was protecting them. They date back to the 1940's, and taken in themselves, present a rich cultural history of Mexico and the dangerous situations that the rural poor can get into. Lots of bus crashes, knife accidents, and slips of the machete, as well as a fair share of bad guys lying in wait to ambush unsuspecting farmers staggering home from cantinas. There are "Thanks to the Virgin" (TTTV's, I've called them) for saving people from disease, death, and temptations of all sorts. Signs indicated that the examples posted represent hundreds more in storage.

Now it's not that I disbelieve in divine aid. Not at all. I've had too much in my own life to doubt that when a longing heart asks for help, there’s an answer. And I believe that that help comes in the particular form each individual is ready to recognize and accept. Expect the Virgin. You get the Virgin.

My quibble – and therefore doubting eyebrows -- is about the original story where the Virgin appears to a peasant. And there are several versions and several virgins across Mexico. Who actually documented those stories? Why have they endured? How is it that it these stories continue to inspire and transform people? What is it that seems to make them grow in influence rather than wane?

After asking these questions, I realize that whether or not the stories are true or not, isn’t the real issue. A story, true or false, continues to be told because it is needed. The most factual, well-balanced story of something that actuallyreallytrulyhappened will eventually fade from collective memory -- if there’s no need to retell it.

But who is it that needs these virgin appearance stories?

First of all, it just seems very convenient that virgin appearances to native people in Mexico seem designed to establish organized and orthodox Christianity (read, Roman Church and Spanish Government) smack dab on top of indigenous religious practices. It was on the hill of Tepeyac near present day Mexico City that the Virgin now named Guadalupe appeared to the Indian peasant farmer Juan Diego. This is the Virgin of Guadalupe often referred to now as "Goddess of the Americas." Tepeyac was the hill where the pre-Columbian goddess of Mesoamerica was worshipped in a number of forms. Some of them.....

Tonantzín -- mother goddess and lunar deity
Tlaltecuhtli -- goddess torn in two by rival gods, half her body thrown skywards to create the stars, the other half left behind to create the earth.
Cihuacoatl -- fierce skull-faced old woman, keeper of snakes, who carries the shield and arrows of a warrior.

Pagan goddesses, displaced, but not forgotten.

How convenient that so soon after the conquest, Juan Diego's dark-skinned Guadalupe should arrive on the scene, advising (in the nahuatl language, no less) that Indians should convert to the religion of their pale-faced conquerors, and, Oh yes. Build a shrine. Make it a big one.

Likewise, the Virgin of Zapopán appeared at a critical juncture in the struggle between Spanish soldiers and the native population around Guadalajara. She convinced the soon-to-be-conquered to lay down their arms and accept Christianity. The shrine built to her -- one of the three "miracle shrines" of Mexico -- is the one where my dentist's assistant slacked off -- walking on her knees only from the church entry to the altar, rather than doing it clear across the city.

Why are these virgin appearance stories needed and retold? Who told them in the first place? Who is telling them now?

Seeking aid or answers from a power beyond ourselves is a practice as old as human life on the planet. We've been doing it since learning to walk upright. The ancient of ancients attributed that help to a feminine source, drawing parallels from the human pattern they saw every day. It was Mom who fed and clothed, comforted and caressed, righted wrongs and sent bad little children to the “time out” corner of the teepee. Dad was out slaying beasts, bringing home bacon, backslapping and bonding, giving high fives to the rest of the guys. Dad was tired when he got back.

And so it was, across the globe, that Great Cosmic Mother morphed into a pantheon of female images and icons, each with particular offices that mirrored the duties of earth mothers everywhere. And it was these images and icons that were eventually deemed "pagan" by societies evolving -- or perhaps devolving -- into the ethos of ownership and hierarchies. Hunter-gatherers started farming and fencing, taking possession of the earth instead of belonging to it. And down the centuries --

Ta dah! Enter tribalistic Jehovah worship. Enter the Church of Rome. Enter Taliban thinking in all its gory glory. God got macho. Exit Great Cosmic Mother, stage right.

Well maybe. Sort of. I’ve noticed something about the gentle people I meet around here, and perhaps it's true of people close to the earth as a rule. Except when they’re driving, they will do almost anything to avoid confrontation. I see what people put up with around here and think it’s a wonder Mexico ever had a revolution. Accommodation, compromise, say what makes the gueros happy. Smile. But under it all...... footprints.

It was several years ago I spent a week in Morelia and visited the historical museum there. Lots and lots of little clay fertility goddess images were on display. The guide said the Indians used to plant them along with their seed corn. This blatantly pagan practice was forbidden by the conquering Spanish, who proceeded to put the best Indian craftsmen to work fashioning images of the Virgin instead. These were installed in the churches going up all over Mexico. It was hard work, but Indians have strong backs. Soon the Queen of Heaven reigned over rural congregations across the country.

Images of the Virgin were sacrosanct, treated with great care, venerated at the altar, hauled out on feast days and paraded through the streets. But one feast day in Morelia the bearers failed. They stumbled, and the huge platform on their shoulders went tumbling. The image of the Virgin shattered in the street. And, like a giant piñata, things fell out of her. Clay things. Little goddess images doing ….. ahem …. fertility things. Now where did those come from? Who could have put them there?

Little tiny footprints. We know the story. And here I've retold it yet once more. But whose little footprints are those, really?

Dealing with traffic -- and wheeled stuff

2008-05-06T14:04:00.010-06:00

I spoke too soon. Guayabitos looked lazy and deserted. I totally forgot that we were entering one of the biggest clump of holidays that Mexico celebrates -- a combination of Children's Day (April 30), Labor Day (May 3), Cinco de Mayo (which really isn't that big a deal down here, but a good excuse to party), and Mother's Day (May 10). Whew! A whole week worth of celebrations. The place is packed! Buses and buses and buses on that snakey little road, while insane people with flashy SUVs stitch in and out between them. And HONKING big trucks that crawl up the hills and gather unimaginable speed over the crest. The safest thing to do is get behind something huge, stay there, and let it run interference for you. I really don't mind going slow. It gives me a chance to read the inscriptions on all the little crosses and shrines beside the road. There seem to be a lot of them.

That's just the highway. In town there is a popular sport we've named competitive left hand turning. Games break out spontaneously, and they're just SO much fun. It goes like this. You are first in line in a left turn lane, (going onto the highway, coming off it, it really doesn't matter). Do not believe for a second that you have a corner on making that turn without company. There's the guy to your right in the straight ahead lane who really doesn't have time to get in line behind all you suckers in the left turn lane, but doesn't think a thing about holding up all the straight ahead traffic waiting behind him. After all, he has about fifteen people in the bed of his pickup truck, and numbers should count for something, right? Then there are the kids on the bicycles and motorcycles straddling the faint white line between you and the guy in the pickup. Usually there's a girl on the back of one with an interesting tatoo across where her jeans should be but aren't. That can be a tad distracting. AND then there's the guy to your left -- YES! to your left -- headed the same direction as you, only into oncoming traffic. He smiles and shrugs as if to say Well, why not? Those people across the intersection aren't actually using these lanes until the light turns green. And if it does turn green before he gets turned, they can always go around.

Let's be clear on this. CLHT is definitely not a team sport. It's every driver for himself.

As I write this, my main driver and all time Guaybitos Left Hand Turning Champ is in Washington State. We are reregistering all our various wheeled things, also known as Larry's toys. Some of you are interested in this, so I will elaborate. (I myself would skip straight to the Virgin of Talpa stuff in the next post, but each to his own). To recap -- Larry traded his much loved Fat Boy Harley, which we left in California with a "For Sale" sign on it, for a jeep. He did that sight unseen over the internet with the help of a lot of friends. Then he had Harley withdrawal symptoms and started to hyperventilate. At last, a "deal" was found in Texas. Some kind of classic Harley wonder bike that we picked up last year. (I just remember we went with the guy to pay off the loan he had on it. We went to the Happy State Bank, which still gives me a kick thinking about the name. I had a boss one time who refused to be on the board of a new bank until they changed its name. A group of West Texas movers and shakers were planning on building it near the airport, and with a blind eye to irony tried to charter it as Terminal State.)

But I digress. The new/old/totally classic and wonderful Harley is in a storage unit in San Antonio waiting for Larry to whirl through the Midwest this summer with an old high school friend and eventually bring it home to Mexico in September. It is a 1998, and there's some kind of red tape provision that this year in Mexico foreign vehicles built in 1998 can be "regularized," that is, get Mexican plates, with minimal outlay of paperwork and pesos. This would be a HUGE plus, as Harleys are like gold down here. Maybe it has something to do with competitive left hand turning.

So......now we also have a trailer to put said Harley in....another deal....more help from friends. The trailer is parked at their house outside of San Antonio. So that makes three scattered wheeley things to keep track of. Plus Hummercita down here, still wearing its LOVDSEA California vanity plates. Pricey plates. Someone has to pay for all that pretty iceplant on the freeway medians out there, but since we're no longer residents, we went looking for the state which would give us the best deal -- taking into account not only price of registration, but also price of insurance, and how often you have to show up and have something inspected. We also needed a place in Washington to call "home." Since I had a photo of my sister Amy's back yard vista out over the Hood Canal and up to the Cascades as my screen saver for about four years, I feel like that could be home. And she "gets" this absentee stuff. She and John were in Thailand for seven years, but "officially" they lived in Texas. And the lady at the DMV in WA said OK with her. At any rate, we are now official Washingtonians. It's cheap. All told the fees on four vehicles -- including title transfers and sales tax on the trailer -- came to less than half what it costs to register Hummercita for one year in CA. But it definitely wasn't easy.

Well, maybe easier than competitive left hand turning, but not half as entertaining.

Introducing Rumer Godden -- She would be at home in Mexico

2008-05-01T05:58:00.009-06:00

I've finally got "Blogger" up, just as I hear the six in the morning clang clang clang of the bell at the fishing village across the estero. It's taken almost thirty minutes to get through all the "updates" and assorted obstacles (in Spanish and in English, mind you) that impede the booting up process. Rumer Godden never had problems like this. She's my favorite British author and I've been reading her memoirs -- again. The volume I'm reading now, A House With Four Rooms, covers 1945 - 1977. She talks of getting handwritten manuscripts to competent secretaries who type them up on sturdy manual machines, not even electric. Maybe that's what my creative process needs -- less technology.

My mother-in-law Chloe and I shared a passion for Rumer Godden's books. (I can't just use her last name, as her sister Jon also wrote. Jon's books are terrifying, psychologically scary fiction that makes Stephen King look like a bumbling over-obvious oaf. I can't say I love Jon's novels, but they have stayed with me for years after reading them.) Like Chloe, Rumer left the earthly scene before email really caught on. It's hard to imagine either of them using it. Both were more sit-at-a-desk-in-a-morning-room-loved-fountain-pen-in-hand type ladies. I could never miss by giving Chloe pretty stationary for whatever occasion. She used it constantly, and some of my best mementos of her are notes she wrote, to me and to others. My favorite: "I just love Susan, Son. You're right. This is the one." It's been a bookmark of mine for years.

I've been re-making Rumer's acquaintance during these hot in the light, cool at night days as we slow down and come into summer. Do you know her? She died in 1998 at the age of 90, after having written around 60 books, the last published in 1996. Many of them were made into films -- Black Narcissus, The Battle of the Villa Fiorita, In This House of Brede, Greengage Summer, and the classic Jean Renoir-directed The River. Her novels all have a strong sense of place, no matter where the setting. There are many: a Greek Island, a small country French hotel, a monastery in the Himalayas, a villa on Lake Garda, a mews house in the middle of London.

But the ones I've been most entranced with are the ones set in India where she spent so much of her youth and young married life. She writes of hot sun, tiled floors, brilliant flora, dangerous fauna, polluted rivers and sparkling sea, market smells, dust, tropical health hazards, indigenous religious practices. Long quiet afternoons when no one stirs. It could be Mexico. Here. Now.

Because the vacancy signs are out now in gaudy little Guayabitos. There's a suspension of activity that coincides with the retreat of shadows. The beaches are deserted. Doorways are open but empty. Even the pelicans are quiet in midday, standing impervious to the sun on the tiny little sand-islet in the estero behind our house.

The sand bar beyond is still intact and blocks the river's exit to the bay. It will take a raging summer storm -- or man's machine -- to make the breach. PROFEPA, the Mexican equivalent of the EPA, is not eager for this to happen. While the water of the estero looks beautiful, no one in their right mind would venture to swim there. The sewage treatment plant upstream is for all practical purposes, non-functioning. That water -- green, silent, inviting -- is deadly.

But for now the beach and the bay are safe, pollutants held captive by a strip of sand a few meters wide. Early morning, depending on the tide, the fishermen launch from the village, gun their boats and make it almost across. Scraping hull. Scrunchy stop. Shouts, shouts, shouts as all jump out and push, push, push into the salt water waves beyond. Once more the engine revs, the craft escapes. The pelicans, wheeling and squealing encouragement from above, settle once more on the round patch of sand they abandoned in an upward rush moments before. They stand now, circled like awkward feathered sentries caught off guard, shifting webbed foot to foot in the heavy hot air, barely a ripple breaking around them.

The evenings are more animated. White egrets bank around the river curve, skim the surface in flights of three, six, then ten, twenty, thirty, more, settling with great flapping of wings and noisy negotiations in the tree on the large island in the river behind us. We listen to them from the verandah. "You're on my branch! No mine, mine!" Their immense number is doubled by reflection in the water. They'll stay through the night if something doesn't disturb them. Last week at almost midnight, I lay floating on my back in the swimming pool, eyes closed, breathing and listening in the dark. A sudden noise and I looked upwards. Great white stars swirled madly overhead. Had the earth sped its orbit??!! The stars were so stable, stuck like jewels on black velvet when I'd first closed my eyes. No. It was egrets, startled from their perches revolving round and around, upward and outward in great circles, their great white wings reflecting light from the street lamps below. If they were squawking the wind carried their protests above and beyond my hearing. All was eerily silent. Except for .... laughter. Snickers floated across the dark water. Young men. Rocks. I pulled a towel around me and headed back upstairs.

This week we've been lighting candles on the verandah after the sun goes down, turning on the fans, and feasting on the results of a cooking binge I went through last weekend. We've been grazing in good company. Monday it was old friends Victor and Linda (there's a link to her blog on this site) meeting new friends Agnetha and Ezra -- the mother and son who will be renting our house for three months this summer while Larry and I wander around the States. My instincts were right. Victor and Agnetha share the same metaphysical wave length. The rest of us bobbed and drifted in their wake. Tuesday it was new friend Ann and her ex-husband but still good friend Elias, a giant cherub of a man who makes films about his native Mexico. There was also Juan, another film maker who is making a television series about the coast of Nayarit. And Roberto and Eddie, new friends I've known forever, ready to take the summer off and plan for next year's events at Xaltemba. Shades of the last ten years! I'm going to be curating a month of women's history events for them in March! Last night there was talk of movies and art and books. Elias, to his surprise, was a Rumer Godden fan, though he didn't know it. He knew the films. So did Juan. And Roberto had just been introduced through the short book, The River.

But Lucy is gone -- off for a week in Mexico City with her departing-back-to-England friend Selena. Selena looks like a twenty-something Iman, and for the past two and half months she brought a welcome bit of exotic glamour to our neck of the jungle. Half Sri-Lankan, she could easily have stepped out of a Godden novel. Besides that, she was sweet and genuine -- exactly what you'd expect Lucy's best friend to be. Lucy, when she returns, may be moving into the bedroom/study upstairs on the roof. We are, after all, her "official" address in Mexico. It will be nice to have her close -- watching the birds, swinging in the hammock, gazing at the stars. I'll bet she knows who Rumer Godden is. If not, I'll introduce her.

"On the fringe," -- Full tilt and full throttle

2008-04-25T18:53:00.005-06:00

An email I got from a friend the other day got me thinking about Larry and me and a lot of the people around us. My response was sort of like this....

"I've been thinking about how you and xxx have talked about calling it quits. I wonder how many times Larry and I have had that conversation over the years – and it will be thirty-nine of them this summer. We are the case of polar opposites attracting, and it's not always comfortable.

Being married is HARD. It is NOT a rose garden. Or if it is, it is still hard work, with lots of scratches, punctures and manure. But it is so worth it. It’s a wonder-filled experience that helps us evolve. What greater adventure could we have than to find new ways to love and be loved?"

One of the sweetest things about being down here is witnessing the strong marriages around us. I'm talking gringos here. These are people who have stepped out into a foreign land together and are depending primarily on each other for companionship -- understanding, sympathy and comfort. Someone referred to Larry and me the other day as "you people on the fringe." They were talking about those who take risks, step outside the norm. I guess moving to Mexico would qualify, though more and more people seem to be doing it. I'd say, more and more people are "getting it." And that's what long-term companionship is all about -- "getting" each other, even if you are two totally and completely different individuals.

Letting other people be themselves and loving them unconditionally through their process of becoming.....whatever.....that is a mind-blowing spiritual practice of putting off ego. The added side effect is that the less ego we carry around, the more inclined we are to let ourselves go. That's when the creative juices start flowing. You might call it "self-expression." I think it's more Self-expression -- giving outlet to Creator Spirit in infinite, quirky and wonderful ways. It makes for a very supportive community.

I saw this last Sunday afternoon at Mateja's on the beach. It's a bar and grill, a gringo hangout. My friend Amy and her husband John brought their karaoke machine down and a good time was had by all. Mexicans, like Japanese, absolutely adore karaoke. I've got a previous blog about how music just seems to spill out of every doorway down here. Whether it's a party boat raucus and rowdy offshore, or a birthday party in the poorest part of La Penita, there's music -- full tilt and full throttle.

So we "fringe people" were just joining the Mexican mainstream, singing. Loudly. After all, we were in competition with the other loud music next door to the north, and the other loud music a few beach restaurants south. Amy sang lots of the sixties stuff she loves and does so well, and I sang a few Patsy Cline classics. (Hey, I was born in Texas. It's in my blood.) Then Mateja got her courage up and sang "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden." I think it resonated with a lot of us who have many, many years invested in our marriages.

And then Kate got up and sang "The Master of the Stars," to her husband of just a few years. She sang it in that awful off key way that Cameron Diaz did when she was ambushed by Julia Roberts in "My Best Friend's Wedding" -- but there wasn't a dry eye at Mateja's because Kate meant every word of it. (You'll have to google the lyrics. It's a Clint Black country song. I hadn't heard it before, and I doubt if you have. And I SURE wouldn't recognize it from the way Kate sang it....but the lyrics were terrific.) And then I sang "Wind Beneath My Wings" to Larry. It was all SOOOO schmaltzy, and so much fun. We walked out holding hands.

It's invigorating to be around people who are loving each other extravagantly, "full tilt and full throttle," not stinting on affection and attention -- loving generously, tenderly, with an open spirit. Rejoicing. Singing. Dancing. That kind of love is like doing a cannonball jump into the deep end of life. Everyone around you gets splashed. Even people who haven't put a toe in the water get wet.

Don't hold back on one ounce of love. It's a blessing to your marriage, and a blessing to the world. With lots and lots of love to the both of you, always,
Susannah"

Into the hills and history

2008-04-20T22:23:00.006-06:00

Where did the week go? Well, for one thing we spent a big chunk of it up in the mountains. We went with our neighbors Danny and Nancy up to Mascota, Talpa, and San Sebastian del Oeste. It's ugly, awful. Stay away. Never go there.

Yeah, right. The only thing saving it right now from an influx of land-hungry gringos and rich Guadalajarans is that the people in the mountains are "real proud" of their property -- a euphemism for saying they're asking nose-bleed prices. The only thing we could figure out is that all the natives think that now there's a paved highway connecting Puerto Vallarta to Guadalajara through Mascota, and what used to be a day's drive can now be done in two hours, everyone in Mexico and the United States will be beating a pathway to their door. Well, maybe. But when someone is asking $8,000,000 pesos for a property similar to one that rents for $3,000 pesos a month....reality check, please! Renting is sure the better option for a while.

It's something to consider if we start spending more time down here through the summers. For now, and for short stays, I vote for Meson Santa Elena, where we spent two nights. The largest suite upstairs behind the patio was around $700 pesos a night. Breakfast was an extra $80 pesos, and it just kept coming and coming and coming. We sat in that chilly-in-the-shadows-heaven-in-the-sunshine patio from 9 to 11 in the morning, grazing through one dish after another, listening to great music and just enjoying each others' company. OK, here's what we got in the order received: Coffee spiced with cinnamon...fresh pineapple/papaya juice or the sweetest fresh orange juice I've ever had...a basket of crispy thin (anise-flavored?) cookies, cakes, and pan dulce...a fruit plate with fresh pineapple, yogurt, and granola....omelettes to order served with bacon, frijoles, and chilaquiles....plus all the little side dishes of chopped onion, chicharrones, salsa fresca, crema (not quite sour cream)....then (for dessert??!!) sweet corn tamales that were light and fluffy melt-in-your-mouth. And that coffee and orange juice just kept pouring forth.

Like I say, about 11:00 we waddled forth ready to explore Mascota. We didn't even make it the three blocks to the plaza before we found ourselves in a real estate office, and Danny being Danny and Larry and me interested bystanders, we made plans to meet up later that day. But first, after Mascota's plaza, I insisted we go to Talpa.

I'd been wanting to go since Hilda, my housekeeper, had told me about her plans. Millions of people visit Talpa every year, and this year Hilda, her son and her mother, plus husband Chano are making the pilgrimage. Tuesday May 6, they'll go to San Juan de Abajo, a small town outside of Puerto Vallarta, and begin a three day trek up the mountains and then down the dizzying Espina del Diablo (Devil's Spine), through a large orange stucco archway that says "Bienvenidos Peregrinos" which spans the narrow highway, and make it to the basilica in time for a Mass to the Virgin of the Rosary Friday afternoon, May 9. Having just driven that road, it is NOT something I would ever consider in my wildest dreams.

Neither would the dentist's assistant who filled me in on the whole Talpa scene while I was lying in the chair last Friday mouth agape. (Oh yeah. That's the OTHER thing that went on last week). She said that she had made the pilgrimage to Talpa, but that she rode in a coach which went ahead and set up camp for the pilgrims and provided them food and water along the way. Much better choice in my book. She told me some do the trek barefoot with nopales (that's prickly pear cactus leaves) tied to their shoulders. Again, not her thing. The most she's done is on her knees from the entry door at the basilica in Zapopan up to the altar. Slacker.

Zapopan, Talpa, and Mexico City -- those are the three MAJOR miracle virgin shrines in Mexico. They have major fiestas when there are millions of people who invade them, but they're pretty busy any time of the year. I took pictures. I'll get them onto Shutterfly in an album and talk more about this later. This kind of religion makes Danny, Nancy and Larry hinky as all get out. They indulged me. I kept saying you had to look at it like a cultural anthropoligist -- or an artist. I want to know how people tick -- what's going on in the hearts and heads around me in this country. My travel companions gave me tight little understanding smiles, nodded and made polite comments. They couldn't get out of there fast enough.

So we looked at property until the sun went down. Literally. Sometime in the late afternoon we ate again -- and I think once more LONG after the sun had gone down. It's a blur. I remember lots of thick rock walls crossing fields, adobe houses with tile roofs, and clouds of purpe jacaranda trees in bloom everywhere. It felt like Provence, only there the purple is in the lavender fields. I wonder if anyone has ever thought of growing lavender near Mascota?

I just couldn't face another marathon breakfast the second day. That's when we went to San Sebastian, whose praises I have already sung in a previous post. Nancy and Danny had never been, so we had to show them around the little town we love. The main difference this time is that the Hotel Pabellon has changed hands and I didn't find the atmosphere as welcoming. The Italian restaurant Minas Real wasn't open yet. But we did meet Debra of La Galera Hacienda Esperanza -- the place which had intrigued me on my two previous visits but had seemed unoccupied. Turns out she just opened for business this past January. And her guests in February -- Pat Smith and her artists' workshop -- the same group I went to Antigua with! There was one of Pat's paintings hanging in the living room. Pat does pick pretty places and she travels with nice people.

Pretty places. Nice people. We have no shortage of those. Home looked pretty good even after a short trip like that. And right now BED looks like the prettiest place of all. Night, All!

Spring cleaning, getting organized, running with the night owls

2008-04-12T02:42:00.003-06:00

For now the last of the houseguests have fled, leaving in their wake much cleaner storage spaces and much larger disk space. Or at least a group of computers who are more inclined to play nicely together. My sister Amy installed the scanner I bought when we moved down here a year or so ago. You know, the one with the special attachment for scanning slides which I was going to do in all my spare time. Her husband John, after installing the very nice printer that came for free with the Mac I bought last November and which I hadn't yet taken out of the box, sat in my office, going through boxes of electronic spaghetti, asking me hard questions like: Do I really want to keep a Sony Walkman that only plays cassette tapes? Do I really have need for a laptop which has no slot for CDs and takes only little hard disks? Am I aware that ZIP drives are now considered museum pieces? Do I ever consider throwing ANYTHING away?

Well, John, NO, I don't! I don't have the brave in-your-face self-confidence to jettison stuff that looks important and electronic and has mysterious end pieces that might fit something sometime. And failing that, might possibly be used to tie back tomato vines...if I ever felt inclined to plant any. Honest! That's the reason I used to keep old panty hose. But on second thought let's not even begin discussing my lingerie situation, which is probably as archaic as my collection of electronic equipment. Rusty and dusty. That's me in so many ways.

So, I think I need to start blogging again. It's sort of like limbering up for the day, getting the creative juices flowing and the fingers moving on the keyboard. Besides, I miss you guys -- whoever you are reading this. I don't want to lose touch! The weather is warming up and I can now crawl out of bed again in the middle of the night to attack my keyboard without freezing my petukis off....whatever that is. Use your imagination. I do. From talking to my neighbors, I think every pre and post menopausal woman is up during the wee small hours letting her imagination go wild -- reading, writing, painting pictures. Shoot, Nina across the estero paints her WALLS -- deep red, sap green, violeta and mustard. (Maybe that's why she can't sleep -- the colors keep her awake!)

But Nina's headed north like many of our neighbors. It's getting quiet once more in the zona. Most of us here on Golondrinas, however, will be holding out until the end of May, slowing things down, taking it easy, taking time to paint, read and write. Hmmmm. Now, pass me that 1040 and let's see how creative we can REALLY get.

How I Spent Semana Santa

2008-03-30T18:42:00.004-06:00

Hello everyone! This is Maria from Antigua, and I bought a BUNCH of stuff from her. How could I resist? Frankly I was on sensory overload most of the time I was away. Guatemala is another word for COLOR!!!!!

I've been trying to post some of the photos I took on the trip into an album on Shutterfly, and I'm not doing a very good job of it. It still needs work, but I'm about ready to throw in the towel for today. If you go to the link on the left side bar that says "Susan's Photo Albums" you'll find a NUMBER of albums....evidently I keep entering info and duplicating it. But pick the most recent one with 60 photos and play it as a slide show. You can slide right through and make it go fast. I didn't even post any photos from the painting class, the market in Chichicastenango, or any of the amazing flora and fauna.

I haven't figured out how to put the comments or descriptions in where they're supposed to be, so I'll give you a little background here on what I DID post. Mona Cavalli (a neighbor of mine from down here) and I travelled with a group from Puerto Vallarta to spend ten days painting with an artist who spends half her time in PV and half in Wisconsin. She rented a large casa on the outskirts of Antigua where most of the group stayed. That's the big white house you'll see in the first photo. We met there every day and painted in the garden and around the pool.

Mona and I, however, stayed in the Hotel Aurora right in the middle of town, just a couple of blocks from the main plaza. You can see what a pretty place it was. They served us breakfast every morning in that sunny patio area. The rate was $65/night for the two of us, for those inquiring minds who want to know! :-)

We were happy we were in town, because beginning Palm Sunday, there were processions at all hours of the day and night, and we were right in the middle of all the action. It was absolutely medieval and mysterious. We would hear the dirge like music coming from big drums, tubas and horns -- sometimes at 2:00 in the morning! Then we'd whiff the incense that came rolling up in great clouds of copal. I couldn't resist running to the front gate of the hotel to watch as purple robed figures swayed in unison carrying huge platforms with images of Jesus or the Virgin on top. (Guys carry Jesus, women carry Mary.) They walked solemnly through the streets and over carpets of flowers residents laid out as offerings. I hope you get a sense of how eerie and mysterious it all seemed from the photos. I felt like I was back several centuries -- and then I'd see the sunglasses, or the iPod earbuds, or see some of the members of the hermandades (fraternal orders) talking on or snapping pictures with their cellphones.

Enjoy the photos. They're colorful and interesting, no matter what shape the collection is in right now. I'm going down the street to play Mexican train dominoes!

Hello/Goodbye! ..... At least for a while

2008-03-05T05:05:00.002-07:00

Score! Interest from an editor! Got to get my bottom in the chair and get busy with what to send and how to send it.

Looking at a host of houseguests. Sisters! At last! Emily, Jay, and Meredith come for a week this Saturday, and the first of April, Amy, John and JP come for a week. In between I'm spending ten days in Antigua over Semana Santa, painting. So, Hello/Goodbye. See you sometime in April!

When in Doubt, Fade Out

2008-02-18T06:34:00.003-07:00

That's the counsel of the watercolor teacher who has been giving our artists' group lessons this past month. The sessions have dealt with "negative painting." Basically, you see a shape or object, and paint around it, washing over what's gone on the paper before. This way you create deeper and deeper contrasts and layer upon layer of color. This is the most recent piece I did using this technique. I call it "Wings," and it's going to be in a show that our group is mounting at the Xaltemba Gallery and Restaurant. The opening will be February 29, which is just a few days after Larry and I get back from New York City.

And there's another story -- About six weeks ago, I was wandering around the internet looking for a writers workshop to attend this summer. I stumbled across the New York Writers Workshop Non-Fiction Pitch Conference, and thought What the heck. I sent in a 100-word proposal for a book about our move here. I described it as "a collection of short essays: observations, meditations, and you might say prayers, inspired by life and culture here on Jaltemba Bay." I was accepted! Larry and I leave Wednesday from PV, off to a great adventure. (I think the major adventure is that he decided to go with me!)

So that's what I've been focussed on this past month or so, when it's been so quiet here on the blog. I've identified the major shapes in my life right now -- pitch conference and art opening -- and sort of washed color over everything else. That doesn't mean everything else has totally disappeared -- just faded to the background for a while.

And speaking of background -- For those of you who don't know how "links" work, place your cursor over the purple underlined words in this entry, and when you see the little hand, left click your mouse. It will take you to a site that gives more information about what I'm talking about. Hasta la vista for now!

He's back in action!

2008-02-09T12:46:00.000-07:00

Larry is visiting some of his So Cal beach buddies this week. Looks like he's feeling no pain! Hooray!
http://dapointtwo.blogspot.com/2008/02/back-by-popular-demandcobbo.html

Still here, just busy

2008-02-01T10:10:00.000-07:00

Touching base via blog to let everyone know we're here, going strong, and somehow occupied. Larry has been involved with glamorous activities like visiting the sewage treatment (hah!) plant, and scoping out places to put garbage cans. I've been involved with REAL glamour. Here's a link to some pretty pictures of the annual fashion show. Fun event, seeing everyone scrubbed up and gorgeous. Felt really weird putting on eyeliner and lipstick!
http://jaltembasol.com/Archives/2008/February%202008/February%201/February%201%20page%202.htm

At long last....news!

2008-01-22T04:02:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, right? I'll admit it. I'm a fair weather blogger. It's hard to type when you're wearing mittens. OK, OK. I don't HAVE mittens down here. But I would be wearing them if I had them. I'm wearing everything else in the closet. Forty four degrees the other morning in Mazatlan! And it hasn't been much better around here. These big thick walls have grown colder and colder and colder, so when I do finally crawl out of bed (comforters, heating pad), I want that sun up and shining.

But mainly we've had cloud cover, and I've resorted to cooking breakfast in the morning, just to get heat from the stove. Yesterday at last we had sunshine, nice warm stuff, and we "natives" shed our sweatshirts, mufflers and socks, joining the hoards of toad-belly white Canadians in shorts and tank tops who are marching up and down our streets revelling in temperatures that don't have minus signs in front of the numbers. It's all a matter of perspective, I suppose.

So, this is a catch up, newsy kind of entry, just to let everyone know what we've been doing since I last "blogged."

We are still getting Christmas cards! The bulk of them arrived the second week in January. I love this mail system -- Christmas lasts so much longer! But yes, I took down the tree. My concentration has shifted to our roof garden.

Here are a few pictures of our new place to hang out. (That's a ha ha hamaca joke.) Note also the chiminea. It's been getting some use. Feels nice and warm to have your back -- or at least your knees -- up against a fire. Almost as heartwarming as a bunch of geraniums!

Another thing that feels nice and warm is getting involved with what's going on in the neighborhood. I've taken on the homeowners' association newsletter, which is actually another blog. Take a look at www.guayabitos.blogspot.com.

I've been painting with oils again, but it hasn't been on canvas. This is a project I've got going for the Friends of La Peñita fundraiser, which will be February 10, at the Hacienda La Peñita -- a block square residence and grounds across the estero from us. They asked for works from local artists in order to hold a silent auction. I bought this unfinished rocker at the market a while back, and decided to go wild. Not so intimidating as a big stretch of white.

But I'll get a crack at canvas soon enough. I've signed up for a ten day oil painting workshop in Antigua, Guatemala, March 15 - 25. If you've read this blog all along, you'll know that last spring I wanted desperately to go to a friend's wedding there, but just wasn't up to it physically. Well I saw the video of the wedding and the fun had by all before and after the event in and around Antigua. So when this opportunity presented itself, I grabbed it! I'll be staying at the Hotel Aurora with another painting friend from here in the Zona.

Another major charity and creative event is the annual Fashion Show -- El Desfile de Modas. It will be January 29, and there are about twenty or thirty models, including yours truly. We had a rehearsal last Tuesday, and there's another one today. As I absolutely tower over every other woman there, I think they recruited me for height -- and maybe size of head. Is this an amazing hat?

Lots of gringo women involved with this project, but lots of Mexican women and men, as well. Several objects: to raise money for projects benefitting women and children here in the area, and to showcase local designers, proving that Guayabitos offers more than fringy beachwraps and thong bikinis.

But the major news was, we had a teen-age college freshman boy in our midst for a week, our nephew Forrest from San Antonio. So our interests were sort of centered there for a while. We didn't travel far away, but hit a few out of the way attractions while he was here.
It had been a while since we'd been up to the Alta Vista petroglyph site (you can see pictures of former trips if you go to the link Susan's Photo Albums on the sidebar). It was so dark back in the canyon when we reached the pools that my flash kept going off when I shot a few more photos.

We took an afternoon and went to Chacala. The guys went off-road to a hidden surf beach, while I hung around Mar de Jade, a resort tucked up against the south cliff of Chacala Bay, which specializes in offering holistic vacation packages -- yoga, meditation, vegetarian meals, etc. My friend Victor (Linda's husband, Emily's dad -- see their blogs on my sidebar) goes there once a week to give chiropractic and acupuncture services to guests requesting it. See the pictures? Pretty place! This is my new friend, Anastasia, who is now headed back to California after taking care of Mar de Jade guest relations for the past several months.

I'm going to digress a little here. I am SO impressed by the twenty-somethings (and less than twenty-somethings) I've come in contact with recently. They give me big-time hope for the planet. They're truly wired differently than previous generations. Actually, I believe they're wireless, no strings attached. Multi-lingual, multi-cultural, non-denominational, racially mixed with no particular allegiance except to the planet and the universe. They're digital, requiring no rewind, or fast forward to be "in the moment." When they "want it all," they're talking about experience, not material goods. Tolerant, affirming, respectful, and observant -- most often at the speed of thought. It's like dealing with hummingbirds -- intense concentration and then phwt, gone. But when they do decide to linger -- like the hours Anastasia spent here one afternoon reading and swinging in a hammock, the time spent with Forrest under a clear, starry sky on the third floor deck, the stretch of afternoon spent here at Mar de Jade listening alternately to the waves of the Pacific and the life-thoughts of another young woman who wandered into my life (half Japanese, half English, raised in India, living in Mexico) -- what a gift!

And speaking of lingering, I may have stayed too long with this entry. Like we stay too long at the market Thursday mornings. Just hanging out with friends, having breakfast/lunch (tossed green salad with your omelette at Soley's, garlic toast on the side), trying to hold a conversation over the offerings of itinerant musicians. My friend Char and FOURTEEN friends from Puerto Vallarta came up a week ago last Thursday, and we descended on the Xaltemba Gallery and Restaurant (check it out, they now have a website!) The meal took about two and a half hours.

Nothing seems to go really fast right now, which is just about perfect.

How do you say "O Tannenbaum!" in Español?

2008-01-11T13:34:00.000-07:00

I don’t want to take down the tree. It’s still cold at night, and although the newfangled pre-wired, pre-lighted artificial fir we bought three years ago at Costco (and transported here at great expense) doesn’t give off a lot of heat, I love the way the lights reflect on the tile floors and in the glass of the framed art on the walls. On one side are brass rubbings, souvenirs from the labors of my sister Emily and my father-in-law Hank when both were in England – separate times, separate trips, brought together on a wall in Mexico. And perpendicular to them, a large abstract computer graphic, handiwork of Larry’s brother Jim. All that glass and tile, reflecting the tree.

Many of our decorations didn’t survive. Whether it was the move, the water in the basement or the humidity of the summer – only the fittest came through. Gone the salt and flour ornaments made in the Jackson family kitchen, hmmm, maybe thirty or more years ago. Gone the cowboy boot with Santa popping out that was a staple of the Cobb family Christmas since Larry was a little boy. Intact are the glass globes used as place cards: Christmas dinner, Café Mozart, San Juan Capistrano, 1980 something. Tiena, I still have yours. Do you have mine? Not too many of those couples are still together, but the memories still last on the tree.

As do photographs. Several years ago I discovered the joy of preserving family and friends’ photo Christmas cards by cutting out the faces and putting them in ornament frames, some handmade, some store-bought and elaborate. Every brother and sister, every niece or nephew, each parent is present and accounted for. So there’s always family around us during the holidays, even though they’re hanging from the branches of the tree.

And friends. There’s the Christmas day photo of Zoe and Nash, four-year-old twins just arrived and adopted from Brazil, romping naked on the sand at Capistrano Beach, new daddy Alan picking up clothes scattered on their joyful run toward the sea. My niece of the same age from Alaska, left standing on the beach, scandalized and embarrassed. Zoe and Nash each have two girls of their own now. But there they are – forever four on the tree.

There are dogs and kittys, too. ID tags worn by Velcro the cat, a wooden carving of Britta the yellow Lab, photos of keeshond Rascal, and other pets with their people. Sweetheart Alsatian Lajos is there from Switzerland, Daniel and Carol on either side. We need to get a picture of Kody, even though physically he’s indistinguishable from Rascal. He definitely deserves a branch on the tree.

And there’s us – memorialized through the ages and stages of about forty years together. Bell-bottomed, straight-legged, mini-skirted, skinny, thickening, thinning, long-haired, short-haired, brunette, blonde, platinum. Admittedly, some of those photos get their holiday outing on the far side of the fir. But look hard enough and you’ll find us – hanging out there on the tree.

I don’t want to take it down. But to make the job sweeter I bought a big square basket hamper at the tianguis a few weeks ago – just for Christmas decorations. The storage boxes brought up from the basement disintegrated completely, so our old trimmings will have a new home. The basket is multi-colored and gorgeous. It will have a permanent place under the equipale table in the cupola library, safe from the elements below, and ready to emerge next winter on the day after Thanksgiving. I won’t even have to knock away spider webs and go searching when we’re ready once again for Christmas, and the tree.

I WANT MY TROPICS BACK!!!!

2008-01-09T07:30:00.001-07:00

Ok, I'm blowing off yoga this morning and blogging instead. It's amazing how good health and sleeping all night has cut into my writing! Besides, it's COLD again. I have no desire to get up in the wee small hours and wander towards the computer. We're sleeping under comforters and when we do wake up, it's only physical desperation that gets us to venture out on those cold tile floors. Today I'm wearing fuzzy slippers instead of flips, and the idea of stretching out my yoga mat on a cold wet roof in the fog -- well, it's just not going to happen. Brrrrr!

A friend wrote me the other day, rebelling against the winter "blahs." I may have a case of them down here. Winter weather wouldn't be half so depressing if it didn't involve dealing with bureaucracy. Coming into a new year means taking care of business and facing up to issues left unresolved in the wind up and wind down of the holiday season. Sigh. Here are a few.....

Do we really want to make a "deal" out of that whopping big electric bill we received for November and December? Almost $10,000 pesos! DOUBLE what we were charged for those months during the summer when we had the air conditioner running full force. Is it a "blue eye tax?" No, because our Mexican neighbors got double-sized bills, too. Is the electric company just trying to cover their end of year aguinaldos -- those extremely generous Christmas bonuses that employers are required to pay those in their hire? Or did they finally read the meter and decide to "catch up" at year's end?
Do we pay our entire water bill for the year -- and get a 10% discount if it's done during January -- or join with other neighbors and pay just two months at a time, so at the end of this year when the water company stops delivering through the municipal pipes because they haven't paid the electric company and can't run their pumps, we can say -- no agua, no dinero!
Do we spend a day at the Bancomer branch here locally to pay our yearly fidecomiso -- the fee the bank collects for being a co-trustee on our property -- or drive into Puerto Vallarta and do the same thing in a fraction of the time at the "big" bank there? It's a question of spending time on the road or time in the bank. One way or another, we can plan on spending time. We just spent two and a half hours yesterday getting my signature on two documents notarized. Let me tell you, when something is made "official" down here, it is official with bells and whistles! You get silver decals, multi-colored seals, lots of ink impressions, pages of type-written statements establishing the veracity and credibility of the notario, and a signature with more flourishes and furbelows than a vaudeville stripper.
When we pay our yearly property taxes (about $200 dollars yearly, and we get a graduated discount the earlier we pay), do we try once again to make contact with the agency which governs the "federal zone" behind us? The former owner built a pool and patio out there, and technically we should be paying something yearly for the privilege of using property that belongs to the people of Mexico. We've been open about our willingness to do this. We've given our number to numerous uniformed officials with clipboards in their hands who promise to come make an inspection and tell us what we owe. Nada. Is this a boat we should be rocking?

Foggy bureacracies. Damp and soggy weather. They weigh heavy in January. Just a little sunshine, though, and the ocean becomes that deep cobalt blue laced with white ruffles that takes your breath away. Let a ray or two of light break through, and the egrets, huddling, shivering and complaining in the tree behind us, unfold, expand, and take to the skies. Hey, birds! Take me with you! I'm ready for lift off!

I can see clearly now.....

2008-01-02T06:37:00.000-07:00

The cold is gone. I woke to the palm fronds rustling on the east side of the house. The wind is off the mountains. It's warm! At last! It's like a promise of good things to come. Happy New Year, everyone!

The holidays have been dank and cold around here. Our house is designed to lose heat, and it's done an admirable job. I'd be happy if I were a penguin. Thank you Diane, for gifting me that little space heater from the Safe Harbor office! It's been a life saver and my constant companion.

I've just been up to the roof terrace. At last it's DRY up there, not slick and heavy with morning dew. Morning light: I've come down to paint you a picture --

There's a waning moon hung high over the mountains to the east, which, as I write are fading from deep purple, to maroon, to smoky green. The sky above is quickening into turqoise and streaks of pink which is echoed in the geraniums on the balustrade and the visiting roseate spoonbill down in the estero. I know it's a he because his color is deep. He's surrounded by white egrets and some little ducky kind of paddly birds. There's a cloud of white-breasted, scissor-tailed cormorants careening around overhead. They've got boomerang shaped wings and it looks like a kite tournament.

All this reflected in the estero, which, as it's high tide, is filled and glassy. The houses and fishing village are upside down in the water, double dinghies, double everything. And piled up on the hills behind are buildings and houses I now recognize as places where friends live -- Roberto and Eddy's verandah, Arla's roof, Victor and Linda's place just hidden by that group of palms. And across the estero on the other side, our friends Nina and Bob have painted their cupola royal blue with a celery green base and a deep red rim. Gringo gulch is getting more color!

We're home and happy and looking forward to the coming year. Our nephew Forrest is coming down in a week, my sister from Alaska and her crew will be here the first part of March, and the youngest sister with husband and son in tow will be here the first week in April. It will be good to share with family as much as with friends. Here's wishing you, your family and friends, the very best of New Year's hope, filled with warmth, color and promise -- and maybe a roseate spoonbill or two.

Ladies Who Lunch

2007-12-30T22:42:00.000-07:00

There was a time in my late thirties, maybe early forties, when I used to "do lunch." It was a regular "thing" with a group of seven women. We'd take turns treating each of us as a birthday girl. So at least once every two months we'd get together, catch up, go some place absolutely MAHvelous and flirt with the waiters. That was long ago and far away.

But it was deja vu all over again yesterday in Puerto Vallarta. I had lunch with my friend Char, a PV transplant from Dana Point, with some of her friends at The River Cafe. White linens. Lots of open air atmosphere. Innovative entrees stacked up like pep rally bonfires with little sauce squiggles. Nice. Two tables over and up behind us the waiters were singing "Las Mañanitas." Someone's birthday. Sigh. Those waiters were cute -- and they sounded good.

I'd forgotten what a luxury it is to get dressed up and spend.....hmmm....would you believe three and a half hours? over lunch. Just talking, grazing, laughing and discovering common interests and very diverse origins. The women there are PV residents now, but they come from all over the world -- Goa, Australia, Ireland, Vancouver, to name a few. Char is the consumate networker, always pulling another party or connection out of the deep bag of her friendships.

Maedb (can you tell she was one of the Irish ones) has just bought a lot right on the River Cuale with a big mango tree in the middle of it, and she's building an adobe house around it. By herself. Here she's telling Patricia all about it....Patricia who teaches week long classes in oils -- one of which I may take this March in Antigua, Guatemala -- running away from Semana Santa in Guayabitos....

And when you're out to lunch, you never can tell who might drop in. This guy fell out of the tree and made quite a stir when he landed next to the table behind Char. He preened for everyone's camera and then wandered off to climb back up a tree. Now that was something that would never happen in Newport Beach.

Thanks Char! Thanks everyone! Loved meeting each one of you! It was great coming into the big city from out here in the sticks and going some place besides Walmart, Sam's Club, or Home Depot. You all were MAHvelous, darlings. Absolutely MAHvelous.

Christmas wants and wishes -- Lo que Dios quiere

2007-12-23T12:52:00.000-07:00

"See you tomorrow! Nos vemos mañana!" I say to the painter.

His response is standard for La Peñita, the Mexican reminder that it is man who proposes and God who disposes: "Si Dios quiere." He tips his Comex-emblazoned cap. Comex makes the best paint, and we've bought a lot of it. It is, however, Javier's wardrobe that has been supplemented: hats, t-shirts. Shoot. The rate we're going, Comex will be buying his daughter's wedding dress.

"Dios better quiere," I think. The two week paint job we contracted for stretched for seven weeks. Not really Javier's fault. "Señor Jim...." Javier starts to explain, and shrugs his shoulders.

"I know, I know." And I shrug my shoulders, too. Señor Jim is who we bought the house from, a man not known for going top of the line, unless we're talking "top of the water line," which he buried ONE INCH below the entrance to the drive way. Driving over it with a one-ton van and breaking it was our first clue that all was not as it appeared to be with our dream house.

And so when Javier's workers started scraping off black fuzzy lama from the rainy season and old paint from who knows when, interesting things came to light. Like a natural rock wall facing the sidewalk. It was sheet rock, for heaven's sake, covering this feature! But uncovering it required reforming and painting a defining border around it, and buying a special treatment for the rock -- which sort of evened out the various tones -- like liquid foundation makeup works on some faces.

Larry also had some inspirations -- like outlining the windows in red and painting the brick mortar white, painting the cupola blue and the little thingy on top of it deep purple to match the gate across the driveway. It's been time-consuming, but the effect is a lot more detailed and elegant.

And all along each side of the house, scraping would uncover not just flaws but holes. Those italics are for emphasis. "Holes" is not a Spanish word. It is pure English and means gaping big vacant places, which required major repair work. We can only imagine that through the years further explorations were made to find more hidden cash caches like the $40,000 one former owner uncovered. (For those of you new to the blog, one of the former inhabitants of our house was a drug lord, who -- Javier tells me -- did not actually own the house, but rented it from TV producer Sandy Frank's administrator. And yes he was shot in the street outside, and evidently did have a habit of keeping large amounts of cash hidden around the house. You can go back and read more at House with a History.)

Back to the saga of the paint. I think Dios DOES quiere. Quiere may mean "wants," but it also means "loves." I think God loves this house as much as we do, even if what God wants can seem a little hazy to us at times. Call it God's will, good karma, hard work, or better spiritual cooties, my friend Patricia believes we're redeeming Casa San Juan from its sordid past. Whatever. Loving something,tending to it -- paying attention -- always makes a difference.

So we put up the tree, set out a nativity scene, lots and lots of candles, and we're having ten guests to share Christmas dinner. I'm hauling out crystal, china, silver and tablecloths that have been in storage for years. Heck, we're gonna USE this stuff!!!! Let's have a Christmas that matters, and wish everyone the same!

Our Christmas wish for you is that you feel tenderly loved and cared for like the child of the Creator you are. Let that tender love fill your vacant places and make smooth your past ravages. May you be embellished and adorned, perfumed and puttered over, and may the twinkly lights of inspiration crown your balustrade and warm the center of your being. The gift of Christmas is perpetual: Dios nos quiere, cada uno. Dios loves us -- each and every one!

Anniversary Waltz

2007-12-16T06:30:00.000-07:00

This is my fella dancing with Ventura. Ventura and Antonio are padrinos of our housekeeper, Hilda, and they were celebrating 50 years of marriage yesterday. We were invited, so we got all gussied up and Jeanette took our picture before we left.

The mass where they renewed their vows began at noon in the church in Guayabitos. The family had it all decked out for the occasion with big bouquets of yellow, gold and white mums.

Larry and I slipped in early, and I caught this view of the "bride" getting some last minute support from her family and friends.

Groom Antonio was waiting at the altar, while the priest came down the aisle from the altar to welcome the wedding party into la casa de Dios. No ushers. The family trooped up the aisle right behind Ventura. (Up the aisle? Down the aisle? Which is which?) But in front of Ventura were her godparents, or padrinos, the elegant looking couple in white. This term carries a lot of weight in Mexico. Not only is the godparent charged with the religious education of a child, but is also the designated "protector" or "patron" throughout life.

There were cute little girls passing out recuerdos -- souvenirs -- of the event. . .

and one young lady who was much more interested in us than in what was going on down front.

After the service, it was picture taking time. Everyone had their photo taken with Ventura and Antonio. Including us. But Hilda couldn't work my camera. The blonde in the yellow dress (you'll see her in the reception pictures, she's a granddaughter of Ventura's and quite a knockout) promised to email a copy of one she took. We'll see! Anyway, here's the one I took of Hilda and Chano, Ventura and Antonio.

After the mass, everyone piled into cars and we did the honking, shouting, whooping thing as we headed to the reception in La Colonia. First we made a detour into La Peñita going all the way up the main avenue and back down the other side. (There's that up and down thing again.) Larry had to keep honking his deedly-deedly horn, so people would know the gringos bringing up the rear in a Hummer were definitely part of the party.

Ventura and Antonio's house had a nine-piece mariachi band from Las Varas waiting on the front porch. There were four violins, two trumpets, a bass guitar, an alto guitar, and a regular guitar. They were great! They sang for two hours straight.

A new load of gravel had been put down in the street in front of the house where the tables and chairs were set up. Wedding guests made a roadblock with their cars to protect the party space. Too bad, if you wanted to leave early. We didn't. Unlike most of the other ladies present, I was wearing comfortable shoes. I've found that killer cute heels are death on cobblestones, but that doesn't seem to phase women in Mexico.

This little girl has a long gravelly road ahead of her. Get used to it, Honey. Those Mary Janes are like cuddly slippers next to what you've got waiting in a few years.

The menu consisted of birria (beef stew). That's it. Lots and lots of birria, cooked for a long time over a wood fire in the lot beside their house. People ate it wrapped in tortillas spread with salsa, garnished with raw onion and topped with a squeeze of lime. If not elegant, at least simple.

Larry talked at length with Antonio and Ventura's one son, Jesus. They call him Chuy -- pronounced "chewy." He was down from L.A. where he is a naturalized citizen. He left his mother and father and seven sisters to head to el otro lado -- the other side -- when he was seventeen. It is thanks to him that they have this house. He talked about the birria, and the difference between here and the States, where he worked for Ralph's. "We killed this cow yesterday," he said. "In the States, by law you've got to wait ninety days after it's killed before you can sell or eat beef. No wonder people get sick from it. Here, we wouldn't think of eating any beef over two days old." Ahem. Have to say. I've sort of turned into a fish or fin person myself. Conversations like this don't make me really long for a burger -- on either side.

Well, there was also beer. Lots and lots of beer. And refrescos, soda pop "for the old women and children." And, of course, a commemorative bottle of tequila on each table.

Larry stood in line and pinned a bill to the back of Ventura's dress and claimed his dance. The women were doing the same with Antonio, but I was deep in conversation. Besides, someone had to take pictures, right?

Long shadows in the streets when it was finally time for us to head home. There's nothing like a wedding celebration, especially for a long-lived marriage, to make people appreciate family and fidelity.

Just to let you know.....

2007-12-14T21:14:00.000-07:00

....I'm still trying to make friends with my new Macbook, but I keep skulking back to keep company with PC Nellie. She's kind of clunky, messy and slow, but she understands me, laughs at my jokes, you know -- she gets me. Mac just stares blankly when I try to start a conversation. I've been told I'll love him when I get to know him. It hasn't happened yet. But some of my best friendships have been slow off the starting blocks.

Larry and I just returned from a night out on the town. First we took a baby gift over to La Colonia. This is a dirt road village, hidden jewel kind of a place, where our friends Jeanie and Dennis live. (See the link to Jeanie's blog over there on the left sidebar.) Right now almost every house is decked out in multi-colored blinking lights, even the hovel perched on the edge of the estuary as you come into town. There are homemade altars everywhere, dedicated to the Virgin -- and to Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, if you listen to the recorded music coming from some of them. But picturesque. Very pictureresque. Then we went into La Peñita and had tortas at our favorite torta stand. We topped off the evening with ice cream. More about that later.

In other news:

Yesterday we said goodbye to Javier and his painting/roofing crew. I could look back in this blog to find the date when they began working, but it's WAY back in the archives. I think we've paid him about a jillion pesos. It was always something. Not his doing, but former owners. A painter would start to scrape a wall, and a huge hole would open up behind a thin veneer of patchwork. Or a whole sheet of plaster would fall off and reveal -- WOW -- a natural rock wall. And of course, Leo finally showed up tonight (two weeks late) with the new wrought iron door to the bathroom beside the pool. Hack, hack. Drill, drill. Weld, weld. Aggggh! Javier!!! Touch up!

This morning Larry came in almost-contact with the drug lord who has a beach house nearby. He-who-shall-not-be-named (at least in this blog) was in town to throw his annual Virgin of Guadalupe party. He books a major recording artist each year, and they start playing about three in the morning, December 12, but nobody around here has filed any complaints. (Well, hey, the church over in La Peñita has a pyrotechnic exhibition about the same time, so Who ya gonna call?) Well, the fun is over for another year, and this morning four Blues Brothers look-a-like body guards were stopping traffic on Avenida Sol Nuevo. Larry was first in the line and watched as a black-clad couple (he with a paunch, she with a slit skirt) emerged from the neon yellow house near the new bungalows and slipped into a long black limo. Off they went in a convoy of three vehicles: the limo in the middle, black BMW SUVs fore and aft. Hasta la bye bye! See you next year!

Did I mention I have become a karaoke diva? Of course not. I just started last night. Don't ask . Please. This "new lease on life" thing has led me into areas of expression I've only dreamed about. I can only say that my rendition last night of She had every Charles Aznavour fan in the place -- all two of them -- starry-eyed and dreamy.

Only two more things to mention:

First: Tonight we found really GOOD ice cream in La Peñita. I mean over the top delicious, like that famous gelato from Florence. This is a landmark event, worthy of being recorded. It has come to our attention through repeated trial and error, that not all ice cream vendors called "La Michoacana" (and which run about one per block in most Mexican towns) are created equal. In fact, most are pretty inferior, selling a product that is bland, sweet, coats your mouth, and leaves a funny aftertaste. This particular vendor, is "La Michoacana" one block from the ocean end of the main avenue, on the corner just across from Rocio's hair salon.

Try the plain vanilla, just TRY it! And the rum raisin. And the calabaza con piloncillo (that's pumpkin and brown sugar, special for the holidays). And the fresh peach frozen yogurt. You'll also want to compare the fresh strawberry frozen yogurt with the fresh strawberry ice cream. You might have to go back and forth several times to get a real appreciation for the difference. I did. Actually I did all this....and more. Oh dear. A whole lot more.

And last: Mañana we've got a marathon 50th wedding anniversary celebration to go to. Hilda's compadres (that's God-parents, and it's a really Big Deal down here) will renew their vows in a noon time mass at the Guayabitos church, which will be followed by a meal, which will then evolve into dancing. Maybe fireworks? There always seem to be fireworks this time of year. I hope there are fireworks. Larry promises to get spiffed up for the occasion. Here's one more thing I hope: that this promise means more than a new T-shirt. Are you reading this, Honey? Are you remembering this? I love you!

Up on the roof -- all day and into the night

2007-12-10T21:30:00.000-07:00

I'm not blogging as much as before because I'm healthy again and getting a full night's worth of sleep. One reason I'm sleeping well is because I climb stairs all day long. Here's the way today went, for example....

Up at 5:30. Kody needs out. First walk is around the cul-de-sac. Larry usually does this while I get my head on straight and get right with the world. It's great to do this from the top of the roof as light breaks over the mountains.

6:30. We take a walk through the neighborhood and around the park. This is often the only time Larry and I have to talk uninterrupted -- except for talking to neighbors, saying "buenos dias" to every passing native (it's impolite not to), and coaxing Kody to keep up with our less than frenetic pace. It usually takes us 30 minutes to go one mile.

7:00. Breakfast. Three kinds of fruit in the blender for me, along with yogurt and peanut butter. A bowl of Fruit Loops for Larry. ("See," he says. "Three colors. That's as good as three kinds of fruit.") On Sundays I do bacon.

7:30. Yoga on Mona's roof. Four flights of stairs. Usually about eight of us. I stand where I can grab something so I won't fall over when we do those stand on one leg and bend over sorts of things. I'm getting better, though.

9:00. The art group met today to avoid the Homeowner's meeting tomorrow at 10:00. Long circular staircase up to Bobbi's third floor roof. First time we've all been back together in a long time.

10:00. I leave the art group, run over a few blocks to meet with....I never thought I'd say this again....a group of local residents who are forming a community foundation. I'm polite. I listen. I leave. We will eventually write a check, but I'm not ready to get involved right now. Happily they are SO much farther along than the one I started three years ago in South Orange County.

11:00. I return to the art group. Up those stairs again.

12:00. Home and hungry. Larry's been out supervising the neighborhood curb-painting project as well as the four painters who have been at our house for about a month. Larry and I eat lunch watching a rerun of Without a Trace. Both of us fall asleep toward the end.

1:30. I start putting away the groceries I brought back from Puerto Vallarta yesterday afternoon and was too tired to deal with last night. The Christmas turkey I bought (literally, the LAST one at Sam's Club) is safe in the freezer. All the other perishables -- spiral cut ham, cheeses -- all that special holiday stuff -- I managed to get stowed last night. What's left on the counter is an array of ridiculously high-priced traditional comfort food that I found at Gutierrez Centro Comercial down in old town PV. Ahem. Fifty five pesos for a small jar of Delmonte pickle relish. Worth every penny. Then there's Mrs. Cubbison's stuffing, Lindsay black olives -- pitted, LeSeur peas, canned sweet potatoes, turkey gravy, canned black-eyed peas for New Year's Day. Over six hundred pesos for two small bags. I was saved from "over spending" by the fact that we had to carry the stuff four long blocks back to the car.

3:30. After some time on the telephone and making watermelon agua fresca for our painters, I head up to our roof. We moved all my art supplies into that spare room up top. It makes a dandy studio -- views to the mountains and up the coast. A good place to escape and be alone. Not today. The shade arbor is finally finished, and Larry is tacking up the light strings I bought in PV around the edge of the roof. I start painting the project I sketched out this morning.

4:30. Mona calls. Can I deny that woman anything? She needs a witness and a translator. We're going to take the Mexican woman who rear-ended Mona's husband this afternoon in to a doctor to x-ray the wrist she claims was broken in the accident. (Yes it was her fault. Does that make a difference??!!) She's in a wheelchair (she was that way before the accident), so we need to clear out the back of a pickup and get two strong men to help us. All of this takes some time. When we arrive at her house she sends someone out to tell us she's gone to bed. Come back tomorrow. Her neighbor tells us she's had three "accidents" in the last year; that that's the way she makes her money. Mona and I talk about the concept of Radical Forgiveness, and remind ourselves that the sooner we learn the lesson of love presented by this situation, the sooner this woman can stop being a jerk. :-)

6:00. It's dark now. Really dark. And I don't feel like cooking. We did eat something. I can't remember what. Larry and I miss Dancing With the Stars. He settles for reruns of Two and Half Men

8:00. I finally decide to blog. Both of us are thinking about bed.

9:00 Larry's in bed. I'm headed there. 5:30 comes early...up on the roof.

Life among the animals

2007-12-05T19:46:00.000-07:00

I've been gone. I went north to California for a wedding.

My friend Cynthia, fifty-something, inveterate hugger and pet-sitter extraordinaire tied the knot last Sunday afternoon in a green belt park where a significant portion of the invited guests had room to frolic and play.

Jerry, the groom, gentle, patient man -- has family. Lots of family. Cynthia has friends, furry and otherwise. A lot of us met each other for the first time, being introduced as "Shadow's parents," or "Bentley's people." I must say that everyone played nicely together and performed their appointed tasks just as they were instructed.

Bentley, a Wheaton terrier recovering from an unfortunate encounter with a German Shepherd, was particularly delighted with the opportunity to stretch his legs. His stitches had just come out, but the satin pillow covered the damage quite nicely.

"The Bob" (I didn't catch his breed) replete in tux and tails, mugged for the camera.

Everywhere I looked there were reminders of the fur-face I left behind. Well, actually TWO fur-faces, but it was Kody the Keeshond who kept me up the night before I left, whimpering and butting his head against the bed. Suitcases by the front door raise his anxiety level.

I'm happy my friends love animals. Life without them can seem pretty tame. BUT....

....it was on my last morning in Orange County that I was reminded in spades why dogs are invited to weddings and cats are NOT.

At 4:30 a.m. I was making an unobstrusive exit from Laurie and Andy's house. Suitcases were already in the car, but my arms, armpits, back and fingers were all filled with stuff, as I struggled to ease myself out the front door.

He'd been lurking at the top of the stairs, waiting for this chance. Max, that feckless, butterscotch, tabby-striped, gold-eyed mischief STREAKED past me into the night.

I spent the next fifteen minutes coaxing, pleading, swearing and cajoling. All in vain. Sitting just out of reach under a shrub beyond the birdbath, he looked at me with disdain. "Foolish woman," he seemed to say. "You think I can't tell the difference between a bag of cat treats and a bag of croutons?!"

At last I rousted my hosts from their bedroom. Maybe Max would respond more favorably to less murderous thoughts than the ones I was by then entertaining. On the contrary. With an audience of three, Max decided to go wake the neighbors -- the ones who were still asleep after I'd set off the rental car alarm instead of opening the trunk.

It was not a graceful exit. I had to give it up and head for the airport. My last memory of our time together was Andy poking through his neighbors' bushes. I got word today that Max was eventually cornered and brought inside.

So here's a public apology, posted for eternity in cyberspace: Andy and Laurie, I am SO sorry.

And Max, if you're reading this....hey Max! I'm talking to you. Kitty, kitty, kitty. Sit! Stay! Oh never mind.....

Counting my blessings

2007-11-24T03:38:00.000-07:00

Do you remember Bing Crosby crooning to Rosemary Clooney....

When I'm worried and I can't sleep,

I count my blessings instead of sheep.

And I fall asleep, counting my blessings.

Well, my blessings wake me up! Witness the time stamp on this post.

Usually when this happens, I get up and pour it all out into a spiral bound notebook. I've got quite a few. But I also realized that this year I never really acknowledged Thanksgiving DAY, except to talk about where we ate! How crass is that?

OK, my family always celebrated Thanksgiving a day or so late anyway. Thanksgiving was always a travel day to the Hope family reunion in Oklahoma, and we'd usually have Thursday lunch at a Dairy Queen in Snyder, Texas. If it was open. Our big celebration was on Friday or Saturday when about 100 relatives would finally get together.

So it's .... what day is this? Saturday! OK I'm not TOOOOO late. The fact is that every day has been a day filled with gratitude and thanks for the last several months. And truth to tell, it was gratitude, daily, minute by minute acknowledgement of God's love, care and protection, that brought me through the hard and painful times before the whole brouhaha this past September. Gratitude, praise and thanksgiving have just become so integrated into our lives lately, that it seems almost incongruous to say, OK, this special day we're going to be thankful. Every day has been a special, joyfilled gift -- that I am officially acknowledging right now, digitally, rather than with pen and paper.

Here's a list of the most immediate things I'll count as blessings before heading back to bed:

I'm grateful....

That my long time friend Patricia and her friend John made it into Puerto Vallarta late yesterday afternoon, and there were no glitches in picking them up.
That it was daylight almost until we got back to Guayabitos and I didn't have to drive that road in the dark.
That Patricia is still around! She's coming out of a soul-trying few years. The criminal trial for her former husband was resolved this past September. He was sentenced to fewer months in jail than she spent in the hospital after he tried to kill her almost two years ago.
That she looks radiant and happy with her new life, and that she's transforming what could have been a life-scarring circumstance into a Life-sharing opportunity. She's now a spiritual and public activist, working for a change in attitude and response to domestic violence in New Mexico.
That we have even just this weekend together to renew a friendship that began almost thirty years ago when I enrolled in her French class way back in Midland, Texas.
That my mom in Lubbock, Texas, had ALL her grandchildren together for a few days before T-Day. Two sets of them were without parents at the time, so she really had a great time focussing entirely on the kids. That was like a nano-second in the whole scheme of things, but a particularly special time for her.
That....dare I say this? That Home Depot is now open in Puerto Vallarta. You cannot imagine what a difference that makes in the lives, not only of American and Canadian immigrants building houses and condos left and right, but of Mexicans in the lower economic levels. When we got here a year ago, I couldn't find a little table lamp around here for under the U.S. equivalent of $30. My housekeeper was amazed when I brought back little reading lamps from the States and how little they cost. Home Depot has scads of little lamps. And big ones. And lots and lots of other stuff that makes life better and homes more liveable -- at China-produced U.S. prices. The customers there were Mexican, and they were having the time of their lives.
That we're surrounded by friends here, that we have friends in far places, that I saw many of them in Boston last week, and that I'm going to see a lot of them in California this coming week when I go back for friend Cynthia's wedding on December 2. I can't begin to count how many blessings and how many friends! So I'd better stop or I'll be awake forever.... 'night all!

What I Made for Thanksgiving Dinner.....

2007-11-23T06:27:00.000-07:00

Reservations! Old joke. Great idea. We had a very full day with friends and friends of friends at two different restaurants. Included in the company was an extremely photogenic five-year old, Marina. She appropriated my hat, as well as lots of hearts.

It was a full but slow-paced, satisfying day. First we introduced everyone to the wonders of the Thursday tianguis in La Peñita. Then adjourned for lunch to Un Rincon del Cielo, literally, a Corner of Heaven, the tiny little restaurant up on the bluffs above Punta Raza. Some of you may remember a previous blog I posted on this place. It's been a five star favorite of our guests this whole past year. You can see more pictures of it stored in an album. Go over to the sidebar on this blog, and click on the link that says "Susan's Photo Albums." Pick the album "Un Rincon del Cielo." (Incidentally, the photos from Tuesday's parade in La Peñita are up now, as well.)

In the evening, we joined other Americans at the brand new Xaltemba (old spelling of Jaltemba) Gallery and Restaurant for a traditional Thanksgiving buffet dinner.

Partners Eduardo Dominguez and Roberto Gil de Montes live six months in Los Angeles and six months in La Peñita. They recently opened their art and eating establishment just off the plaza, transforming a ruin and a wreck of a building as well as a dismal little alley into one of the trendiest spots on the Riviera Nayarit. Their professional chef, Oregonian Marisa, creates and presents dishes that could easily grace the pages of the foodie section of either the New York or LA Times.

Bleakness turned to blessing -- officially! Last November 2, at their opening party, the priest from the church across the plaza came to seal the deal. :-)

British friend Lucy, back from her Oxford graduation and re-thinking her mini-career as a Decameron Resort dancer, pronounced her first Thanksgiving dinner delicious. Why don't we have this holiday in England? she asked. Nothing like a history lesson over dinner. Lucy had to leave early because she had a show last night. There's nothing like putting on a costume and feathers and dancing on stage after a Thanksgiving dinner, is there? The REST of us went to bed!

Big Day in La Peñita

2007-11-21T02:16:00.000-07:00

Look at those curls! Something special was going on!

Yesterday was Mexican Independence Day -- the BIG one. November 20, 1910, was the day designated in Francisco I. Madero's Plan de San Luis, that the proletariat should rise up and overthrow the aristocratic government of Porfirio Diaz. They did, starting a revolution that, according to some, continues today. At any rate, the parade continued, practically the whole day. We caught the beginning, about 9:30 in the morning, and pooped out a couple of hours later when the heat and humanity became a little overwhelming. We hear the high school bands and charros in the afternoon were pretty spectacular. Maybe next year. This year, at least, we enjoyed seeing the very young kids present a parade of Mexican history.....

This is the way I would have enjoyed teaching eighth grade U.S. Social Studies back in Plainview, Texas. Talk about getting kids involved with the subject matter!

What I was really impressed with was the patience and fortitude of these very young kids standing all dressed up in the hot, hot sun.

The teacher wearing red spike heels was also impressive. Ouch!

There were battle re-enactments: stamp on firecrackers and all fall down!

These two guys had a job that every little boy envied...putting firecrackers down a home made cannon. This was not a quiet parade!

There was lots of dancing to the corrida which honors Pancho Villa, La Cucaracha....

enthusiastic musicians...... (look at those cheeks! watch out for those drumsticks!).....

and historical figures....like Maximilian and Carlota, Emiliano Zapata, Francisco Madero, and Victoriano Huerta. (They were all wearing name tags, but I would have known them anywhere! Right.)

Members of the press were represented, a very dignified contingent of the fourth estate. The main focus seemed to be keeping the false bigotes (mustaches) in place.

There were vast numbers of the proletariat....

who would overthrow the aristocratic class, all spit and polish and parasols.

Following all this were groups of kids marching, representing various rights guaranteed by the new constitution. Every school child had a part to play, and every parent had a camera. And I can see now why every Mexican has a rich sense of history.

I'll put up an album of more pictures from the parade under the link "Susan's Albums." It will be called something like Independence Day in La Peñita.

The learning curve: stalled in the half-pipe

2007-11-18T15:00:00.000-07:00

Larry and I figured it out this morning. Teenagers know everything about cell phones and computers because they DON'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING! Safe in their own little worlds, out from under foot, they can practice the technological equivalent of ollies, fakies and grinds in total privacy. Total privacy and time to focus: a privilege few of us in the "real world" get to share.

Maybe that's an age-ist remark, but for the last four days I've been trying to get a nice block of time together and get acquainted with my Macbook. It ain't happenin'. Not with painters, roof tile layers, pool service people, housekeepers (ours and out of town neighbor's) needing direction, attention and MONEY. If I'm home, it seems, someone is at the door.

So I'm back at desktop PC Nellie just to play catch-up on where we are construction-wise. I also want to introduce you to a few friends I hang with and places I hang out when I escape. And NONE of these people have websites! And I don't think they skateboard, either.

PS -- Since I've posted a lot of blogs today, I'm adjusting the post times so they'll appear in consecutive order as you scroll down. Less confusing. I hope.

Shade arbor on the roof -- almost done

2007-11-18T14:59:00.000-07:00

We've had the concrete columns and beams up for months. Had to wait for the end of the rainy season to continue, in order to coordinate with Javier the painter and his crew. At last progress! Last week Leo and his boys put the iron beams and rebar in place. And today -- Sunday, no less -- there is a crew above us placing curved terracotta tejas in precise rows. Larry had wanted wooden vigas closely spaced to let in partial sun. But he never could find either the wood or the person to do it. We both agree now that the clay tile roof will work much better after all. Rain totally out -- as well as those calling cards that feathered creatures tend to leave behind.

Salad days

2007-11-18T14:58:00.000-07:00

A week or so ago my down the street neighbor Ally and I went south to Sayulita for a little Rest, Recreation, and Retail Therapy. And lunch on the beach. This is the place next door to the rightfully famous Don Pedro's. I think it's called Breakfast @ the Beach or something. It's a cyber cafe with a less extensive menu than Don Pedro's but much lower prices. These salads don't look too shabby, do they?

Pura Vida!

2007-11-18T14:57:00.000-07:00

Pure Life! That describes Hala Hazzi. Her shop, Hamaca Maya, is close to the plaza in La Penita. Hala is Egyptian, lives the summer in Toronto, and speaks fluent Arabic, English, French and Spanish....and I'm probably missing an idiom or two. Her shop is full of colorful hammocks and fun things to remind you about Mexico and what life is all about. She doesn't have a website, but here's a cute one in Spanish with animations showing you how to get into a hamaca. I can't wait for that shade arbor to be finished so I can visit her shop and do more than just talk!

Another cosmopolitan....

2007-11-18T14:56:00.000-07:00

This is Daniel. Say it like the girl's name Danielle. He's Argentinian and when it's hot here in the summer, he heads for Buenos Aires -- or Mexico City. But for the next several months he'll be serving Italian dinners nightly and breakfast on Thursday mornings for market day. He's right on the plaza in La Penita.

This just in....

2007-11-18T13:06:00.000-07:00

Climbed up and made a progress check a few minutes ago. This roof is happening!

Care and Feeding of Hummercita

2007-11-18T08:00:00.000-07:00

Larry has made friends with the guys at Saratoga Car Wash, but from time to time knocks the dust off with our hose. Early Sunday morning is a good time. We normally keep Hummercita in the underground garage/basement, but as you can see, it's a pretty tight fit!

To market, to market

2007-11-15T05:54:00.000-07:00

Yesterday it was Walmart in PV. Today it's the tianguis in La Penita. Tomorrow it will probably be the little fruit and veggie shop in Guayabitos, just because I like Miguel and his wife Janet. Miguel always picks out a good pineapple for me. "Para hoy, o para manana?" he asks. Today or tomorrow? It makes a difference. He'll get one that's just the perfect ripeness for just the moment I want it. Larry and I missed great fruit while we were in Boston. The hotel really tried, and if we weren't so spoiled, we would have been impressed by what they laid out for the breakfast buffet. But how can you compete with perfection?

We went to "market" while we were in Boston. I shopped for a new pair of jeans. One of the brighter spots in this summer of surgery and tooth extractions is the unplanned loss of a lot of excess Susan. I keep thinking of the tabloid headline: "210 Pound Woman drops 70 pounds: A Third of Her Left Behind!"

Well, my behind is considerably smaller, both right behind and left behind, though I can't say I've lost 70 pounds. More like forty. Like I say, the loss was unplanned, sort of thrust upon me by having to look at everything I eat and asking, Can I chew it? Will it process? Is it gentle, or will it make me cry later?

I've been asked to share. Here are the basics:

Nothing with corners or sharp edges. Absolutely no fried or breaded anything. No chips, tostados, whole nuts, seeds, popped corn, or chili peppers. (I KNOW! That bowl of salsa is off limits! )

Cheese in small amounts -- so I make it count. I go for the really intense flavor of brie, bleu, feta or goat.

Beef - NO. Pork -- Maybe. Chicken -- broiled, really moist. (I buy one of those rotisserie chickens once a week). And fish -- grilled, baked or poached. We live in shrimp heaven, so I've always got some on hand.

Eggs, yes. Hardboiled, they're a staple.

Corn, iffy. Beans, yes -- smashed (like in hummus). Rice, noodles, pasta, potatoes, bread, and oats -- yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Olive oil instead of butter, but when butter is better it's in pats, not vats.

Fruits: Just about anything without little seeds. My breakfast smoothie has three kinds, plus yogurt, plus peanut butter. Makes me smile just thinking about it!

Veggies: Anything, anyway. Though raw stuff can be challenging. I disinfect all produce in a ten minute bath laced with Clorolex or the stuff in the purple bottle they sell in the produce department at Sam's Club. I time the disinfection bath by steaming things in the microwave. Ten minutes for quart size Pyrex bowls of carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, winter squash, beets, green beans. I get a real rotation thing going. I also bake sweet potatoes, potatoes, apples, and chayote in the oven together. Yeah, it takes about a day's worth of preparation. But, hey, we're retired! And after all the work, everything is ready in the fridge for reheating, grilling, sauteeing, blending in juices, putting on flatbread pizzas or on sandwiches, or use in cold salads. It takes a lot less prep time for each meal.

To drink: No soda pop, diet or otherwise. Basically, lots and lots of water. Lemons, limes, a little fruit juice makes it interesting. And sweet. Because.....

.....Refined sugar is pretty much out of the picture. Lots of sweet comes from the fruits and root vegetables just by themselves. Honey is good -- and a piece of really good dark chocolate after dinner.

That's pretty much it. How it goes together and what makes it interesting -- the smoothies, the soups, the sauces, the spices and herbs -- that probably merits a separate blog. I've had requests to share -- and I like getting ideas from others as well. If I get one started, I'll announce it here and put a link on the sidebar. Anybody interested?

blogus interruptus

2007-11-14T05:31:00.000-07:00

I was ready to blog! I leapt out of bed, sped to the side of my loved one, and jiggled her mouse. Ah, but my desktop, roused from her slumbers, must go through a morning ritual that rivals any aging beauty queen. She retreats. This will take a while. Excluded from intimate contact by a frosty screen, I find myself staring at her hourglass figure and wondering....What's she doing in there?

Evidently I'm not the first to approach her this morning. She's already been in the arms of Microsoft for some internet "update" intercourse. It's always like this. My rival leaves a note behind, saying my computer had to be "restarted." I think she fell asleep instead. At any rate she is not responding to my advances with the same urgency I feel coursing through my creative loins....

OK, that's what I wrote in a spiral notebook while waiting for PC Desktop Nellie to get it in gear. My ardor has diminished. On my list of things to do today: Hooking up with that new macbook I just brought back from Boston. And maybe start writing a romance novel..... But where did this guy in my head come from??!!

Some stories are better in English

2007-11-05T12:20:00.000-07:00

This is the little plastic mouse I got from the dentist a few weeks ago when I had a tooth extracted. It has my tooth inside. Yuck. Hilda saw it and explained. Mexicans don't have the tooth fairy. They have the tooth rat. The tooth rat carries away your tooth, and if you are a child, revisits you every night to bring little pieces of tooth to replace the one he took away.

I'll take a tooth fairy any day over a tooth rat, especially if the rat is going to be poking around in my mouth. Now that's creepy!

Día de los Muertos

2007-11-05T11:00:00.000-07:00

Last Friday night the graveyard was the place to be. The Panteón Municipal on the highway north of La Peñita is now filled with fresh ofrendas, wreaths of flowers both fresh and plastic, relics of a night spent remembering the nearest and dearest dearly departed.

For myself, I was at a party. (Larry came, too, but only for a few minutes. He’d spent five hours in the dentist’s chair that day, but that’s another story.) Even there, there was an altar for a departed member of the community. I never met Bob Howell, as he was ailing and in seclusion when we arrived last year, but he was known for his good works and for bringing out good works in those around him. The altar with the bright pink cutouts behind it was set up in the entrance room to the newly opened Xaltemba Gallery and Restaurant. It had photos, notes from friends, things representing what Bob liked most (evidently good cigars and good tequila) – and the ubiquitous candles, sugar skulls and marigolds.

There was also a loaf of the dome-shaped sugar-dusted pan de muerto. They were selling that bread everywhere prior to the holiday. Sam’s Club, Walmart, every bakery and corner grocery. Evidently no Day of the Dead altar is complete without it, including the much more modest altar built on an old adobe oven around the corner and down the street from us.

Friday afternoon I talked to Rosario, the old woman who was setting up the ofrenda. For a long time I’ve wondered about the outdoor oven under the huge huanacaxtle tree. It turns out that her husband used to bake bread there, as well as camotes – sweet potatoes. He sold them to people who passed by. But he was killed just a few years ago while walking down the highway between La Peñita and Guayabitos. I asked her permission to take this photo later that night. It was dark on my way home from the party. No moon. But I saw the candles glowing in the dark.. There were his hat, his huaraches, and a few personal items the family had saved. Rosario, her daughter and granddaughter seemed to be enjoying themselves remembering and reminiscing.

To be honest the idea of this holiday used to really creep me out. Not so much anymore. I still have both my parents, but Larry’s parents are no longer on the scene. They were not just inlaws to me. They were great friends. I think about my mother-in-law Chloe every time I use a particular teapot or see the books we shared on my library shelves. I think about Hank every time I see his hat still on our coat rack or when I peel a hardboiled egg. He loved hardboiled eggs. I can see how setting aside a day to celebrate and remember together who Hank and Chloe were and acknowledge their continuing influence in our lives would be a joyful occasion – not creepy at all.

And as Chloe said to the lady at the Neptune Society when she heard how Hank's body would be sent to the crematorium in Santa Ana in a panel truck along with five others: “Well, Hank always did like company.”

Excuses, Excuses

2007-11-05T06:54:00.000-07:00

I've got about six good blogs in my head, and I WILL get them down and then posted. But I've been involved with getting another blog up and running, namely the Guayabitos Zona Residencial Homeowners Association newsletter. (I don't think that's the official name of our organization....come to think of it, I don't KNOW the official name of our organization! Actually, we're not a very official organization anyway.)

Finally sent it out this past week to sixty-five members, and a whole bunch bounced back as undeliverable. That and a few other glitches. If you want to take a look at my efforts the link is over on the side, titled "Life En La Zona." Or you can click here: Life En La Zona

Dana Point Harbor -- our "old" home town

2007-10-29T21:33:00.000-06:00

People have been asking if any of the fires in California were close to where we used to live. I opened email this evening and found this photo sent from a friend in South Orange County. Our house would be up the hill on the far left side. So I guess you'd say, yep, they were pretty close. This was the fire which raged over Camp Pendleton, just to the south of San Clemente. We hear it stopped right at the city limits. This shot was probably taken from the gazebo about a block from where Larry used to work every day. I've walked every inch of that harbor.

Our hearts are close to our former neighbors and friends. Priscilla and Mario were here today, and I sent lots of hugs and love to pass around when they return.

International coverage for La Penita

2007-10-29T17:57:00.000-06:00

This is a short entry today. Check out the link "Profile of La Penita" that I've put over there to the left on the sidebar. It's an article which appeared in the Montreal Gazette, and was reprinted in a Puerto Vallarta paper.

Catching up....

2007-10-28T15:41:00.000-06:00

I've done the L.A. Times crossword puzzles on-line, and I think it's time for a newsy Sunday afternoon blog entry. I've started a number of entries, but somehow these days I keep getting sidetracked. I've been catching up by telephone with some of you readers, and sporadically answering emails from others. I beg forgiveness, please.

This is why I've been incomunicado: all of a sudden we have a social life! Hooray! Two birthday parties this weekend, one at a beach restaurant and the other up the hill with a view. Gringo friends and neighbors are coming back south. The white bread lady has returned to the Thursday market. Hala has opened her hamaca shop. The Italian restaurant on the plaza in La Penita is once again serving French press coffee and veggie omelettes on market days. The six foot high vegetation along the highway is being weed-whacked back and any day they should be re-striping the road. Sometimes in the morning there's actually a chill in the air. I'm out walking then -- Kody, too! The "season" is starting up again, and once more I'm falling in love with where we live.

I'm also busy reclaiming some ceded territory. Like my linen closet. For quite a while there, I didn't really care what color the pillowcases were or whether or not they matched. Just so long as the sheets were washed and changed. Hilda did it faithfully, for which I am very grateful. But she did it her way.

I am now sorting through sheets: queen size, king size, California king, fitted and not, matched and not, as well as stacks of pillow cases that vary from high thread-count crispy white ones to a dilapidated Little Mermaid slip left behind by -- well who knows? Maybe a little mermaid, judging from the pervasive damp smell I found clinging to all of the above. And all of the above was stuffed willy-nilly on to shelves that in what seems another life I had carefully labelled both in Spanish and in English as to just what went where.

The question now is: What's the difference between being a control freak and a good housekeeper?

That issue isn't limited to the linen closet. Sweet husband Larry seems a little taken aback these days when he finds me doing things for myself -- like rearranging the furniture on the verandah, going out in Hummercita without him, or carting loads of laundry between here and the basement. He's happy to see me doing it. It's just that he was doing it before.

Interesting dynamics we're working with here. Borders have been redrawn over the past year or so. For instance, I used to joke that Larry knew the PIN number to the ATM and not a lot more about our finances. Now I'm the one learning where the pesos are, who we owe, and who owes us. Cobbo has done a great job! I wonder: Just how much of ceded territory do I really need or want to reclaim? Maybe I should push onward into something new and different. One thing is certain: we're both growing into talents and capabilities neither one of us realized we had! It's just so great to care about life again!

So what's on the agenda tomorrow?

Yoga down the street at Mona's at 7:30 AM.
Javier and his crew will be here early to start about a two week stint of treating the roof, getting rid of the lama, sealing the brick work and painting the house. We're thinking about going a little crazy with some color. More on that later.
Larry begins his new duties as head of maintenance for the Zona Residencial. He's got a crew of men who will clean the beach all this week.
Our Southern California friends Mario and Priscilla will drive up from Puerto Vallarta for a day visit, and we'll either feed them here or go up to Vista Guayabitos.
In the evening, we're going to see if we can catch Lucy in the dance review at The Decameron Los Cocos Resort. (We may have to sneak in, as it's a "guests only" sort of deal.)

It will be Lucy's last night in Guayabitos for a while. She is out of our guestroom and into a hotel with her vacationing Mum and Auntie Carol. Tuesday she's headed for two weeks back in England where she will walk across a stage in cap and gown and collect her degree from Oxford, which will make her the most highly educated chorus girl the Decameron has ever experienced. She collected her stretchy clothing out of the freezer (better to preserve the lycra), but left all sorts of strange British things in our fridge. Marmite? What's that? I'm going to miss her!

Other news: We're out of municipality-supplied water until the water company pays its electric bill and the pumps start running again. It's the end of the fiscal year, so they're out of money. They'll start collecting and offering discounts for early payment here in the next week or so. In the meantime, we'll buy a truckload/tankload to fill our cistern. That's another thing to take care of tomorrow... Happily dawn comes early now, because we changed to Daylight Savings Time this morning. So for one week only, we're on California time.

It's only taken me all afternoon to make this entry. The sun is now down. We've had a walk into La Penita to see what's going on (nothing), and Larry is watching what will probably be the last game of the World Series. I'm headed for a (very fast) shower. And bed is looking pretty good! Love to all, and goodnight!

Watching and waiting....praying

2007-10-23T07:11:00.000-06:00

Sweet friends in California. My prayers and thoughts are with you.

And I will continue to maintain that nothing can destroy what is good and true. It will re-emerge in a brighter, fresher form. The all-encompassing, ever-present Life force that is the essence of creation may change the way it appears, but it never diminishes or disappears.

It was October 2003, that Larry and I were in the south of Portugal -- a countryside that had been devastated by rampant fires all through the previous summer. Every night on CNN, we watched similar fires raging through San Diego County. But all around us there in Portugal, the evidence of life asserting itself, people rebuilding, repainting, renewing and reconnecting in the middle of blackened landscape was like a preview of the benediction that waited to bless our friends back home.

That benediction is present NOW, right in the middle of this firestorm. I will claim it every moment for you and yours -- for OURS -- with a fierce and fervent affection. We are lighting "backfires of Love" down here.

Shama LAMA ding dong. It's ALIVE!

2007-10-13T16:16:00.000-06:00

My new word for today is lama.

It's what grows on things that sit around for any length of time in unairconditioned conditions during the rainy season and have any hint of organic matter on them -- even a trace of body oil or sweat. When lama grows on things inside it's blue and fuzzy. That's the kind I've been wiping off books, belts, shoes, leather jackets, our equipale furniture and rustica cabinets, clay dishes, and the handles of my Revereware pots and pans. Even the steering wheel on the jeep down in the basement was trying to reincarnate as a cashmere sweater. This just after six weeks away.

Outside lama is deep dark green, almost black -- except when it's fresh bright green, like right after a rain. Either way it really stands out white walls and red brick. It's even more, hmmmm - interesting, thriving in the gutters and on the sidewalks. I've been tempted to alter our street sign from "Golondrinos" to "Petrie Dish Drive."

Our friend Javier the housepainter assures us all will be made bright and pretty once more. Just "two more weeks" of rain. The dry season will begin. Things will cool down. We're "first on the list." We'll get a power wash, a good scraping down, and a crew of painters. This looks like it might be an annual event.

Meanwhile on our streets, the gray and black cobblestones stand out against the green moss growing between them, piles of trash left on vacant lots have been reduced to anonymous non-descript mounds of vegetation, and the tree Chano cut back to a stub on the lot next door because "it was shading the swimming pool" is shading the swimming pool once more. In the winter I planted thumbnail size cuttings of orejas de bruja (witches' ears) at the base of the potted ficus on the verandah. It now looks as if a baby elephant is emerging there, ears first.

So everything is growing like kudzu in the South and the iguanas are fat and happy. Two more weeks.....I'm counting.

Adventures in Immigration (Emigration??)

2007-10-12T09:35:00.000-06:00

Larry left for Puerto Vallarta yesterday morning and I didn't have to drive him! Our Alaska Airlines pilot neighbor carted him along to the airport, even though that would put him there reeeeally early. Good thing. He needed every minute.

If you're a foreigner living in Mexico for more than six months at a time, you need an FM3 visa which is renewable annually. You're supposed to present it every time you leave or enter the country. That way they can keep track of the aliens in their midst. There's an immigration office in PV, and every year all us gringos head there to spend a day going through the renewal ritual to prove we live here and are not being a drain on society. It's a big fine if you let it expire. If you don't get it renewed, you are in the country illegally and are subject to a bigger fine and jail time. (I know this is like throwing red meat to hungry dogs for a lot of you. I'll leave the judgements to you guys. I'm supposed to stay calm, tranquil and stress-free these days.....oooohmmmmm).

I've never had a cashier cut up my credit card at the register, but Larry had a similar experience at the airport. The immigration folks confiscated his FM3. It had expired! Somehow in all the stuff that's gone on these last few months, we let that little "to-do" item slip right through the cracks! (Honestly, we thought they expired at the end of October, but turns out the clock started running from the time we hit the border for the first time -- a full month before we actually moved here!) He was told he couldn't LEAVE the country until he got the situation straightened out. Talk about a glitch!

He talked to the airline, and they called the immigration office in PV, which had, of course, closed for the two hour lunch break. But a supervisor there said they would write a letter giving Larry permission to travel this once, if he promised to take care of things when he returned. He hopped in a taxi, got there, beat on the doors, was waved away repeatedly until somebody tumbled to the fact that OH, this was the guy the phone call was about. Letter in hand, he made it back to the airport, through security and on to the plane just as the door was closing.

Then he ran into Homeland Security in Houston. They saw the Mexican visa taped into his passport indicating we are residents down here. They asked for his FM3 They DID NOT like the suspicious-looking letter presented instead. It was in SPANISH. They don't read Spanish. Had to find someone who DID read Spanish. And, by the way, Homeland Security people are pretty suspicious, as well, of Americans who choose to live abroad. Larry was the guy holding up the line until someone could be found that said -- yeah, it's a letter giving him permission to travel without an FM3. Under squinty-eyed scrutiny, he was admitted to the land of the free -- and made another mad dash for a plane whose door was closing.

So this coming week, while Larry is gone I'm heading to the immigration office to renew my FM3. Hospital bill in hand, I hope to prove I was "indisposed at the time of expiration." Does that sound right? Think I'll just leave it as written. Sounds like a good excuse to me!

The end of the tunnel....

2007-10-08T13:23:00.000-06:00

...is at Sam's Club! And Walmart! Oh frabjous day! Shopping! Saturday we walked all over and bought produce, canned tomato soup, and tons of paper goods. Then we came home and I disinfected, peeled, sliced and put away. Mona is relieved of her duties keeping me fed, and we are set! Or at least I am. I'm feeling good enough that Larry is returning to the States this Thursday to take that motorcycle ride he had to postpone when we headed back south. How about THAT???

We also stopped by Amerimed Hospital to say hello to the many friends I made there. When we parked it was right by the emergency entrance. I KNOW what the other end of THAT tunnel looks like. I had a room right at the end of it. That's where tourists who over-do their fun or traffic accident victims get put back together again. I spoke with the guy who was in the room next to me for a while. He had come in with his arm practically severed from falling through a plate glass window. I'd heard the ruckus a few nights before. He was in awe of the surgical talent and the treatment he'd benefitted from. He was going to have total use of his hand and arm.

It's a very small hospital (six patient rooms) and just 11 years old. It was started by an American doctor who came on a traffic accident, rendered aid on the scene, and found that the care he had given was all the trauma care available at the time in PV. Those days are long gone.

OK, I write. Lots of people just don't, like the guy with the arm. He just didn't strike me as someone who would write a testimonial. And Mexicans won't ask for one. But it's a story that needs telling. Too often I hear a kind of dismissive sneer from people north of the border asking about Mexican health care, as though the term were an oxymoron. As if, as if! Please don't get me started. . .

It was my pleasure to write a testimonial to the care I received from Dr. Carlos Olivares (gastroenterological surgeon) and Dr. Fernando Marquez and all the good people at Amerimed. You can find it on a new website: Health Travel Guides. And it should appear shortly on the Amerimed website, as well.

It's kind of long and detailed. Written about nine days ago from inside the tunnel. A story I'm not going to post here...'cause I am OUT of that tunnel and dancing in the light.

Eat, Pray, Love....

2007-10-06T06:01:00.000-06:00

I saw Elizabeth Gilbert yesterday on Oprah. I'd set an alarm to see her, because I read her book, I think it was in San Antonio, or some place in between. She's written about her spiritual journey where she ate in Italy, prayed in India, and loved in Indonesia. And I'm doing it all right here in an air-conditioned bedroom in Guayabitos! Not in exactly the same flamboyant style as Liz -- certainly not in the style that would sell millions of books -- but those are the basic essentials of life right now.

There are a few off the charts highlights. Yesterday (or was it the day before....time flies when you're having SO much fun) I spent about three hours with the "Private Access" folks at Fidelity.com trying to reset our PIN number which we somehow inadvertently blocked. Neither Larry nor I could remember the answer to the security question, or even remember being asked in the first place. WHOSE first pet are they talking about, anyway???? Let me tell you, I feel a whole lot safer about the security of our funds. Like I say, three hours, three agents. But at least we can pay bills once more. The thing about it, is that I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF THE EXPERIENCE!!! Which tells you how desperate I can get for outside company.

So that's why I've been quiet. Hang in there with me. Something I'll feel like sharing is bound to happen soon.

Home again, home again

2007-09-29T02:11:00.000-06:00

Not exactly dancing a jig, but very happy to be here. Came home yesterday, well, Thursday late afternoon -- I'm obviously having a few sleep challenges here, but that's nothing new -- and felt a million times better just being able to be with dog and husband and see what has been going on with the house. I find myself surrounded by angels.

Larry is head angel. He is a great, great help -- tender, caring and so thoughtful. He's ready to do anything here at the house, since he doesn't have to make that three hour or more round trip to PV and back every day now. Nine times in ten days....Those of you who have been on that road should have a double appreciation of the effort he put out.

Remember Lucy? She's been staying in the guest room here. She's a messy, crazy, slightly flakey 23 year old English girl who has decided to forego starting her master's degree at Exeter this fall, and is staying on in Guayabitos, dancing with the entertainers at the Los Cocos all-inclusive resort here. It's like the movie Dirty Dancing. "I'm that girl!" she says. Her schedule is really bizarre, but she's great company, sweet and affectionate to me, brings flower bouquets to brighten the bedroom, and makes me happy.

And Mona....wonderful Mona from down the street. The same Mona that introduced me to the petroglyphs at Alta Vista where we got stuck in the road and she and I and the nun who was her B&B guest at the time got the truck out by ourselves. She has taken on the task of seeing that I am well fed. She is a juicing fiend, knows her fruits and veggies, yogurts and cereals, and makes heavenly soups full of good things that process easily through tender innards. This is a great relief to Larry, whose idea of a balanced meal is a slice of pizza and a cupcake in each hand. It is answered prayer for me. I looked at that huge bowl of Raisin Bran my sweet husband presented me with this morning and thought, "God, help me." The phone rang -- and it was Mona!

So I think I'll crawl back into bed now and see if sleep will come. More tomorrow. I'm getting back in a writing mood.

I knew I felt bad....but not THAT bad!

2007-09-24T09:24:00.000-06:00

Things got a little rough in Lubbock -- like a crisis. Larry and I cut our trip short and headed back to Mexico. Got here a week ago today and entered the Amerimed Hospital in Puerto Vallarta the next day. I've been here ever since. After taking five units of blood, I went through surgery on Saturday, and have been recovering. Hoping to go home tomorrow, but we'll see.

Thank you, dear, dear friends for comments on the blog (this is the first time I've visited it since last August!). And for calls here to the hospital (that's difficult and expensive, I know). But especially for e-mails. Everytime one comes in it's like a bouquet. Larry has been reading them all to me, and I will respond to each one eventually. He has tried to keep up, but being a two fingered hunt and peck typist who hasn't learned to copy and paste, it is a real effort for him. I can't begin to say how much it means to know people care.

I care, too, and will begin blogging again through these next days. Life is worth living -- especially now that it may include solid food again. :-)

Suspended Animation

2007-08-30T22:29:00.000-06:00

Thought I'd let people know we haven't fallen off the planet. There is nothing going on. And I realize that this is the first time in, maybe years, that we haven't had a project, or guests, or something pending to consider. We're still here, hangin' out at Mom's. Biggest decision of each day is whether to eat out or in -- and then where. Will write more when there's something to say. Thanks, you who have rattled my cage to see if there's still life. Glad you care! Love it when you throw peanuts.

Of brisket and memories....

2007-08-15T07:15:00.000-06:00

The aroma filled the house this morning at three o'clock. I woke up with my mouth watering. Beef brisket, salt, pepper, garlic -- wrapped in foil. 200 degree oven all night. Falling apart this morning. Brisket brings back so many memories.

Thirty eight years ago today -- in a house ten blocks away -- I woke up for the last time as Susan Jackson. By evening I'd be Susan Cobb. I still am. Happy Anniversary, Cobbo, love of my life. I'm so grateful we're together. Thank you for hanging in there with me.

This would have been a fortieth anniversary high school reunion for me. If they'd had one. I checked the website. Nada. There were several class contacts and I e-mailed an old friend I recognized, thinking she might still be in town. Nope. Oklahoma. She seemed friendly and I responded with way too much info. I haven't heard back. I don't blame her. I was overcome by nostalgia for....what? Maybe it's because I've been in bed for several days and got a little crazy.

My mom shows love with food. I've been a challenge for her lately. Cobbo and I crossed the Texas border and began indulging crispy, crunchy everything, eating deep fried like we'd never tasted it before. Shoot, it was America! You could actually drive through a restaurant and get food -- a LOT of it. "You want more fries with that, Mister?" My system rebelled about three days later, and I've been sidelined for a while.

Lying on my back, Mom's spent a lot of time by my side, patting my hand. We talk. We remember. I'm coming around, and, well, now there's this brisket thing....

Maybe it's time to take a look back at Lubbock. Put a little history down for posterity. Maybe work through some issues of what I love and hate so strongly here.

Larry and I are scheduled to be here for the next five weeks. There's not a whole lot to do and a lot of time to do it. So I've started a new blog: Flatland Voyages. If you're up for a detour, come on along.

Happy, Happy, Happy

2007-08-10T07:34:00.000-06:00

THIS is what Happy, Texas, looks like, coming from Lubbock, headed north to Amarillo. Not exactly the terrain you see in the movie Happy, Texas -- which, by the way is a really funny movie, despite its geographical errors.

Back when I was a kid working for my dad, I remember addressing correspondence to "Happy Gin." We're talking cotton gin, but I thought it was a hoot of a name. Made me grin yesterday when Larry and I went with motorcycle seller Mitchell to the Happy State Bank, so Mitchell could pay off his loan and give us title to Larry's new Harley.

So THIS is Larry happy, happy, happy once again.

Flying Solo

2007-08-10T07:16:00.000-06:00

It was a big day last Tuesday for my niece Ashton, and I was there! A loooooong time ago I got my pilot's license down in Midland, Texas. The day I soloed, there was no advance warning. My instructor just asked me to pull over and let him out, (we were on the ground) and said I was ready. So it really was an all-by-myself solo with no one to witness or record the event.

Ashton had a lot of notice, so her mom and dad, her aunt and grannie were all out rooting for her and taking lots of pictures. Here's one of me and the Cessna she was flying. I don't think that hangar has had a paint job since I landed here on my cross country back in ..... oh never mind.

Ashton is also taking Russian. Wants to be an astronaut. Wonder if the second language shouldn't be....Chinese?