At long last....news!

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?

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!!!!

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.....

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

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

"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

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.