Animal Love: Cats, Part One

If you have visited my house or read my blogs these past few years, you know a bit about my love of cats. My inability to say no to a crying kitten staring at me with those innocent eyes. My never ending searches for Buster, who was found, and for Mokito, who is 'still missing'. My willlingness to budget my food and live on bananas, apples, cheese and crackers....oh and peanuts in a shell...for days sometimes just to make sure the cats eat their favorite crunchies and CANNED food! I'm going to blame it on my Catholic upbringing (Gotta blame someone.) Those nuns told me I would have a 'calling' in life, a vocation if you will, which would lead me to the best of the NO OPTIONS life I faced in our Polish Catholic neighborhood in Toledo, Ohio. In 50's and 60's, 'callings' for girls were: 'wife and mother', 'nurse', 'nun' or 'factory worker', if I remember the entire gamut correctly. Obviously I never had a calling because I worked a gamut of careers in my adult life. (Using careers to describe my job history is a stretch, but it is the word I've chosen). I had and still have a strange need to live and work among other cultures and peoples. In some of these places, many many animals need a lot of help, love and care. I'm in one of those places now.

St. Francis of Assissi is still my favorite subject of twelve years of Catholic schooling. HE gave me a calling. I understood that I was to save and feed all the needy animals who crossed my path throughout my lifetime. That is quite a calling and it appears I still own it. A career, no. Becoming a veterinarian was never an option, - see options above. No one would have coupled my love of animals with a career oriented toward that interest, e.g. veterinarian, there wasn't any such counseling. I'm only realizing now that there were quite a few interests I could have pursued, but didn't know of any avenues to get there in the early 60's.

Since I wasn't allowed pets as a kid, in my yard I made friends with squirrels, nightcrawlers, caterpillars, bumble bees, and butterflies; years later in my underwater life - moray eels, reef fish, jellyfish, sea cucumbers and nurse sharks. With the cats, though, I may have taken this calling a little too far. I say that because now I have the moniker of  (crazy)(old) cat woman. That's how I feel sometimes too, when I am caught talking out loud to my furry friends. People around the neighborhood all seem to know that I take care of a lot of cats. I don't suppose my frequent purchases of whiskas pouches, occasionally canned tuna, and bags of cat crunchies give me away a few doors down at the Dunasusa store(plecios chinos, plecios balatos).

The love between animals and the people they own can be beautiful and fulfilling. A little creature who trusts you 100% and knows when you are sick or stressed and thus sits by your side trying to console you in their kitty (or doggy - no bias here, it's just that this is supposed to be about cats) ways. A creature you can cuddle and cry with and they look at you with equally saddened eyes, as if to say, "Don't cry, I am here for you and I love you." I quite appreciate having a human mate who comforts me during those times, don't get me wrong, but the extra love from one's pets is special, it must warm a separate part of our hearts or souls.

Ok, sorry. Here is the story I want to tell. You would think I would edit out all that crap above, but no, I don't think so - it seems to have fused into the story itself.  A little excessive for a lead in, but these are true feelings I have and doubt I have ever expressed them this way. When my 'human mate' is away from home, I never feel alone because I still have the love of the animals around me.

And as you can see, I mean LITERALLY around me. I took this photo a few weeks ago and I have since changed computer desk and location and have placed their pillows on the stools and table near me but away from the keyboard, mouse and screen. But these cats actually sit with me while I spend many hours on the computer. Things only get ugly when they demand a mid-afternoon treat - it's a power move, they don't get afternoon snacks around here - but if I don't respond they start sending faxes, make me hit the mouse when I am not in the right spot, walk across the keyboard, or my favorite -change the settings. Moka turns off the volume. They change settings I don't even know about, but they know just which button to hit...what am I to do?  Off I go to give them a snack, so I can then restore my settings and continue with whatever I was doing, and shortly everyone is back in their favorite spots to sleep away the day as I keep on workin'. After resetting the buttons they hit during the power move, that is. How many friends would quietly stay by your side for 8 hours at a time? Animal love is special.

Sawdust Desks: Are They Safe?

A while back I bought a "computer desk" at a popular office supply store.  Sliding tray for ergonomic keyboard comfort. Upper shelf to house the printer.  Room for my speakers.  A side shelf for the hard drive.  Of course it's made of pressboard, evidently the material of choice of Office Minimum.

It's served me well for a couple years but over the past few months its screws started coming loose.  As they'd fall I'd collect them along with several bolts and nuts.  The entire desk began to lean to port and I supported the lowest shelf with a few coke bottles.  I knew I needed to repair it, but I do live in mañana-landia, after all.

It's no wonder I lacked inspiration in the cluttered corner below, too many distractions. The cats enjoy hanging out around me because I'm the one with the air-blasting fan.

When my bro/sister-in-law sent me a new webcam for my bd, the time had come to dive into the project. I carefully unplugged all the computer's components, wires and plugs and safely stowed them to be cleaned before reconnection. I flipped the desk over and around tightening and replacing screws. I even set glue into the former screw holes for a little extra support. The ergonomic shelf had long ago fallen apart and rusted. I poured some Coca Cola on to clean off the rust and was able to reassemble and reattach it. It doesn't slide anymore, but it's still a nice feature. I completed the reconstruction on Thursday. 

On Friday the sturdy new-looking desk was moved into its new location, in another room; to give me a new perspective and inspiration. I' d been sitting at the desk for a couple hours answering emails, when all of a sudden the entire desk collapsed around and on me and broke into several pieces. I sat there in shock as I watched the computer and all its attachments, attached, take off flying onto the cement tiled floor. Naturally a fresh giant glass of ice water was part of the mix.

Upon inpection of the boards that collapsed, the pressboard had returned to its original state of sawdust covered in wood-colored paper. It was completely disintegrated and had the appearance of a piece of wood that had come into contact with a swarm of starving termites. There were no termites, it was just sawdust. Not a very strong item for tropical living.

I couldn't stand looking at the parts just sitting by themselves, so at 3am (not my usual housecleaning hour) I took my dry paintbrush and cleaned the components as if petting a newborn kitten, and dragged my sturdiest wooden table to 'inspiration corner'. The top half of the sawdust desk was salvageable, and it works well sitting on top of the REAL table. The printer took a beating but it seems to want to work, so it'll get some professional attention. What's important is no one was hurt (like me!) and neither was the computer. Everything is working today as usual.  Things always work out, because now I have a larger desk space with room to move and places to write. I may feel empowered here after all. 

A Mérida Day in May

The temperature reads 102°F.  It's 3pm.  I'm half in, half out of the swimming pool reading and writing.  On top of the tall cement wall sits a three foot iguana.  We are familiar with each other.  I like to watch him look at the mamey tree.  He turns his head from side to side as if wondering how to get at that fruit.  I think he looks at me with scorn because the branch - THE access branch - was sawed off to raise the wall three years ago. He will have to search the ground for fallen fruit instead. 

I hear him eventually saunter away over the broken glass protectors and flop on to the tin roof next door.  He doesn't move gracefully, but he is a beautiful creature.  He isn't the only iguana around either, but I think he's 'da man'..

I hear a bird making all kinds of racket.  His are odd noises, as if he is imitating other birds, cats fighting, or a rooster crowing.  I can't see him, he's up in the giant Batfruit Tree next door, which is growing a huge new batch of bat fruit seeds.  Sometimes I whistle back at noisy bird and we banter.  Then he laughs at me for being a lousy whistler and he flies away.

I look up into the sky.  Lately a hawk has been hovering over the hood.  He makes several passes swooping low enough to just get a look at his white head.  When the birds have moved on, the plant life wakes up.  The mamey tree has dropped the last of the leaves, the patio is all cleaned up, and now the fruit hits the cement like coconut bombs.  The new bright yellow leaves sprouting from the tips of the empty branches create a beautiful contrast against the bluest sky. 

There is a hot breeze today.  I  set up shop in the shady section of the pool where my body feels cool and the hot winds take my senses down  tropical memory lane. This helps me recreate parts of the past I am attempting to describe in writing. I can hear occasional traffic passing, buses farting, cars honking, brakes screeching, loudspeakers blaring political messages; but it is not a constant or loud noise.  It is just enough activity to remind me that THEY are out there suffering in the heat while I sit here and enjoy my interactions with nature, nurture myself in the cool aquatic medium, and write and rewrite the beginning of the sail story.  I may have written the opening paragraphs fifty times so far, but I feel like I am making great progress. How hopeful and positive is that?  I am am applying what I am relearning in the book ON WRITING WELL by William Zinsser.  It seems to make much more sense to me the second time around.  I have stopped overwhelming myself, and that is a great feat for me.

I don't write this to brag about my life.  I have so much self-doubt at times I think I should be on antidepressants. I suffered writer's block all winter, perhaps because I was also stressed about finances.  The warmer season awakens me, and once I am back on track exercising, feeling healthier and toting a little color, my confidence strengthens, and everything else seem to fall into place.    I think I have gotten real about the writing, am enjoying the intense heat, seeing people enjoy the pool, and life just moving along.  It's just another  Mérida day in May.

Write Fright :) Discombobulation

Yesterday I found a clean notebook and set out to blog about last month’s events. The pen saw the paper and (we all) felt a brief moment of panic. It’s the first time that’s happened to me in nearly four years. I know I set by the wayside all my half-written articles for the holidays, but write fright…that is just plain weird.


In November I suffered a severe reality check when I finally accepted the fact that I have gone through my one-time wad of money from the Hawaii home sale. With the settlement I was able to move here, buy a house and fix it up, create a new life and live for nearly three years. I am pleased with my decisions and I am happy. But I have a worrier’s genes and battle fret and anxiety all the time. A little herb helps with the anxiety, and Pablo helps me overcome worry. We make a good team and with his youthful energy, creative ideas, and stick-to-it-iveness along with my idealistic positivism, we make things happen! I am finally re-learning to NOT live to worry, but to just live to live. And this is a good thing because it was specifically THE POINT of the move.


Pablo and I invested time and money in the construction of four bodegas and ten rooms to rent. The project was completed in mid-2009 and it is now a source of income for us. The rentals are low-cost, simple rooms with only a bath and a bed. But they are always occupied, and are an excellent transitional place for some of the village folks who work in the city. Pablo’s vision is to see a medical clinic there one day. That is easier said than done, of course. There is no medical service out in San Pedro Nohpat or Kanasín, and our location is convenient for the folks in those surrounding areas. Pablo put the word out on the internet and has received a few interested callers from the medical profession. This is a live and learn project, and until it blossoms we collect rent money every month.

If you have been following this blog you know that we opened the swim school in March 2008. Since then, Pablo’s taught most of the kids in the neighborhood and some adults to swim. In 2009 the first cold front hit us early in October, putting a quick halt to all swimming activities until spring. Yucatecans are funny about swimming and the weather; it is strictly a summertime activity. We even had to shut out our faithful pool exercisers this winter because it got super-cold.

Earlier in ’09 I rented out the upstairs room, but that didn’t work out. I rented it to the wrong person and it put me off renting for a while. In November the reality check woke me up and I put the upstairs room as well as the two front living rooms on the internet to rent. The response was overwhelming, so much so that I made a couple overbooking errors. In the long run though, we have perfect renter #1 upstairs, an engineer from Mexico City. He decided to stay here for nine months. Up front is perfect renter #2, a young guy from Spain working toward his dive instructor’s ticket. He’s staying for four months. In the heat of it all, I ended up renting out another room, the “office”, to a Cowboys fan from San Diego(perfect renter #3). And when he departed, perfect renter #4 moved in, and is still in the office now. The ambience at the house is positive and friendly. The email inquiries were flying through November and December and interest continues to this day. If I owned the house next door I could probably rent that too! Pablo painted over the swimming school sign to make way for room rentals

Meanwhile, my reputation as the cat whisperer provoked a few opportunities for us to take care of pets over the holidays. This year the “sitting” responsibilities branched out to art galleries, houses, newly laid sods, dogs and iguanas. Over Christmas we each had to sleep at a different place, feed of a set of pets, water lawns, and come home to take care of our pets and renters as well. My writing was limited to emails. My internet time was consumed mostly by Farmville and Yoville because I was too scattered to write. Our holiday was a true trip to nowhere, because we had to pack suitcases and vacate our own bedroom due to my overbooking idiocy. We were living out of the car, but sleeping at the most incredible places, surrounded by amazing beauty and wonderfully appreciative animals.

Around the 10th of January things started mellowing out. All the owners came home. We unpacked our suitcases and moved back into our own room. The perfect renters are content, and peace has been restored on 75th Street. Now I find myself less drawn to Farmville, and more drawn to this blank paper. Time has come to move the miles of piles again, finish those unwritten articles, and rewrite the book I wrote. Or write another one. Try again, so to speak. I’ve been easing myself into writing mode again with insane blabbering emails, and today I had the wherewithal to sit here and publish this. Here’s hoping 2010 is a better year for everyone, a great year that draws us together as people, to love and live and let love and let live. ¡Próspero Año Nuevo!

Jim's Nightmare

The first hibiscus of the season.


This was going to be a post on how the garden is growing. I exhibited my utmost patience trying to upload some photos and the internet connection kept going out. Eventually my impatience won and I decided to try again later. Like tomorrow.

So I finished writing my book. At first I was thrilled. Two and a half mind boggling years of writing, organizing, reorganizing, reading through journals, emails, typing, writing, and editing and finally, it was complete. It was a larger than life undertaking. At one point it ran 185 single spaced pages with over 120,000 words. I edited again and again and rewrote until finally I burdened a few friends with the request of reading and commenting. Two of them couldn't read it yet, they were too close to Jim's nightmare. Three others did read it and have given me positive reinforcement with constructive comments.

However the final verdict was a big disappointment because the book has one serious problem: It is just TOO sad! I tried to add comic relief wherever I could throughout the story, but the truth is there WAS no comic relief during the ordeal. Frankly I'd completely lost my sense of humor and it took me a long time to get through the anger, frustration and hopelessness. I am still working on restoring my sense of humor.

I thought a book about one couple's battle with cancer would be insightful to so many of us who are close to someone with the disease. My goal was to share our experiences with the intention of offering coping tips and a bird's eye view into how cancer affects everyone in and around the patient's life.

Jim lost his battle but he put up an incredible fight. I thought that by writing Jim's story and my overcoming the grief of his subsequent death, I could give the book a happy ending. A hope redefined. I picked the pieces of myself up off the ground and glued them back together by writing and venturing out into the universe to give life another try. My goal was not just SURVIVE, but THRIVE.

My satisfaction of finishing my book was short lived. The fact is, my book is NOT done. No one has discouraged me with comments or suggestions. I agree with most of the comments I have received. I just wanted it to be done. It may take a while to regain any sense of objectivity toward this project, so reworking it sounds overwhelming to me at the moment. I have to let it sit and breathe. My great work of art turned out to be only a rough draft. Just a little reality bullet that hit me square between the eyes and has blinded me a bit.

80/50

I have a confession to make and evidently need to rant today. I speak and listen to nothing but Spanish about 90% of each day here. And I speak “pretty good” Spanish. However, on a good day I understand about 80% of what passes through my senses. I can live with 80%. It is in fact a good number. I get the big picture of what is going on around me, how I fit into it, how I don’t fit into it….and then I stumble along my own merry route. I don’t sweat the small stuff, because I am completely unaware of the small stuff! No, that’s not entirely true; I make a serious effort to not sweat the small stuff….I see so many people all bungled up inside it. But I always like to understand every f’n thing that goes on around me and that is how I base my decisions on matters. I figured it was good for me to live less specifically, grasping more or less what is going on around me, without having to actually dive into the pea soup, so to speak.


On a good day I can accomplish business negotiations successfully, even if I end up paying twice what Pablo might have if he’d taken on the task without me. That is just one of the hazards of living here as a foreigner. It is assumed by almost all Yucatecans that we foreigners have a bottomless bank account, and although they don’t know the terminology, basically treat us all as if we were “trust fund babies”. Other than stores and services with fixed prices, where we are all treated equally until we get to the checkout counter and are the object of bad attitude. We buy so much shit! It bugs them because on their salaries they can’t just whiz through the aisles and pick out things on a whim. They see us throw money away and it affects them in a strange way. I can even overcome that by making a joke or remark to bring about a smile. Usually I get the stink eye buying huge quantities of cat food and canned tuna. So I tell the cashier that we really eat mostly cat food, thus saving money on other groceries. The ones with a sense of humor laugh. The others think I am probably not kidding.


I get cross culturally confused.


But today was a 50% day, where I was only understanding 50% of what I heard in Spanish, and I woke up half-brained in English. If I am not mistaken that brings me down to 25% functionality because with half a brain I only understood half of the half I was hoping to understand. I got real frustrated and the rest of the morning, at least, no matter what I tried to say or even think about, I seemed to become defensive about everything. I went off on an Anti-Schwarzenegger rant in the pool this morning. Everyone felt so peaceful in the soothing warm velvety water until I discussed a documentary I watched on HBO last night about anabolical steroids. I was watching a Michael Moore style documentary so it would take a lot of research for me to make my own decision on the matter. The producer was pro-steroids but he did a good job of presenting both sides. I would have to say it was a thought provoking documentary. I learned a lot about all kinds of steroids.


And I have nothing against Arnold Schwarzenegger. You would sure have thought so listening to me rant today! I don’t like hypocrites and what I learned about him last night plus his recent change of heart about the plight of the illegal alien situation in California, made me decide he was just that and I guess I took some frustration out on HIM: say what? All I know was I was emotionalized (Sorry, Spanglish) and talking loudly and firmly about something that I really don’t care about and up to this point in my life has had absolutely no impact whatsoever.


See. I am operating at 25% today. I need a roll in the hay and a trip to the beach. Or a shot of tequila and the afternoon in the pool. Or all of the above and maybe I even need a swift kick in the ass.

Gucci Fruits for Nuts

I was reading today’s Diario del Yucatán and an article grabbed me. They just auctioned off the first harvest of this season’s Yubari cantaloupes in Hokkaido, Japan. The first two sold for $5,200 US Dollars EACH. Last year the first two canteloupes brought in $23,900 US Dollars. The article said this is a sure sign of the global recession. I am shocked. I knew prices in Japan were ridiculous, but this is beyond absurd. We are talking about the Gucci of the melon world. Here is what burns my ass about this: Some nutcase in Japan paid the equivalent of a year's salary for, say, a typical Indonesian, or even a Chiapaneco(!) to buy one piece of fruit.

I had to know more about this cantaloupe. Is it made of gold? Does it grow a little diamond in its center? NO. It is a simple, supposedly sweeter than usual, and most importantly….perfectly proportioned fruit. It is in fact the perfect summer gift in Japan. If you want to impress your boss, mother-in-law or girlfriend, you give them a cantaloupe, or if on a tight budget just one slice. These canteloupes have been genetically designed to be perfectly shaped and, well, just perfect! Just like the Japanese themselves!

Only the first melons sell for the high price…once the Japanese Agriculture Association grades the rest of the crop, they sell in the supermarkets for a mere $100-500 US dollars EACH. In Hawaii I rarely ate cantaloupe because one piece of fruit, not necessarily sweet or ripe since they are all imported from mainland USA, cost around $10 US. I thought that was exorbitant. This is other worldly.


Yubari Muskmelon intended as a high-priced gift.

Now let’s talk about watermelon. The black, almost square, Densuke watermelons sold at the Hokkaido auction last year for $6,100 US Dollars each. From what I can find online, the watermelon auction will take place next month, so I will keep an eye on the news. We can follow the global financial trends via fruit sales in Japan. The black watermelon is also a near perfect fruit, thus another great option for those “summer gifts” (?)..and available at the supermarket for a mere $300 US.

Time bomb? No, black Densuke watermelon. Ripe and ready for sucking up to your boss!

Here in the Yucatán we eat lots of melons. I don’t remember how much they cost per kilo, but the cost didn't make an impression on me so I think they are within most folks' budgets. You can get a sandía (watermelon) juice or melón (canteloupe) juice practically anywhere for under a dollar. We have the Mennonites who provide us with fresh tasty canteloupes as well as nice cheeses. The fruits may not be perfectly round, but I would rather eat an imperfect melon every day, than to think I had to wait for someone to give me a summer gift. Six thousand dollars for a piece of fruit? Just fork over the cash. I’ll eat papaya.

México Gets The Short Straw

As I was catching up on the other bloggers' news, I came across this tidbit. It is a very well written article and is worth a read. I linked this from Debi in Mérida's blog post from two days ago. It is called, "Let's Blame Mexico"...give it a go.

Toilet Paper and The Kitchen Sink

I have been thinking about some of the more subtle differences I experience living in another country. There are constant major hurdles of language and culture differences. I speak Spanish reasonably well, but there are times when I get completely lost in conversation. I cannot imagine what it must be like to go through this culture shock and not speak any Spanish. Mérida is not an English speaking city. Cancún, Cozumel, sure! They want the Almighty Dollar and have learned to speak some English, and even Italian, French, and German. But much of our tourism in the Yucatán comes from Mexican nationals. At the present, of course, there are NO tourists due to the worldwide panic pandemic.

Before I go on I would like to say that Yucatecans are very clean people. We didn’t need any of China’s alcohol or cotton balls here! These folks shower several times a day. This is understandable, especially when the temperature is in the 100’s from April until November. The men here wear long pants, socks and shoes. The women wear dresses, nylons and sport high heels. Walking to the corner I break out in a full sweat wearing a singlet and shorts, but I can jump into the swimming pool when I finish my walks. These folks enjoy an occasional cold shower, a heavy dousing of talcum powder, and on they go to the next task in the midday heat.

Let’s talk about toilets. If you have been to México, you know that most toilets do not have seats. Toilet seats are not an expensive item, so cost can’t be the problem. A 45 peso investment could comfort your hind end for years. Maybe they don’t want people to get in the habit of sitting on the toilet. Maybe the idea is to make sure you squat. I happen to like toilet seats, so my five bathrooms have them.

Why is toilet paper such a coveted item? I know when we travel we wouldn’t go as far as Chichén Itzá without carrying our own roll. The Pemex gas stations along the highways constantly surprise me. I always carry my own paper, and sometimes am pleasantly surprised to find a super clean, nicely tiled restroom, with toilet paper, soap and hand towels. Other times I have to hold my breath, squat over a disgustingly full toilet, and just be glad I have a place to relieve myself as I unroll the flimsy paper I had smashed in my pocket, having not a square to spare, so to speak. Those situations are when you MOST want to wash your hands thoroughly, but of course there is no water…..or the toilet would have flushed six users ago.

Mexican toilets are not built to accept foreign matter. No one throws their paper into the toilet, let alone feminine supplies! There is always a trash receptacle next to a toilet for used paper, even if there is no paper provided. Every now and again I forget and accidentally throw my paper in the commode. After several flushes, it will finally swirl down. It is enough hassle to remind me to use the trash bin.

Now here is what confuses me. Considering an entire culture that doesn’t throw paper in the toilet, I don’t understand why they think it is ok to throw shitloads of food, paper, or whatever, into the kitchen sink. There are no garbage disposals. Sinks are always plugging up. Why? Because there are wrappers, chunks of food and all kinds of gross shit in there blocking the drain. If the toilet couldn’t take it, what makes them think the sink can?

Next up, dental torture.

Miscellaneous Ramblings

It is the second week of April. I've been concentrating on the book project, but I forgot to post any news or items of interest here. I promised no more cat photos, but I am indulging myself since my birthday is Sunday. Mokito is sitting behind the basil bush in the ground cover that looks great thanks to Pablo's diligent watering and constant care of the entire patio area. He is so cute I can't stop photographing him.


I was inspired to do some gardening on Sunday. It was still very hot this past weekend, and I spent three hours in the pool. As I read my book, drank my Gatorade, etc, I felt cooled off enough to plant some flower seeds, the new jasmine plant, prune the papaya tree out front, and generally do more work in the yard than I usually enjoy or tolerate. (Gardening is NOT my thing!) When sweat rolled into my eyes I decided to jump back into the pool.

Here is what is new.

Yep! Another kitty. I have a sinking feeling this is the fourth kitten from the litter that Momcat had....the ones we took out to the property. He is desperately seeking residence here. He made friends with Mokito, who loves everyone. Of course Moka wanted no part of him in her pride, but he is sweet talking even her into accepting him. He is a talker. Not a screamer like Sak Boox, but sort of an out loud purrer. Above he is wondering if he can come in to eat or if he should hit the high road.

Here he is wondering if he needs to scurry up the tree and vacate the premises. He is very cute. I imagine we will have him fixed and take him in, since we sent away his mom and siblings. We haven't named him because we are trying to avoid adopting another cat. I have to admit if I were a cat, I would want to weasel my way into this cathouse too. Even when it is over 100° outside, the cats find places to stay cool. They particularly like to sit poolside. Maybe we'll name him Weasel.

There are lots of flowers blooming in the patio. I wish I could remember the name of this mini tree, but I am brain dead and energyless today. They say it's the cold. Last week they said it was the heat. The real problem is that I am getting old. I have this love/hate relationship with my birthdays. I generally get stressed out about having one, but I always want to celebrate it anyhow. We didn't make plans to go anywhere for my birthday since it falls on Easter. The local people all head to the beaches and ruins and cenotes over Easter week, so if we go somewhere it will be after the holiday.

This is how I work at the computer. I have to set up chairs next to me for the cats. Moka prefers sleeping on top of the printer because she can attack it if it acts up. The others stay away from the desk and keyboard if I keep them close by and pet them enough. People who think cats are not loving must have weird cats. My cats require lovin' every day. They demand it. I work in some head scratching and sweet talking to allow me to take little mind breaks while struggling to think through this enormous project of writing a book. I think I have a name for it, and the project seems to be leading me in a specific direction now, which I see as a good sign.

Sak Boox drinks more water than any cat I've ever seen. They all drink from the swimming pool, and though we thought it wasn't good for them with chemicals and all, it sounds better than any standing water they might find in the bush. What Sak Boox prefers is to drink straight from the faucet or the 5 gallon jug spout. She will position herself and tell me, "I am ready!" Although I prefer to NOT allow cats on the kitchen counter, I usually let her come up and have a drink.

There are other things going on. The construction at the property is almost finished. I will post on it once we have it done. We have the bloggers Meet and Greet next week, and I look forward to meeting the other bloggers. An old friend of mine will be in Cancún next week and I would like to visit him and his family. I have known Lothar since I was about 12 years old. He is one of my oldest friends. Unfortunately, of all the cool places there are around here, the place I least enjoy driving to is Cancún. The toll road is hypnotizing as well as expensive, not to mention four hours of driving with nothing to see but road. So I am working that in my brain.

My pool exercisers are back. Once we topped the 100° mark last week, interest was peaked again. Now they are talking about evening swims in addition to morning swims. If we have the hot summer they are threatening, we will all have to live in the pool. The weather is confused right now. I may be brain dead today because of dehydration....again. Last week I was suckin' down all the liquid in sight, and this week I am not thirsty again. It was only 68° this morning. How's that for extremes? Anyhow, when it is cool outside we don't feel the thirst sensation but we still need to drink three times our weight in liquid every day.

This is all the rambling I will subject you to today. Mostly I wanted to say hi, I am still here plugging away, stumbling through life. Happy Easter to all of you from the Conejita de Pascua (the little easter bunny...me)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am searching for my brain cells and when I locate them will post a bitchin' story. Adios.

I tried four times to separate the paragraphs, so if they are still all stuck together, it must be a sign that this really was meant to be just a ramble!

Spring Cleaning

Spring is in the air. The sun is in Aries. For whatever reason, I had to rearrange my surroundings.. I didn't want to buy anything new, but my desk was bugging me. It is a giant gray steel military size desk. It is the wrong height for me to type on the keyboard. My neck hurts. I don't think the chair with four pillows piled up was helping my back. After 10 hours writing the other day my feet and ankles were swollen.

I have been searching for a better desk for a while. I found the most practical and reasonable one at WalMart, which speaks for the quality of the piece. No matter! It is great. I now have my ergonomic work station. And I broke down and bought a chair. If I am ever going to finish this book and move on to other projects I have to like my workspace.

I made my office more comfortable by bringing the couch set from upstairs in here. The removal of the mammoth desk made room for plenty of other stuff. I feel like I have a place I can comfortably hang out, even if there are screaming kids in class outside. I reorganized all my beads, pens, papers, tools and materials. I always feel renewed when I get my shit in order. My mind feels less cluttered.

It was a great spring cleaning. I organized the cd's and put them on the shelves where the CD player is! Sounds simple, but I had the cd's in drawers across the room. I could never find what I was looking for because the cd's are not in their original jackets. Now they are labeled and handy.

We moved the big desk into the dining room. Everyone needs a place to create new piles. The desk attracts them. It was collecting too many distractions for me in the office. The dining room is big enough to handle it, and I think it looks good in its new location. I have high hopes that we can keep the kitchen table clear so we can sit down and eat without having to move miles of piles first.

I realized recently that other than tables, chairs and hammocks, there isn't anywhere to sit in this house. The living room furniture which was not comfortable to begin with, was taken over by the cats long ago. Yesterday I put some temporary slip covers on it and cleaned it up. I moved furniture around in the living rooms to accommodate the cats' toys. Pablo reinforced and improved their play station. They had toys all over the house, scratch blocks, etc. Now it is all in the living room and they can run and play and climb....and soon, roll in catnip.

We Have A Winner!

Although I am diligently working on my book about Jim's Nightmare and my subsequent survival/rebirth, I take the time to write in my journal every day, I find ideas to post on the blogs, and I do plenty of research online as well. I entered MY ALOHA FOREVER in a short memoir writing contest, and I won! Grand Prize.

I have copied the link below as well as the article as it appears on http://www.shortmemoir.com/ . Coco, dubbing herself a lifetime diarist, has taught the art and craft of creative journal writing to individuals, organizations, and colleges by way of her creative journal writing workshops since 1999. She has been a contributing writer and columnist for various magazines and has authored several creative journaling guidebooks for her book and memoir projects. CoCo Harris is an alumnus of 2006 The Hurston/Wright Foundation Writer's Week. She received her Master of Fine Arts in Writing in Fiction from Spalding University in Louisville, Kentucky. Her works in progress include various nonfiction and fiction projects, including several memoir anthologies, a novel, and a collection of short stories.

I enjoy reading her website. There are many good excerpts of writers' memoirs and journals, beautiful poetry, interesting blog posts, and I can get lost in there for hours. I always find inspiration when browsing Coco's site. She inspires me to continue with my work and has read and published some of my stories. I invite you to check out her website. Meanwhile, the story below may look familiar to some of you, as I was so proud of this accomplishment I sent the story to many of my friends when I finally had a finished product I was happy with. Since winning the contest on Monday, I have received many comments and a lot of positive reinforcement. My self-confidence suffers sometimes, and these words of encouragement mean a lot to me.

Since this story is directly related to the book I am trying to complete, any commentary is appreciated as it helps me stay on the path and delete, edit, and delete....as we all know I tend to ramble. Wish me luck on this immense project, and I hope you like this tribute to Jim.

http://www.shortmemoir.com/pb/wp_b7c4114f/wp_b7c4114f.html


The Short Memoir Literary Contest Winners
My Aloha Forever
by
Lin Dorton

Aloha means hello and goodbye. It means, “love to you”. My husband inscribed “My Aloha Forever” inside my wedding ring. Although it is the most commonly heard Hawaiian word, it is always spoken from the heart. Everywhere in Hawaii, everyone you meet will smile and say “Aloha” to you.

This is a story about a man who lived aloha. My husband Jim was a sailor, an adventurer, a storyteller. He was stout, had rosy cheeks and a colorful vocabulary. When you were with him there was never a dull moment. He was always the life of the party. He was a wild man but the smile in his eyes told you he was a guy with whom you could be yourself. There was nothing pretentious about him.

We never had much money and we were never interested in material things. Nor did we lack for much, for in giving we received much in return. I couldn’t have asked for a more loving man in my life. We spent 21 wonderful years together. He was always there for me, and always there for a friend in need. He was a kind and generous man.

Standard daily men’s wear in Hawaii consists of colorfully printed short-sleeved aloha shirts, usually worn with shorts and Hawaiian “slippers”, or flip-flops. All the Hawaiian aloha shirt designs tell a story of some kind. Jim loved his extensive collection of aloha shirts. He had more aloha shirts than my entire wardrobe of work, play, warm and cold weather gear combined. It would have taken him a two-month stretch to wear all of his shirts. It was quite fitting that Jim cherished his aloha wear, he was a man full of love.

In 2004, Jim’s weight dropped from 220 lbs. to 135 lbs. Our worst nightmare was confirmed with the diagnosis of a rare incurable cancer and ensuing surgical removal of half his insides. Even in his weakest state his generosity never waned. When his friends visited him he would disappear into our bedroom briefly and return to the living room – big smile on his face - with one of his aloha shirts.

“Here, my friend, I’d like you to have this, I’ll never grow back into it,” he’d say.
Jim’s disease eventually consumed him and he passed away in February of 2006. After two years of caring for my life partner, my soul mate, I was devastated. Life wasn’t fair and I was angry. After trying to hold down my full time job and be his caregiver, I was so exhausted and sad; I was not sure whose adrenaline I was running on. I had kept a brave face for Jim. He was so strong.

As his life neared its end, he specifically asked me for an ash scattering on the catamaran FAIRWIND and a wild drinking bash in his honor afterwards. Many of our friends used to be Jim’s drinking buddies, but most of us had long since quit. Jim’s last requests would be granted however.

I was struggling to organize his services when it occurred to me to give all of his aloha shirts to those who attended. I thought it would be beautiful if everyone donned his clothes. I knew he’d be present at that party and I thought he’d enjoy it.

When our family and many friends flew in from the mainland, I told them how Jim had been gifting his shirts during to visitors and loyal local friends. I said if wasn’t too weird for them it would please me if each of them chose one of his shirts to keep. I added a stipulation: they would have to wear it to the celebration of his life. In one way I could creatively clear out the closet; but much more importantly, it seemed an excellent channel to continue to spread his love and keep his spirit alive.

The ash scattering had its sad moments. I was too choked up to say what I had planned. I had to delegate most of the program. It was awesome and though tears were shed, Captain Danny led some elegant prayers in Hawaiian to properly send Jim back to his beloved ocean. His friend Chip performed a beautiful reading of “I must go down to the sea again...,” it was perfect. I don’t know how that poem found me. I also located a Fijian chant that brought back memories of Jim’s and my greatest adventure: sailing from Hawaii to Samoa, Tonga and Fiji, and I added that to the ceremony.

I tossed some of his ashes into the sea, when an idea hit me. Why not invite everyone to throw ashes? It is not traditional in an ash scattering, it may even be inappropriate. I threw all caution to the wind. It was Captain Jim we were dealing with. He was neither traditional nor appropriate! We all threw loose flowers into the sea to guide his spirit, and that was protocol. But everyone joined in the throwing of the ashes as naturally as if they were flowers. You could see his spirit take shape and flow into the deep. It was at once beautiful, sad and enlightening. We blasted a CD of his favorite rock and roll tunes and poured a champagne toast to a smooth and happy sailing for Jim’s next adventure. From that moment you’d never have guessed it was a funeral. We dried up our tears and turned them into laughter. Even I was laughing. I had barely smiled in two years, but there I was having fun. Granted, it took some champagne to find that first smile, but soon enough my hysteria turned into hysterical laughter. Maybe I’d survive the ordeal after all.

At first I was shy about mentioning the shirt idea. People might think I was crazy. Upon second thought, I decided Jim had inspired me and if anyone thought it was morbid he wouldn’t have to participate. Au contraire. I folded and neatly arranged the shirts on the bed before I’d invited the guys in to choose. It was like Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving. Shirts were flying everywhere. Like any great sale, they ended up strewn about; the numbers dwindled quickly. Jim’s oldest and wildest childhood friends went straight for his absolute favorite shirts, though they hadn’t been to Hawaii in years, and likely hadn’t seen him wear any of them. Walter had four shirts on his pile but I didn’t have the heart to stop him. He was always Jim’s ‘brother’. I could see the appreciation in the “WOW!” on his face. He immediately put on Jim’s favored faded purple shirt and wore it every day he for a week.

The shirts went so fast I scurried into my bedroom to find his t-shirts and hats I was going to keep. When Jim worked for months at sea and visited ports without me, he always brought me unique artifacts and collectibles, so I would have great memories of him. I brought out the rest of his t-shirts, hats, and lava-lavas (Hawaiian men’s sarongs). They disappeared in minutes.
I could feel Jimbo smiling. I was amazed at his friends’ reactions when they chose their remembrances of him. I didn’t feel weird at all. In most cases, they were able to find items reminiscent of special times they had shared with him. Old Man Tom, at 84, flew in from California. He had remembered to bring the Pussers Rum cup Jim had given him 20 years earlier when Tom visited us in the British Virgin Islands. The old bugger had just recovered from a heart attack and a stroke, but he drank straight Pussers Rum in his new aloha shirt and fishing hat until 3am. What a trouper. He was the ideal example of Jim’s fine long-lasting friendships.

Several months later as I write this I recognize our friends in town by his shirts. Others email or call to say, “I’m wearing Jim’s shirt (hat, jacket, shorts, shoes, watch, foul-weather gear, etc.) today and I wanted to tell you I was thinking about you both.” I look at the photos from the celebration and see all those shirts. And I smile. I see people hugging, laughing, some of them crying. When I think about what we went through I still cry, mostly because I had to hold in the hurt while he was ill. But when I see everyone wearing all of his things it is like a great Jim Dorton masquerade party. I especially like the photos from late that night when we were all notably looped. They make me laugh. They are filled with much aloha.

I gave away all of his clothes except for his slippers. They still sit outside the front door, Hawaiian style. They belong there. Inevitably when one of my brothers or a friend visits they’ll forget to bring theirs. Jim can still lend them his as he always did.

I’m glad Jim inspired me to pass on his things that day. As long as the threads hold together his tales will be told. This is one small way I hope to keep his legacy alive; as his aloha spirit has traveled far. People had often said of Jim, “He’d give you the shirt off his back,” and he did, all of them. He gave us his aloha forever.

GrandPrize

Review of Blog, I asked for it.

Waitress, I need two more boat drinks


I'm a native Floridian and as such I love the beach. Not the ones you see on TV with condos and high rise hotels and flashing lights and fine dining. No. I like the ones that haven't been taken over by tourists, the ones tucked away and still obscure (though rarer and rarer), with weathered houses and sand on the floor and dive bars and sticker burrs and restaurants with plastic tablecloths and fried mullet.

I come from a long line of boat and beach people. We've had a place at one of those out-of-the-way redneck beaches since I was little, and my fondest memories of childhood are there, pulling the net and learning to waterski and building drip sand castles on the beach for hours and digging up sand dollars with my toes in the Gulf and paying toothless shrimpers to buy us beer when I was 13. My father and all my uncles spent summers as hands on boats, and one of them, the craziest of them, has spent most of his life on a boat, running from and just "running." He's down there now somewhere south, surfing and telling fish tales and going crazier every day.

So, inherently, I appreciate the inclination to go native, to go tropical. Which is why I was eager to review Lindi's Ideas, bland name and all. Because Lindi has done just that -- gone native -- and she's done it for a while now. And I admire that so very much. She's been all over, working on boats and scuba diving and teaching and, I imagine, having every kind of adventure. She's lost and found and has found herself in the Yucatan with a young Latin lover (I assume he's her lover; she doesn't quite say) and a house in Merida and a life of serenity and observation.

The template, like the name, leaves a lot to be desired. It's your standard blue blogger template. Blah. Flavorless. Soulless. Find something with flavor, something with a little kick. Linda, I know you don't know much about this whole blogging thing, but figure it out. Ask for help. Or go here.

There's no blogroll, or anything else for that matter, which does make it entirely uncluttered. But there's little in the design or in the "extras" to tell us who you are. And for some reason you contribute to your blog twice. How does that work?

The posts are loooong. Like this one, which I'm sure is interesting, but I can't be bothered because it goes on forever without paragraph breaks. Pick a topic and write about it. If the topic is expansive, narrow it down. Break it up. Especially if it's a "we went here and did this and here are the pictures" kind of post. Yawn. People won't care unless you make them care, and dragging on ad nauseum with no break isn't going to do it.

The writing is serene, almost formal. And it tends tends to plod. I wonder if it has to do with switching between English and Spanish (and Mayan!) in her day-to-day life. I have a friend who's lived in Korea for 10 years, and his English writing is now a bit... stilted. Without a voice.

The blog description uses the dreaded word "ramble," and it fits. There's no knowledge of where to end, of when enough is enough. I had a friend like this who couldn't for the life of her end a voicemail message. It's like she had no off switch. She didn't want to sit there rambling forever, awkwardly saying things like, "So, yeah, either call or whatever, you know? Um.... So. Did I say it's me? It is. And it's six o'clock. And we'll be here until whenever, so just, um... Yeah. Oh! Calamity says hi! And... um..." but she couldn't help herself. Hang up the phone already! Have a point! Even in your blog submission form, where you tell us about yourself, the form cut you off. I'm serious! You wrote so much the form said, nope, you're done, we're gonna stop you right there.

And when I say "have a point," I don't mean cat stuff. I like animals, too, mostly of the canine variety, but I don't know anyone who wants monthly updates on my furry friends. They wouldn't want updates if they were my actual children, either, so find something else. You're living in the dang-diddly Yucatan! There has got to be all sorts of junk to write about other than cats.

Linda, you are a fascinating, bold, and brave woman, who no doubt has reams of stories to tell... but you're not telling them. In your submission form you said, "I thought maybe I would sit my ass down to write every day instead of smokin too much dope and staring at teh computer..." Girl, do I ever know the feeling. Trust me, I'm all over that. You also say, "and although I know you will crucify me, fuck it, I am in the mood today. I must be a masochist because I have not shown my real self on that page, in fear of offending my family with my f..." (that's where the form said buh-bye). Awesome. You know there's a problem, you know you're muzzling yourself. And this is never a recipe for good blogging.

This is where it got interesting to me. The calm, peaceful, la-la-la of it all came crumbling down and we see some personality, some frustration, some life. Do more of this! Stop worrying if you offend people. This is the problem with non-anonymous blogs -- people get all wrapped up in what they're saying instead of just saying it. You have, I'm sure, lived one of the most interesting lives being blogged about, but we wouldn't know it because your posts are sanitized and travelogged and shuttered to hell and back. Take the ball gag out and give it back to Love Bites.

Also, in that bit up there from your submission form that I posted? There we get to see how you might talk, what you might sound like. It's more natural, less forced, less "I'm writing so I better write like I'm writing and take it seriously and inject it all with formality and all due decorum." Fuck that. Get real. Tell us the truth, tell us who you are, or don't bother.

Because I do absolutely find you fascinating, and because there's the potential for some great storytelling, I'm giving you





But if you don't step it up, if you don't start editing your writing so that it sounds like you and start telling us the good stuff and start revealing who you are and what you think and where you've been, well: you've been warned. Those flaming fingers singe something fierce.

P.S. Why not write the masterpiece on the blog instead of using the blog to escape from the masterpiece?


# Posted by Calamity.
on the site ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE
or http://iwillfuckingtearyouapart.blogspot.com

Miles of Piles Shuffled Again

This week I set out to go through, yet again, my miles of piles. It never ceases to amaze me how much shit I have. When I left Hawaii I got rid of tons of crap. I figured I would spend a lot of time here doing crafts, so I sent myself 300 colored pens, 10 really cool coloring books, a pile of half empty notebooks, paints, inks, brushes, more pens, drawing paper, rice paper that I have not used in fifteen years, beads, sewing stuff. These are just for crafts and represent only the things I had my hands on today. There is a lot more!

The paperwork is another story. Every printed page from the online writing classes, greeting cards I created but never sent, every credential I have ever had, including a 1986 three day pass to Disneyworld, memberships to the Musket Cove Yacht Club in Fiji and the Neiafu Club in Vava’u, Tonga, (I always believe I will revisit these places) and notes that I made into file folders for things I would DEFINITELY write about. It’s all just a big stinky pile of cat-piss scented papers now. The topics are good but the information is old. I get new ideas every day. (They come and go rapidly; some are gone before I have found the paper and pens.) I think the lesson here is: if I write in the morning on paper, I should try to find my notes the same day, put the ideas into a computer file, and make sure to throw the papers away immediately. I have been writing by hand and just filing those papers.

What was I planning to do with EVERY travel section from the Kona newspaper in 2006? Not just a page here or there, but entire sections. I get the newspaper here in Mérida and there are new, more interesting, and of course, more current issues at hand.

So far I have filled one bag of trash. I simply want my shit organized and I want less of it. And so goes the process of sorting through my present life. I overthink reasons why I cannot think straight, and today’s excuse is that my stuff is too disorganized. One article I was toting around was about an author who cleaned out her miles of piles so she could think clearly. Ah, I am on the right path after all, I thought. I read it and tossed it.

After taking a break to write this, I tackled the large pile of files. As I was going through them I found all the resentment and anger I was feeling in my falling from grace period in Hawaii after Jim’s passing. There were so many things there that pissed me off; I ended up manicly cutting articles out of the paper and filing them. What was I going to do? Lead a 1-person revolution? I wanted to, but that is not the point. Instead I chose to leave it behind and today I finally set that negative bullshit free! The trash collectors have already taken it away! Now a swipe of sage or maybe this lavender incense over here and I will be among all positive vibes. It feels much better. And I got the room quite functional. It is not feng shui but I am not Oriental.

The Sex Lives of Cannibals - Memoirs

My faith in travel memoirs has been restored! After being disturbingly disappointed in EAT LOVE PRAY (see post from Sept.: I and I and I - Book Bashing) I am having fun with J. Maarten Troost's books, THE SEX LIVES OF CANNIBALS and GETTING STONED WITH SAVAGES.

'Sex Lives' is neither about sex nor about cannibals. It is a story of an American couple living in the South Pacific on the small island of Tarawa on the equator. She works and he pretends to write. Meanwhile he chronicles the daily life of the folks typical of many islands of the South Pacific.

On page one, the author describes why they chose to move to this tiny island nation for two years (other than his girlfriend was offered a job there); he states: "It is the nature of books such as these--the travel, adventure, humor, memoir kind of book--to offer some reason, some driving force, an irreproachable motivation, for undertaking the odd journey.....And typically, the writer emerges a little wiser, a little kinder, more spiritual, with a greater appreciation for the interconnectivity of all things."

About himself, he says, "Let me say at the top that I didn't have a particularly good reason for moving to Tarawa......(explanation of anxiety issues with the general course of Western society)......However, these issues seemed insufficient to justify a renunciation of continental comfort. I was simply restless, quite likely because of a dissatisfaction with the recent trajectory of my life, and if there is a better, more compelling reason for dropping everything and moving to the end of the world, I know not what it is."

I like this guy and I like his attitude. I lent the book to a friend here and she returned my autographed copy (Thanks, Cousin Amy!) with an additional copy that I can safely lend out PLUS the new book, GETTING STONED WITH SAVAGES. (Thanks, Janet!) I just started reading the second book. So far he is getting stoned on kava in Vanuatu and it is hilarious.

Maybe I relate to his books because of my own South Pacific experiences. My husband and I sailed a very bare boat from Hawaii to Samoa, Tonga and Fiji with two crazy guys. We stayed weeks at a time in remote anchorages, lagoons and harbors. We lived for seven months in Fiji working on Qamea Island, which, starting from Nadi where the international airport is located, is a three hour flight, thirty minute taxi ride, and twenty minute boat ride away. There was nothing there except an exclusive resort with 11 bures (palapas!). I had to shop for food for the guests on another island because there was not even a small store on Qamea. I can picture the scenes that J. Maarten Troost paints. Mostly, though, I think he offers the kind fodder that we terminal adventure animals need to survive.

Wanderlust. Another person addicted to adventure. His reading is quick and witty. When I finish writing "I WAS A WETBACK IN MEXICO" I hope to capture this kind of essence....a taste of the rest of the universe outside the sterile environment of the United States. Five stars.

Kittens Want Stories Now

Why don't you work with these ideas?

Writing is fun.

I said I want that page!

I wrote a long list of shit to do today when I awoke from my three hour nap yesterday afternoon. I thought I might rearrange the entire house. Move all the furniture to different rooms and places. I sat down and made some sketches. Sometimes I like to experience different space. In my little house in Hawaii I could only move things around a little, since the kitchen, dining room and living room were just one room. The bedrooms were small and not much room for creativity there either. But this house? Oh, there is room to move all right.

But the cats decided today would be a good day to work with some old notes. They chose several projects and mixed them all up. It looks like they want me to combine some stories. Or at least get rid of some of this excess paper. Below you can picture what lies ahead for me today.

Griping

Ok. So my last article sucked. I had no brain power it was too hot and there were too many interruptions. Enough excuses or need I provide more? I had a great idea for the palapas and sat here melting thinking JUST POST SOMETHING.

It rained like hell yesterday. It was the first time this rainy season that the water rose up in the street splashing on my neighbors' doors, coming into my parking garage like the waves of a lake, sloshing plastic jugs and miscellaneous garbage up to my gate. That doesn't bother me as much as the garbage men missing pickup for the past several days.

I enjoyed the rain, but it was not too good for business. You cannot teach kids to swim in a lightning storm. We wait around all day for the classes and then the afternoon rains spoil our plans and we feel frustrated.

Today I am flabberghasted (that is such a strange word and probably spelled wrong) how quickly the mosquitoes arrive after ONE lousy rain. I am covered in Autan, or Mexican OFF, yet one mossie is obviously having a field day with me here at the desk. Living in the tropics for decades I try to keep mosquito breeding out of the patio area.

The weather cooled down due to a cold front passing through, but I doubt that will last long. I covered myself with a sheet last night for the first time in months. I am not looking to pull out any blankets just yet. We still have two months of hurricane season left and the weather is so screwy maybe the July rainy season just started.

I am in an anxious state today. I have to attend a meeting I am not happy about. Then it is off to Mayan class where I am lost. Level one pre-school Mayan language was fun and simple. Now they expect us to act like adults and know this stuff. Hmmph! It would have helped to have a book or something to help learn in the first class, or a teacher that was a little organized.

Shit like this should be written in the morning pages, the ones no one sees. I know that. But I have decided that my blogs have been sugar coated and not necessarily reflecting my personality. I think maybe I sounded even too happy, because my friends who I thought were reading the blogs and used to write to me have abandoned me. I am the one who abandoned all my friends and family, insofar as I moved out of the country, but still....I have always made an attempt to keep in touch with my friends and thought friendship had no borders. when I know many of my friends live on their computers: games, chat rooms, joke sending for hours on end, it hurts my feelings some that they don't have time to drop me a line. I still care about them, really I do. I guess I am just frustrated and over sensitive today....something new and different for me, huh folks?

The Cat House Update

Pure innocence.

Who, me?

Who, me?

I didn't do it.

I'm just looking.

It has been a while since the last report on the kitties. They continue to grow and amaze us. Little Mokito is a spitting image of his mom. He has been in the swimming pool twice. He manages to get out, just like Moka did when she went in three times, but we are not sure how he ends up in the water to begin with. All cats think the swimming pool is one giant bowl of drinking water. At night the entire outdoor commando sits around the edge of the pool, where it is a little cooler temperature wise and perhaps in status: "Yeah, I hang around the swimming pool all night and sleep in the shade all day, I'm cool...."



Moka had surgery two weeks ago. She had a chance to experience motherhood, and the good fortune of keeping all her kids with her. Sorry, Moka, but we had to do it. She had a little trouble with recuperating, she insisted on cleaning and ripping out her stitches and the kittens were matting on her tummy while feeding. Moka ended up back in the hospital for nylon stitches, the weekend, and returned with an Elizabethan collar. Moka was not happy with me. Now that a week has passed, and the collar is well out of sight (no, I did not leave it on for five days....I could only tolerate 5 hours of Moka's misery), Moka feels so much better she is starting to act like a kitten again.



Watching kittens play is a full time activity. I can't say job, because no one would pay to have you watch kittens play....bummer....but it is the job I have taken on full time. One could write a book aout learning life's lessons by following around curious little Mokito. And one might have time to write a book if he or she only had to follow around Mokito. But there are four of them, a fussy mom, and the outdoor commando who all have some psychological problems. So there is no time to write the book!



The cats use two cat boxes which need cleaning daily. Their feeding area is attractive to ants, and there is usually a complex trail of ants with freeways, detours, high roads and low roads leading to the cat dishes. I feed the housecats who put a dent in the first plates of food. They walk away, prean and clean themselves, play and sleep. Meanwhile the outdoor cats have snuck in to finish off the morning feed. They are in a hurry and leave food all over the floor, beckoning the ants....that completes that cycle. I come along with my Fabuloso and paper towels trying to pick up the mess and get it into the trash before the ants start biting me. They have a wicked bite. Then I am off to the living rooms with a broom, where Buster's been rolling in catnip and it now looks like the floor of the church at San Juan Chamula. It looks like someone took a bag of weed and tossed it in the air. I guess that is what I did, actually.



I am not blaming the cats for my brain freeze. Or brain fry as I referred to my writer's block in a former blog. I am not blaming anyone, really. My problem is that I would rather just be one of those kittens. But I am not. No one is going to feed me when I complain that I have spent all my money on cat surgeries and catfood.

Too Hot To Think

For the past few days the temperature here has soared to over 100°F, with the humidity factor not far behind, and the "feels like" factor ten degrees higher. I remember it was hot like this last year from May to July. Then the rains came and although it was steamy, it was bearable because the afternoon rains cooled things down.

One positive note is that we are in the process of painting the swimming pool. It is just sitting there baking in the sun, bright blue and dry, begging to be filled and cooled off. (Or is that me?) Maybe I didn't notice the heat when I could walk outside and jump into the pool to swim, read, write, or just float around with foam noodles. In fact, the pool was so invigorating that lowering my body temperature caused me to forget to drink three liters of water a day. I was so refreshed I ended up dehydrated, and I know better!

We picked a good time to paint the pool. We are in a long dry spell, considering we are in the middle of the rainy (and hurricane) season. It has not rained much since we returned from our trip, a week ago Friday. It is difficult to be sitting here pouring in sweat, with only cold showers to cool off, hoping that it does not rain all week long. Why does pool paint have to dry for a week, anyhow? It sure feels dry.

I feel like I own a boat, having this swimming pool in the back yard. It needs constant love and attention, just like a boat. When it came time to sand and paint the pool, it felt like part of the natural course of things. We didn't complain, we just got out there as soon as the sun was out of direct line of sight and started sweating and sanding, and later sweating and painting. The fact that it is out of commission during the days we would enjoy it most is just one of the sacrifices of having a luxury. I think these days are meant for reflection. Believe me I already appreciate the luxury of having the swimming pool, and I have mentioned it before.

I mostly miss our morning aquatic exercises. By noon, if I have not accomplished things it is certain that nothing will get done until the sun is setting and it cools down. Good thing the Olympics have been on TV, because we have turned into hammock spuds. With three or four fans blasting at you you can just about get comfortably cool in the hammock. It is this time of year that foreigners understand why Yucatecans spend all their time in their hammocks. I can not imagine sitting on a hot sofa; it is challenging at night because the bed is still usually holding in a lot of heat. And so we end up in hammocks again. With three or four fans blasting.

I recently bought a helicopter fan. It is a high powered fan that would literally take off if it were on a stand. It is loud but at least you can breathe. Some of the fans we bought last year have already died. In April when the live wires snapped outside the house and zapped us inside the house, it burned up two surge protectors and two fans. Others have been cheaply made and unsturdy and just had a short floor life. I went out to replace missing fans when the heat wave kicked in, but I was too late. There was one cheap fan at 14 dollars, and the helicopter for 50. I bought them both. The last fans in Mérida. I will learn from this, in November when it cools down and the shipment of fans has finally arrived in the Yucatán, long after the hot season, I will stock up on fans for next summer.

Livin' The Dream

Buster relaxes in the hammock for the first time!

What is the dream? Obviously everyone has a unique dream life, so I can only address this issue from my point of view. Jim and I lived the dream. We spent twenty years in Hawaii. Most people dream of a week there. For the first ten years in Kona we were happy at our jobs, which were also a dream. Diving and driving boats, watching whales and sailing around the islands sounds very romantic, and it is! We worked hard and played hard. Then we decided we were supposed to grow up and get real jobs. Our jobs were real, so I don’t know what confused us so much. I guess it was turning forty. We felt we had not met the anticipated family requirements of adulthood and responsibility. So we took indoor jobs. So much for living the dream in Hawaii. We stopped driving around the island after our numerous visitors’ tours. We stopped going to the beach and we burned out on boat jobs. Eventually we found it difficult to make it out to a friend’s house for dinner, we became such home bodies. We were no longer the professional partiers we were so proud to have been.

Once Jim became ill, Hawaii became our nightmare and not our dream. We had our circle of family and friends and overwhelming support from all of them, but the lack of medical care and the ever increasing cost of living there made it all a giant stressor. And the air. The air was my worst nightmare. I felt better living in Mexico City where the toxic air is infamous, than I did in Kona where the government insists there are no negative effects from breathing heavy metals and sulfur dioxide fumes.

After Jim passed away, I could no longer face my job. Frankly I could not even face the supermarket, because Jim had so much trouble eating his last year. I also felt like the leftover half of “Jim and Lin” and it left me empty inside. So I created a new dream. It took a while, but I am persistent and I am a survivor.

Now I am living in Mérida in the Yucatán Peninsula of México. I have always loved México, especially this area. I know it is a big dirty city of a million people. But it is the cleanest city in México! And it is relatively safe. These people have their own form of aloha spirit, which I feel is more alive and evident than what I felt when I was falling from grace in Hawaii.

I own my house. For the first time in my life I am neither paying rent nor a mortgage. This is a freedom I never expected to realize. My utilities and other monthly costs are a slight fraction of my former life in Hawaii. Today I feel I am not only living the dream, but living a life of luxury. I looked up luxury in the dictionary. According to the American Heritage Dictionary, luxury is “Something that is not essential but is conducive to pleasure and comfort.”

To give you an idea of what luxury is to me, let me describe a typical day in our lives. Last night I was sound asleep in the hammock,and when I woke up Buster was proudly sitting on my lap. This was his first attempt at hammock relaxation. He seemed so proud of himself for getting up there and surprising me. I look like I am half asleep in the photo, but Buster looks so content. This made me happy. This morning our momma kitty, Moka, woke me up at 5am to get my attention. She then brought little Busmo out for his first meal of Whiskas morsels. I brought the other kitties. Today is their one month birthday. First solid food and first time out of the box to romp and play. Wow! How fun it is to watch them grow. When their little bodies twitch in their sleep, are they growing?

After the morning feeding and playtime, the folks arrived for aquatic exercises. Before I lived here I was unable to force myself to get any exercise. Now I have a swimming pool. It is not the largest or most impressive swimming pool around (it is the ONLY one!), but it is a huge luxury that I have always had a desire to have. I felt if I had a pool I would use it. Minimally I exercise five days a week at 8am for an hour. At this time of year it is extremely hot and humid in Mérida. After I work up a sweat during the day, say walking to the corner store, for example, I jump into the pool and cool down, usually swimming or jumping around for a while. With the swim school in operation, several people enjoy the swimming pool every day. Pablo and I have also been known to put on some Chico Che music and dance in the pool at midnight. The pool has already provided plenty of joy for us, our friends and students. There is no better way to cool off or lower the body temperature than hanging out in the shady area of the piscina for a while. Ok, so the toddlers pee in the pool and we have to clean it once or twice a week….totally emptying and refilling it. Luckily the water comes from a well on the property, so the utility bills do not rise and fall according to urine levels.

Some kinds of work are very rewarding. Teaching a skill to a person is one of them. Teaching scuba diving has been my favorite employment during my adult life to date. I am getting emotional sitting here trying to figure out how to describe the gratification an instructor can feel upon completion of swim/dive lessons and open water experiences with students. Seeing someone overcome a fear or become comfortable in a whole new environment is the reward in itself. I was elated to see Pablo so thrilled after scuba diving for the first time in April, and I see him jubilant when his students learn to swim and have fun in the process. The joy is apparent on his smiling face, and on the faces of the kids, their families, and watching this daily makes me happy.

We have a housekeeper. Her name is Pilar. She showed up at the door almost a year ago looking for work. I was under construction and not ready. This year, with all the traffic involved with operating a school six days a week, and me trying desperately to write and having trouble sitting down long enough to concentrate, Pilar is a godsend. She makes us fresh fruit juice in the morning and cooks up a nice lunch, with fresh salsa and tortillas. She cleans the house, does laundry, irons, you name it. She is great. I hope we can continue to earn enough to afford this particular luxury, as it is new adventure for both of us. We are actually eating correctly, and I am sitting down to work on a regular basis.

Pablo. He is a miracle, a dream, AND a luxury. We did not intend to get involved like we have; it just happened and now it has grown. He has lots of talent and good energy. We work, we play, we laugh, we dance; we really have a lot of fun together. He happens to be young and gorgeous, and he treats me like a princess. He makes me happy. Very happy! He helps me maintain my youthful outlook on life! Not everyone approves of us, but we are the ones who have to live with ourselves, and we love being together. I have found a soul mate. Finding one true partner in life is a miracle, I don’t know if there is a word for how lucky I am to have found a second one.

We do not live extravagantly here on 75th street. We entertain ourselves mostly at home when we are not both working. We enjoy playing Risk and other table games. We do not always turn on the TV and usually we watch the Addams Family, Latin American Idol or American Football. We go out to our favorite club where Pablo plays his tambor. It is an odd little place, but drinks are cheap and there is usually good live music. We are trying to make it to a baseball game, the ice rink, the movies, etc, but usually end up at Casa de Todos. On our day off we visit ruins and cenotes, or head to the beach for some fresher air and the sea breeze. And of course to eat fresh conch ceviche and whole fried fish! This is livin’ the dream for me. It may not last forever, but what does? Should we not allow ourselves some time in this short life to live our dreams?