Oilcloth and Rice Krispie Treats

Last weekend I had four things on my to-do list.

1. Buy groceries.
2. Buy oilcloth.
3. Get my cell phone fixed.
4. Pick up some friends at the airport.

On Saturday I accomplished the first two items. AND I had a nice surprise. It was one of those surprises that give me much pleasure and can make me smile all day.

I found Rice Krispie Treats at Commercial Mexicana, the local supermarket. Rice Krispie Treats always remind me of Acapulco, because that's the only place in Mexico I've ever been able to buy them. And now they're available in my home town of Zihuatanejo. Life doesn't get much better than this....

Oh, and I found some really cool oilcloth. I plan to use it to line Terry's pantry and cupboards while he's out of town. Not everyone shares my passion for Mexican oilcloth, so I feel compelled to sneak into kitchens and redecorate while people are out of town. Hey, they'll learn to love it...

Treeless Zihuatanejo

I've been driving my boyfriend Terry's truck while he's in the U.S.

Several months ago, when he was still in Zihuatanejo, I almost backed his truck into a palm tree. So I was surprised when he told me where to find the keys.

The tree I almost hit was located in our parking lot. Unfortunately, we had to have the tree cut down this summer, as it had become a hazard -- because it was dead and might fall down any day, NOT because it was in my way...

I contend that the tree was dead BEFORE it had its scare with Terry's truck. Terry claims that it died of fear.

So Terry and I were discussing my driving the other day, and Terry asked about the state of health of the other palm trees in Zihuatanejo.

VERY funny....

There are plenty of palm trees left in Zihuatanejo. One of my favorites is this traveler's palm, located up the hill from where I live. I used to live at the top of that hill, and I drove a truck then, and hey, three years later that tree is still alive and well.

A Favorite Story

The other day, on one of our morning walks, I told my friend Nancy (hi Nancy!) about the time I spent in Tibet in 2005.

I've never been able to adequately express in words the emotions I experienced on that three week trek (by jeep) in the Himalayas. It was everything I expected it to be and at the same time nothing like I thought it would be.

There were so many experiences -- mountains and prayer flags, monasteries and prayer wheels, pilgrims walking to Lhasa ( and taking years to get there), trucks going over the side of the mountain and people dying, sky burial platforms attracting huge vultures at the side of the road.

The adventure was physically demanding and at the same time incredibly satisfying. It came at a time in my life when I was rethinking many things -- my job, where I wanted to live, HOW I wanted to live. I was unhappy and I wanted to make some changes in my life.

One of my favorite stories about Tibet concerns an Indian who worked as a surveyor for the British Raj. He was sent into the Himalayas to verify the maps of the origin of the Ganges river. At the time there was some confusion about which river in the Himalayas fed into the holy river of India.

He was told to cut down trees and throw them into the river that he was mapping. His counterparts in India would watch for the logs. If they saw huge trees floating down the river then they would know that their maps were correct.

10 years later, having endured the hardships of an inhospitable terrain, and the work of cutting down trees and throwing them into the river, he arrived back in India to report to his superiors.

Unfortunately there had been a change of management during his 10 year absence, and the survey office had totally forgotten about him and his mission. No one had bothered to watch for the logs. No one knew if they had arrived or not.

I like to think the Indian surveyor didn't spend the rest of his life angry and frustrated. I hope he lived for many years, happy and healthy, realizing that the way the universe responded to his actions was totally irrelevant.

And, if nothing else, he had a great story to tell...

Monkeys, Flip Flops, and Pura Vida

I was sitting by the pool the other day with some of my neighbors. We were talking about the warm water, the blue sky, the vibrant flower colors. We all agreed that we are lucky to live in such a beautiful place.







During the course of the conversation I mentioned that the only thing we were missing was monkeys. Not every one agreed, but hey, it's a free country.

In 2003 I went to Costa Rica with my daughter (hi Anna!). One of the things I loved about the rain forest/beach/volcanoes/easy lifestyle (otherwise known as Costa Rica) was the howler monkeys.

Not everyone in CR loves the monkeys. When I was there I met a man from Nicaragua who lived in Playa Portrero. He complained that since moving to Costa Rica he never got enough sleep.

His problem: he lived on the beach, and his house had a tin roof and a mango tree in the back yard. Every morning the monkeys would come to eat the mangoes, and they would drop or throw mangoes on his roof.

After listening to him I realized I wanted to retire to Costa Rica. I wanted to live in a place where the only alarm clock is monkeys throwing mangoes on the roof. A place where I could spend the rest of my life in shorts, t-shirts and flip flops.

Life intervened, I was offered a job in Zihuatanejo, and I fell in love with it. We have mangoes here, but I still miss the monkeys...

Almohadas, huachinangas, and Los Estados Unidos

I was walking to Commercial Mexicana the other day when I was passed by a young man with a cart full of pillows. Actually he was pulling a cart full of blankets (who buys those blankets, anyway? I've never needed more than a sheet on top of me since I moved here). Tied to the back of the cart was a mass of bed pillows.

I can believe that this guy might sell a few pillows on a Sunday afternoon, but blankets? When it's 90 degrees fahrenheit and 90% humidity? No way.

The pillows caught my attention because one of the first itinerant peddlers I ever saw in my neighborhood was a pillow (almohada) seller.

At the time I was just learning Spanish, and the word almohada seemed treacherously long and hard to remember. I worked hard to memorize it.

The same with huachinango (red snapper) and Los Estados Unidos. I had to practice and practice before those words tumbled out automatically...

There are still words that I stumble over. I'm a lazy student. I study Spanish in fits and starts (mostly fits), then I get interested in something else -- sewing (making almohadas!)..., writing...

...Enough with the excuses. Bring on the almohadas. Bring on the words that sound the same to me -- parejas (couples) and pájaros (birds). Bring on the synonyms and the false cognates -- paradas and desfiles.

... I've been here almost four years now and I'm ready for anything. Well, I don't think I'll ever be ready for subjunctive verbs... but I'm ready for all that other stuff!

Summertime

The heat and humidity in September in Zihuatanejo reminds me of the first summer I lived here, in 2006. That was the summer I decided I wanted to live here permanently. The summer I fell in love with the heat, the beach, the people, the language, the food, and the music.

Some of the magic of that first summer in Mexico may have been a reflection of a summer I spent in St. Louis in 1971. Yeah, yeah, ... I know, on the surface the only similarities between St. Louis and Zihuatanejo are heat and humidity, and beer-drinking.

In St. Louis I lived in a dormitory on the Washington University campus with students from all over the U.S. We were enrolled in a 10 week intensive Chinese/Japanese language institute. We spent 6 to 8 hours a day in class. We had to speak our chosen language during lunch. When not in class we memorized vocabulary and bitched about the instructors.

It was one of the happiest summers of my life.

On weekends we went to outdoor rock concerts. We partied. We drank a lot of beer.

Funny how 35 years later my life came full circle and I found myself recreating that 1971 lifestyle. I like to think I've learned a few things in the intervening years, about how to manage relationships (I changed boyfriends that summer, and I wasn't very kind), how to stand up for myself, and, perhaps, how to practice a bit of moderation. I've also discovered that life is full of surprises... But hey, as long as there's cold beer and music and friends, with any luck, most of the surprises will be good ones...

Buttercup

Speaking of small towns...

I was in Walla Walla this summer, staying with my friend Shelia. One night she and I went to the Walla Walla Summer Musical with her daughter and her daughter's 3-year-old son.

The play was ok, and as usual the location was perfect -- an outdoor amphitheater on the grounds of Fort Walla Walla. Logan (the three year old) loved the music. Shelia and Paige and I recognized some of the cast members.

The play started with the arrival onstage of a car from the fifties -- a yellow and white 1957 Nash Metropolitan. As the car came onto the stage Shelia said "There's Buttercup."


I'm thinking, this is such a small town, that not only do we recognize the cast members, we recognizes the props!

Shelia was one of Buttercup's previous owners.

The other memorable event of the evening was also related to cars. As we walked into the amphitheater Logan pointed at a little red Miata -- "Ann, someone stole your car!" I tried to explain that there are several red Miatas in Walla Walla, but he wasn't having it. Fortunately whoever was driving my little red car that night returned it before we got home, keeping the world a safe and happy place for three year olds.