Paper Kites & Summer Breezes

Life on the road in an RV or Sardines on the move!

2009-09-23T23:41:00.001-04:00

Cath just stepped on several of my toes. She said that she was trying to miss them. . .imagine if she had been aiming!

After six weeks, Gertie the motor home is getting small. Initially, opening a cupboard and getting cracked in the head with a coffee cup was mildly funny in a Keystone Cop sort of way. But tonight after six weeks in this mini house on wheels my sense of humor is being stretched to its raving point.

I was walking back with my laundry late this afternoon when I noticed a man standing on a ladder cleaning the bug bodies from the windshield of his motor home. I thought to myself that that was probably a good idea and that maybe I should do the same but alas: about the only thing that I don’t have on board is a ladder. And that’s not just an excuse; I would really love to chisel away one body in particular . . . the one whose eyes are now peering at me from the windshield, a grim reminder of what can happen if you fly into oncoming traffic. Maybe I should just leave it there as a warning to other insects on a road trip: FLY HIGH.

Another guy that I noticed today was a man standing by a huge rig playing with a satellite dish. I’m not sure why he was bothering because in this park all you have to do is plug in the cord for your cable and voila: TV! Anyway he was there when I went to the laundry room to start my wash and he was still fiddling with it two hours later when I returned. All the while I had been sitting in the air conditioned lounge adjacent to the laundry room watching Oprah on the big screen!

After Oprah the news came on. By that time I was folding towels and didn’t pay a lot of attention to the first report which was about two people found dead in an RV. My first thought was that they were probably fatally injured after opening a cupboard while not wearing a helmet.

Well I should go change the bandages on my toes now. I do so with a certain joyful delirium over our good fortune as we head back to sandal country!

Like driving into a mural

2009-08-20T17:21:00.001-04:00

2009-08-20T17:19:00.001-04:00

2009-08-20T17:18:00.001-04:00

Salutations!

2009-08-20T17:02:00.001-04:00

We have temporarily left the land of Hola, Buenos Dias, Tarde & Noches for the country of: “Yall Come back now . . . ya hear?” And at last night’s camp ground, after giving up my search for a dumpster I was told: “Yall just did not wok fer nuf; it’s just down the hill a piece an to your royt. Ya kin see it poking out just a bitty piece down the road cher”. I looked; and there it was “yonder under the Mimosa”.

Soon we should be dismissed with a toothy “yall have a nice day now . . . ya hear?” But it doesn’t matter so much what is said, or in which language, the sincerity behind the delivery of the message has a way of transcending all the obstacles that lie in the path of comprehension.

Along the way we have had some minor problems: we were lost a couple of times and we had a broken wire leading to the signals on our toad (towed HHR) and with every incident we have been fortunate to find help and advice from people who took the time to see us though the dilemma of the day. It has been said, and we have been warned that travel can be dangerous, and we don’t underestimate the need to be vigilant, but I do believe in the goodness of human nature and just as the last time we took this long drive, we have been helped along the way by the kindness of strangers.

We have just checked into a Mount Vernon Illinois camp park and it has laundry facilities and cable TV and the big bonus is that it is cooler. Cath is having a shower and I’m next. After that I don’t know if I should do the laundry or watch TV . . . it’s wonderful to have such choices after nearly a week on the road!

For your viewing pleasure (I hope) I am going to add a few pictures taken on the road leaving Mexico. I apologize for the blur but it is almost impossible to take a shake free picture while driving down the road!

Rattlesnake Country!

2009-08-17T22:37:00.001-04:00

2009-08-17T22:36:00.001-04:00

Lizzie

2009-08-17T22:26:00.002-04:00

Packed and Almost Ready to Roll

2009-08-09T03:10:00.002-04:00

I noticed, moments ago, that it was twelve forty in the morning. I was standing in the shower at that time and glanced at my watch when I felt the familiar bump of the watch band while lathering up. I hope the watch is waterproof; it’s special; it says congratulations on the back and it is dated June 10th, 1992: the day that I graduated from University. It was a gift from my Mom & Dad and I have barely had it off my arm since then.

I have never worn a watch in the shower before but I’m chalking it up to the last straw in a week of set backs as we tried to get ready for the big trip north. We had planned to be gone a week ago but Gertie (the motor home) didn’t pass muster and to save you the long and boring details suffice to say that a thousand dollars later we still have no cabin lights unless we are plugged into shore power. However we do have three new batteries, an oil change for both car and motor home, radiator flush and new antifreeze plus a bath and wax for Gertie.

After several days Sal (our mechanic) called to say that she was ready to be picked up. He and his family had washed and waxed every inch of her and detailed the engine; it probably wasn’t this clean when it left the factory. The makeover only lasted about twenty four hours before Cath had a close encounter with the gate to the colonos. The bad news is that we will be looking to replace the strut for the awning when we get home. The good news? . . . now the gate guys run to open the gate wider when they see us approaching!

I was ready to start packing when we went to town for a few last minute things and decided to go out for lunch. We are always so careful and even as we were sitting at our table trying to decipher the menu and tamp down the grass around our feet, we were thinking that it might be best to order nothing more than a bottled drink and leave. It wasn’t that things didn’t appear clean. On the contrary, it was sparkling, but we did wonder about the source of the water and whether it was treated (gringonized) before vegetables etc. were washed. But we looked at the guy’s seven kids and decided that he needed the business and so we stayed.

Long story short: I have met the amoeba and it is an ugly beast. Cath had a day of crampiness and nausea but I ate the salad. For three days I got absolutely nothing done and so I went to see the Doctor today and I now have pills and some pea green liquid to drink three times a day. I can walk upright now and it is possible to pass a bathroom without any inclination to pay a visit.

Carpe Diem. Seize the friggin day! When we left the doctor’s office we grabbed a couple of piñatas for the kids and headed home to start piling everything in Gertie and to get the car hooked up to be towed. Everything was going well until we blew the fuse on our brake buddy (I hope Sal is up early tomorrow). And then right on time the thunder started and three of four dogs started following me around, drooling on my legs, vibrating etc. I should have paid more attention, been more sympathetic but I was pushing for a close to the day so that I could get some sleep before we leave.

When I finally went in to turn down the bed before my shower someone had peed right smack in the middle of my bed. So now I am waiting for the laundry to dry so that I can re-make the bed that I changed earlier this morning. I did ask, in not too humble a tone WHO DID THIS? Lizzie looked the guiltiest but Cayden is often nonchalant about these indiscretions, so I will never know and in the end who cares?

We are finally one fuse away from heading down the road and perhaps all of the incidents of the past week will wipe the slate of retribution clean before we start out. It just seems that no matter how much order we try to bring to a plan there is always reprisal whereas flying by the seat of one’s pants seems to go without penalty!

As many of you know we are coming home to help my Mom get moved into her new apartment and to attend my Dad’s memorial service. It is going to be a tight schedule but we are hoping that we might see everyone at Tim’s for at least a short visit.

Small Patio Big Mess

2009-05-27T01:26:00.004-04:00

Building the Boveda Ceiling is an art form

2009-05-27T01:23:00.000-04:00

Work on the Studio Extension

2009-05-27T01:15:00.003-04:00

Swallow's Nests

2009-05-27T01:08:00.000-04:00

I've Grown Accustom to this Place . . .

2009-05-27T00:58:00.002-04:00

I was walking with Cayden this morning and at some point I realized: HEY! I’m living in Mexico!

I suppose that seems incomprehensible to some that I should suddenly have this epiphany nine months after we made the big move but though the thought comes infrequently and unexpectedly it always comes at me like a curveball, hitting me upside the head when I least expect it. This morning’s “ball to brain” came from the many, many radios playing all over the neighborhood.

It wasn’t that long ago that I would have noticed and made note whether the music was Mexican or 1980’s Gringo as soon as I stepped out the door; sooner if the volume was high enough on our friend and gardener Ricardo’s radio. Although in the case of Ricardo I wouldn’t have had to listen . . . Ricardo always listens to Gringo songs. Maybe it is to improve his English which is already quite good and leaps and bounds ahead of my Spanish.

But this morning as we walked along I was thinking of the dozens of swallows that keep trying to nest up under the eaves of our house. Is that what they call it here? Eaves? I don’t know -- but anyway we have had to go around most mornings and knock down the mud ball foundations that the swallows keep building because we are having an extension built (yes renovating already) onto the studio and the place that the swallows have chosen to raise their off spring is currently a human construction zone.

This morning as I walked along, enjoying the sun on my shoulders, listening to the birds sing and the “rain birds” (Scarabaedae?) screech a warning of impending rain I suddenly noticed that all around me there were radios blaring Mexican music. I have grown so accustomed to the sounds of Mariachi that it no longer sounds foreign and I do believe that once you begin to take something for granted you are home.

2009-04-28T14:35:00.000-04:00

Swine Flu

2009-04-28T14:29:00.003-04:00

I guess the last man standing get’s all the groceries. Yesterday we helped two more of our friends get ready to head north by taking all of their groceries!

In the last few weeks we have inherited all sorts of delicacies from one Gringo pantry or another. I’m liking this end of the season bounty. We have some asiago, camembert and blue cheese, and many varied and exotic salad dressings. We have Bailey’s with a hint of crème caramel (reportedly good on ice cream) and crèma de macadamia con café (we need more ice cream). We’ve got containers of crescent rolls, peanuts, rice chips, more mayo . . . pie shells, bananas, raspberries, chicken and frozen vegetables.

So maybe we can skip the market this week which would be disappointing. I love the energy of the market. The noise, the music, the colour and even the elbow to elbow shopping experience conducted in both broken English and attempted Spanish is enjoyable. For Cath and me the coup d'état of market day in Mexico is the stuff that leads to yodeling and chest pounding when we have successfully managed to infiltrate a sea of humanity, grab some fruits and vegetables and live to talk about it!

But now in view of the fact that much of the population is hiding behind blue masks and avoiding contact with one another maybe we ought to exercise a little caution until the swine flu scare is over.

I’ve been listening to CNN the last couple of days and the bulletins that they keep releasing makes it seem like Swine Flu will turn out to be the forerunner to Armageddon and eventually we will all be shaking our heads from the grave saying: “I guess I should have stayed home with my mask on”.

Maybe it is just me but I am considering yesterday’s numbers of one hundred and forty nine dead in Mexico and trying to decide what that figure means to my household. The reporting is nothing less then sensational and misleading when you run the numbers. And, oh, by the way: those cases are overwhelmingly in Mexico City and as of yesterday the cause of death for the one hundred and forty nine souls was not confirmed. These are two facts often omitted from the CNN reports.

At last count the metropolitan area of Mexico City exceeded nineteen and a half million people while the city itself is estimated to have more than 8.8 million permanent residents. Anyone who knows me realizes that math is not my strong point but I do believe that when you consider the statistics and combine them with several hundred miles of separation, the odds of us avoiding Swine Flu are in our favor.

For friends and family who are worrying about Cath and me I can only say: don’t. We are healthy and doing what has been advised by cooler heads: keeping our hands washed, and avoiding crowds and if it becomes necessary we will purchase masks. So far there are no reported cases Lakeside but should that change we can just stay home and ride it out. After all the larder is full to capacity!

2009-04-28T13:46:00.001-04:00

Hadley

2009-04-17T10:27:00.001-04:00

Getting Back to Normal

2009-04-16T23:35:00.004-04:00

Ok. As many of you have pointed out: it has been awhile.

I started this blog for family and friends who were interested in keeping up with our move to Mexico but mostly I started it for Mom and Dad to help them over their reservations about our move here. I thought that if I could show them pictures and describe our surroundings that they would come to appreciate our home and location as something perfectly safe and acceptable.

After Dad died I kind of lost heart in the project, especially since Mom hasn’t got much of an interest in the internet. I know that she could handle the internet just as she has mastered her serger (it cuts and sews?), intricate quilt patterns and argyle socks! These accomplishments are all self taught; she is amazing and the most remarkable thing about that is that she doesn’t have any idea how impressive she is.

Anyway this isn’t about my Mom and it isn’t about my lost Dad . . . it is just an explanation for the long silence. First off I didn’t have much to say (I still don’t) and secondly without Dad to open the blog for Mom I didn’t think that there was much reason to carry on with it. But, apparently it has been missed and for those faithful few who are still looking, on occasion for updates, I will try to be more conscientious.

It has been two and a half months since my Dad died. In all of that time I have not been able to convince my Mom to come and stay with us for awhile. She has been determined to get things settled at home, and to make the adjustment to living on her own without delay. I admire her tenacity and her courage and I have to support her in this decision but I do miss her and I do hope that she might be ready to return with us next fall when we are heading back after a visit home.

In the meantime we have really started to settle in and make this home. Years ago, a friend of ours called and instructed us to rent The Money Pit. He was laughing so hard that he couldn’t breathe but after a few snorts he managed to tell us that the movie was about Cath and me and our infamous house renovations. Well . . . after watching the movie I have to agree: Shelly Long and Tom Hanks seem to have been acting out our lives.

With that in mind we have decided that we will do the painting and decorating but we will get estimates from people who know what they are doing for the plumbing, electrical and brick laying. The nice part is that we don’t actually have to do any of these things but, although things are fine as they are, we have some improvements in mind and so we are off! I’m sure that you are asking why I would mention any of this in the blog but for those of you who know us best it is a sure sign, when we start renovating that we are getting back to normal!

I've added some pictures below as proof that even when your heart skips a few beats . . . life goes on and we are all doing well.

A Really Big Bug!

2009-04-16T23:35:00.003-04:00

Geese Louise

2009-04-16T23:33:00.001-04:00

Lizzie

2009-04-16T23:29:00.001-04:00

Cath on the "Berry Road" with Hadley

2009-04-16T23:23:00.001-04:00

Ayelish and Cayden

2009-04-16T23:21:00.001-04:00

Me with our friend, Janet

2009-04-16T23:20:00.001-04:00

Cath at Janet's concert

2009-04-16T23:18:00.001-04:00

Clean for a Minute

2009-02-01T21:47:00.000-05:00

Thank You

2009-02-01T01:46:00.002-05:00

Today I was washing the car. I don’t think that I have ever washed a car before. My solution to a dirty vehicle is to run it through a car wash when it is really disgusting.

Ordinarily I keep the car covered with a thin layer of dirt to protect it from the dust but once in awhile we give in to the army of squeegee kids who haul buckets of water around parking lots waiting for a dust bunny on wheels to arrive so that they can earn a few dollars while the driver shops, eats or whatever.

Anyway the car has been washed a couple of times since our arrival in Mexico, but due to the dust we usually don’t bother. What’s the point? We no sooner have it all shiny and then we drive down the road in that cloud of dust that follows us (everyone) every where, and before we reach our destination the car is once again covered in silt.

Today it is just past a week since my Dad died and it was one of those restless days where I just couldn’t settle into anything. On the hundredth time, when I looked out the front door, I finally noticed what a disgrace the car was.

Now I can not leave the house without my four bad girls so I put all of them into the car so that they could lick the windows while watching quietly, instead of standing at the front door barking, or worse: fighting. I got a bucket, sponge and hose and set to work. It was somewhat therapeutic having something to do and as I worked away at picking the bug bodies off of the windshield and blasting the mud from the wheel wells, I eventually tuned into a sound that I have been subconsciously listening to all day.

There is a huge gathering of people over at the club; I think that there may be a soccer tournament there as periodically kids of all ages have walked past the house kicking soccer balls or passing them back and forth. But what I heard this afternoon was music and singing, and though I could not understand the Spanish song it was certainly a joyous celebration of some sort and I couldn’t help but be reminded that life goes on.

I am still shaking my head over my Dad’s death, but clearly I have so much to be thankful for . . . too many blessings to examine one by one at this late hour, but probably none more important than the many friends who have enveloped my family with warmth and kindnesses this week.

I did not return for my Dad’s funeral because I knew that there was really nothing I could do for Dad. It was a difficult decision to stay here but in the end I recognized that it would be more important for me to wait until things settle and see if I can’t convince my Mother to join us in Mexico for the rest of the winter.

My Dad was so concerned about what would happen to Mom when he was gone and I had promised him on more than one occasion that we would all look after her. My greatest regret to date is that we could not bring my Dad here, but now that he is gone Cath and I are hoping that my Mother will join us so that we can take care of her for the rest of the winter, while she recovers from the demands of the last few months of caring for my Dad.

I am sorry that I missed you at the funeral home last week. But I am so grateful for everyone who ventured out into the cold to visit with my family. You will never know how much I appreciate the love and support. It is one of my most recognized blessings that during my life I have met some of the kindest, most considerate people and I am so grateful. Thank you.

Dad

2009-01-27T12:00:00.001-05:00

Thoughts on Dad

2009-01-26T10:49:00.003-05:00

The morning that my Dad died, Cath was sitting in the studio and she noticed a small bird that she had not noticed in our garden before. It was a small black bird with a brilliant orange beak and orange tips on its wings.

At about the same time I was looking out at the front gardens and noticing all of the new blooms and for a moment I was overwhelmed with such a strong sense of my Dad's presence that I knew at once that my dreams of bringing him to Mexico, where we live now, had become a reality. He was here with us. He lingers still.

I recognize that my Dad's body was worn out and that try as he might to keep it functioning it became increasingly harder for him to maintain his life's work as husband, father, grandfather, friend, advisor, caretaker and so many other roles that he played throughout his life. It was time to give up his earthly existence so that from heaven he might still watch over all of us.

With his passing those of us whom he loved without reservation are charged with the simplest task of keeping his spirit alive through remembering. Memory will be aided, if we allow it, by the feeling of that first warm breeze of spring on our faces as we look towards the sunshine, the source of all renewal. He will be behind the force that stands the hair on the back of your neck when you witness extraordinary, often impossible, events that have the capacity to move the human spirit in solitary celebration. I believe that these moments are gifts of life sent to us by those departed souls who have loved us in life. They are sent in forms that the muses of music, poetry, art, and humor would approve to still us for a moment as we absorb the message: I am still here.

Never without a camera!

2009-01-23T22:00:00.002-05:00

My Dad 1924 - 2009

2009-01-23T21:48:00.004-05:00

This morning, January 23, 2009, after a life well lived, Howard Duncan Miller left us to take up his place in heaven following a courageous battle with failing health.

Howard was a Veteran who served his country during WWII with the Canadian Navy, and was later employed by Imperial Oil until his retirement. He was an amateur photographer who spent much of his free time on the banks of the St. Clair River, in all kinds of weather, photographing the freighters that sailed the great lakes.

He is survived by his much loved and devoted wife, Jean and his children: Jennifer and Cathy Broderick-Miller, Jacquie and Fred Jackson, Marlene and David Black, Michael and Lona Miller, and Mary Miller and Michel L'Heureux. He is also survived by his grandchildren: Derek & Darryl Jackson, Amanda Madere, Catherine and Justine Miller, Mathieu & Brianne L’Heureux and 10 great grandchildren and Emma the cat.

About forty years ago the Beatles released "Yellow Submarine". It was our Dad's favorite song at the time and although he did not sing, at least not in front of people, he could often be heard whistling the tune: "So we sailed up to the sun till we found the sea of green and we lived beneath the waves in our yellow submarine. . ."

He is now free to sail to the sun and though it pains us to say goodbye we are grateful for an end to his suffering. We are all stronger for having witnessed the courage, the loyalty and the love my parents shared particularly in these last few years when Dad struggle with failing health.

Romance Language Goes to the Dogs or Romancing el Perro

2009-01-08T01:11:00.010-05:00

I believe that Spanish qualifies as one of the recognized Romance Languages as it has its roots in Latin. In any case Ayelish, our second youngest Wheaten, has become enchanted with the Spanish speaking Veterinarians at the clinic where she has become a weekly visitor.

By now I am sure that many of you know that Ayelish had a cancerous tumor removed the week before Christmas and started chemo immediately after. I hasten to add that her prognosis, with chemo, is very good and although it breaks our hearts every week while we sit with her during her treatment, she seems to be handling it well with few side effects. She will not loose her hair and other than a restless night the day of chemo, and some feverishness she is holding up well under treatment.

But for those of you who know “Ayelish the Nut” you would be amazed at the changes in her demeanor. Until recently her most notable characteristics were trembling or hiding behind either Cath or I, or at the very least looking as if, given the chance, she might skidder off to hide under a table or behind a chair at the approach of a stranger. These traits have not vanished entirely but nevertheless I have often wondered these last weeks if her Mexican veterinarians have preformed a lobotomy on the girl during the removal of her tumor.

When we first decided to pursue the chemo therapy option I worried that she might have to be sedated before each session. This was necessary before her surgery to keep her calm before they got started. I expressed my concerns and reminded the vet of her neurosis and her fear of EVERYTHING and he quickly, and kindly, invited us to stay for the treatment and has allowed her to sit in her stroller for the hour long session.

Now, each week, Ayelish sits in her stroller under the spell of a wonderful technician who administers the potion that will hopefully make her well again, and speaks to her in Spanish while stroking her face. And all the while mi muchacha Hermosa sits attentive, romanced by the softly spoken Spanish words of encouragement; she gazes into their eyes with a look of absolute trust while Cath and I fight tears.

2009-01-08T01:11:00.009-05:00

Another year older and what have I done?

2009-01-01T01:09:00.001-05:00

In less than an hour it will be 2009.

It barely seems like a blink ago that we were in our shop doing the annual inventory and at intervals, agonizing over what to do about retirement. It wasn’t a case of not wanting to retire. No. I could barely contain the gleeful thoughts of freedom that I anticipated with the finish of my working life. The concern was the affect that following our hearts might have on other people, our family, our friends and our staff.

Robert Louis Stevenson said: “We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best that we find in our travels is an honest friend”.

I have been lucky. I have a few honest friends who finally helped me to recognize that, no matter what we chose to do, in the end the world would continue to spin and no one would be any the worse for our choosing that road less travelled.

It isn’t that I have ever felt indispensible but most of my working years were spent in a position of responsibility in terms of other’s financial futures. Because of this I took that task so seriously that it became an albatross that threatened to sour the pleasure and contentment that I have always enjoyed during the many years of working with people, most of whom I had come to regard as friends.

It was not an easy decision. In fact it was much harder than I could ever have expected. Although I had anticipated some emotional upheaval when it came time to make the announcement, I was absolutely stymied at the reactions of a few. But that’s where true friends make everything bearable. Someone once said that a good friend is a connection to life – a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world.

Tonight, as I sit here waiting for the clock to send us chasing after another year, I have been thinking about my absolute good fortune. I have been blessed by family and friends who have cared enough to let me go and who have promised to keep a light in the window for my return. I am grateful for your wisdom and excellent counsel, for your patience and kindness, for your unending sense of humor which is probably the most important ingredient in the foundation of our friendship, and most of all for your love; I hope to always earn it.

2008-12-26T01:07:00.001-05:00

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2008-12-26T00:47:00.001-05:00

The Gringos First Christmas

2008-12-26T00:45:00.003-05:00

In another fifty five minutes our first Christmas in Mexico will be over. Despite the fact that we missed family and friends at home, it has been a splendid day with perfect weather, perfect company and a perfectly wonderful Christmas dinner compliments of our friends Janet and Charles.

I think that the pictures above and below will speak for the type of day that we have had and need no further explanation with one huge exception. El Toro, the beast in several of the photos is made from paper mache (I have included a shot of the inside of Mr. Toro as I think that the construction is amazing). The Bull was the staging platform for a pyrotechnic display at the Yacht Club, in Chapala, a couple of weeks ago. I was not there but I understand that the fireworks were quite spectacular and not at all like the menacing black smoke that comes from the “rockets” that are still sounding even as I write.

The Bull is going to spend some time in Janet and Charles’s garden so that repairs can be made before he is pressed into service for some future celebration. As you might imagine a paper mache Bull that is used as a launch pad for fire crackers has a few holes in its flanks but in spite of the damage he remains quite impressive!

2008-12-26T00:31:00.001-05:00

2008-12-26T00:03:00.002-05:00

2008-12-26T00:01:00.001-05:00

Cath and I with El Toro

2008-12-26T00:00:00.003-05:00

As Promised Andrew

2008-12-26T00:00:00.002-05:00

2008-12-25T23:58:00.001-05:00

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2008-12-25T23:53:00.002-05:00

Fleas Navidad!

2008-12-24T23:11:00.001-05:00

Feliz Navidad!

2008-12-24T23:04:00.003-05:00

It’s Christmas Eve and at home there seems to be a ton of fresh snow every day and the temperatures are the mind numbing digits that compare with those in Antarctica. And I expect that on some, probably many, channels George Bailey is carrying Zuzu’s petals around in his pocket as Clarence gives him a glimpse of what life would be like if he had never existed. At home, friends and family are gathering and warming their hands or butts by the fire, and kids everywhere are begging to open just one present before they go to bed.

Here in Mexico, the fireworks are concussing off of the sides of mountains, shaking the glass in the window frames and scaring the dogs; I have been told that this noisy vigil will continue for at least the next twenty four hours. All along the Caraterra there are homes displaying niches with empty mangers and anticipatory, iconic parents; their faces set aglow with strings of Christmas lights, some blinking others constant. On occasion there is a Frosty or a Santa sharing the same small front garden; the incongruity of the scene makes me smile. Friends and families are gathered, and as the sun has gone down, they are warming their hands/butts around fires; women are pulling rebozos a little closer encircling shoulders and kids everywhere are aching to open just one thing before they go to bed!

It is not so different here except that most of my friends and family are warming their hands/butts in front of fires that burn thousands of miles from here and I am missing them. But, tonight I stood in the back yard looking up. The sky is awesome as there is not much ambient light in our small village, which has the advantage of making the heavens appear as black velvet shot with crystal shards. Out of the millions of stars I can clearly pick out the North Star, the Dippers and Orion’s belt; my knowledge of astronomy extends no further. These familiar constellations are positioned differently, or rather I am. Nevertheless their presence makes home seem closer.

Happy Birthday Cath

2008-11-25T21:28:00.001-05:00

Cake by The Mud Pie Construction Company

2008-11-25T21:21:00.001-05:00

It is nearly 8:00 P.M. and I have just finished cleaning up the kitchen. As it is Cath’s birthday I wanted to bake her a cake and make what ever she wanted for dinner. The early menu was perfect; she wanted barbequed hot dogs and chocolate cake. That was three days ago. Since then we have been through a couple of revisions before she finally settled on chicken as the main course. No problemo! I do chicken. But cake; now that’s a different challenge.

I started looking for a gluten free recipe on the web shortly after eight this morning. I wanted to be sure to cover all of her favorites: chocolate, caramel, & cream cheese icing. Of course the first thing to do was to blend some flours, some starches and some xanthium gum to make some sort of cake flour and while I was hunting out all of the various components and necessary ingredients I notice that there was no coco powder. I asked Cath: “Is hot chocolate the same”. It is not.

After rifling through a few possible substitutions I found that I could pulverize chocolate squares and that would do, but how many squares? Back to the internet to find that I needed two and a half which was no problem except that when I unwrapped them they did look ancient and unexpectedly light in colour. When you live in a village without stores you use what is at hand and thus the buff coloured chocolate squares were turned to dust and added to the flour.

As I followed the recipe step by step I eventually came to another troubling ingredient. I had honey but not enough . . . not nearly enough. Top off the honey with corn syrup and hope for the best. Eventually the cake was poured into two cake pans and placed in the oven.

I started keeping an eye on it at the half hour mark and was amazed to see that the mortar coloured batter had formed an outer ring that sort of looked like cake but the centers were billowing like flatulent balloons. I’m sure that the only thing holding the pans on the rack was the weight of the mortar.

Now I’m not much of a baker but I did recognize that cake with the texture of quicksand would be no match for the candles on Cath’s birthday cake so I left it to bake until nearly seventy minutes had past and finally the shish-kabob stick that I had been spearing it with came out clean and I was on to the filling and the caramel for the top.

I have never made caramel sauce before but when it was done it reminded me of those horrible candy apples at Halloween that after one bite you needed to brush with a dremel tool to get your mouth open again.

Dinner was great even if I do say so but it is now hours later and the cake, such as it is, still sits on the kitchen table waiting to be tested. The caramel topping is like a tortoise shell so I’m not sure how we will cut it but so far neither the birthday girl nor I have so much as looked for a blunt instrument with which to tackle it. I did venture to tap it with the back of a knife; it sounded like one of the stainless dog dishes being chased across the tile floor by a licking dog.

Doesn't this look like it was dumped out of a bucket?

2008-11-25T20:55:00.004-05:00

Where there is smoke there is chicken!

2008-11-20T20:47:00.002-05:00

If we are driving anytime from mid-morning till early evening there will be smoke by the side of the road . . . every road!

Clouds of it mark the many roadside restaurants and alcoves where you can pull up and buy the most delicious chicken, potatoes/rice and coleslaw. If you like, you can “eat in” although at first glance you may not recognize that the one or two plastic tables, under a tarp, equal a restaurant. The accoutrements leave a lot to be desired but once seated and served you get so lost in the flavor that the dust devils set swirling by endless, noisy traffic, goes unnoticed for the most part.

Don’t let me give you the impression that all of the pollos (Spanish word for chicken) places are the same. There are some large operations lakeside with dozens of plastic tables and chairs, an expanded menu, and men and boys waiving red cloths and whistling you into open air restaurants where the water, when the level is high enough, laps at the concrete or dirt pad where you may be seated. Again, the food is wonderful and served so hot that you can hear it sizzling before it arrives at the table.

As an added bonus, if the view and the ambience fail to delight, then perhaps the Mariachi in their silver studded charro outfits will put a song in your heart. These wandering minstrels play an assortment of string instruments and trumpets and sing of love, hate, betrayal, politics, often with a seemingly tongue in cheek presentation.

More Formal!

2008-11-20T20:36:00.003-05:00

Less Formal

2008-11-20T20:34:00.003-05:00

Table for One?

2008-11-20T20:33:00.002-05:00

Roadside Barbecue

2008-11-15T22:33:00.003-05:00

Happy Birthday Mom!

2008-11-09T16:31:00.002-05:00

The Person of the Day

2008-11-09T15:56:00.003-05:00

The person of the day is my Mom. Happy Birthday Mom.
She is not the person of the day (my day) just because it is her birthday. It is because every day she does everything she can to take care of everyone who needs caring for and in particular she has devoted her attention to my Dad who is not well. She has been tireless in her efforts to make sure that my Dad is comfortable and when she cannot manage that on her own she has had enough love and good sense to keep a hold of his hand but to step aside and turn the job over to those who can. That is really why she is the person of the day, that plus the fact that I love her and she is always in my heart.

I WON!!!!!

2008-11-09T14:27:00.006-05:00

We were at the Chapala Yacht Club art festival yesterday and just before we left Cath and I bought tickets on a draw. A few minutes ago we got a call to say that we have won a prize although the caller did not know what the prize is. That’s OK though; the prizes were all contributed by the artists at the show and every thing is beautiful.

It was such a perfect day - hot sun, no humidity – a made to order day for wandering around and looking at examples of the various mediums and the entertainment that I took lots of pictures to post to the blog. As for our prize, our amigos Fran and Bill have agreed to collect the winnings as they had plans to return to the show today and they also have plans to come here tomorrow so viola! . . . everything is perfect.

I wish everything was perfect at home. Although things are improving daily, my Dad continues to be hospitalized and that has been a great worry for the last two weeks. Mary and Mike and of course my Mom have kept me up-dated daily but still being this far away is hard. I knew that this scenario was a part of what I had bitten off when I left Canada but the reality of it sure has made for tough chewing. My Dad’s fragile health was and is the one thing that sits like a rock in my brain and makes all activity a little leaden.

There are ties that bind and ties that strangle. I am so fortunate to be “bound” by the ties to my family and friends and as we were preparing to leave this last year parent, family and friends said, on several occasions, that although they did not want us to go they did want us to take this time in our lives to experience everything that is desirable and within the realm of our own possibilities. I have very generous parents; although I have no children I recognize how painful it must be to let your children go at any age.

Anyway enough of the maudlin; I did mention that things are looking up and hopefully my Dad will be home this week thanks to the ingenuity of my Mom who is having a stair lift installed this week.

I just have to draw your attention to the girls in the white dresses. Not only are they beautiful kids but their posture is impeccable. Those are glass votive holders on their heads and after several dances, some of them quite lively, there was not a single broken holder!

Pictures from the CYC Art Festival

2008-11-09T14:22:00.005-05:00

"All that we love deeply becomes a part of us." Helen Keller

2008-11-03T04:00:00.001-05:00

Indi . . . A beautiful Girl.

It was one year ago that she left us. There seems no consolation when hearts are broken so I will not try to console with anything more than this: she will always be remembered.

"Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in." Henry David Thoreau

2008-11-02T22:38:00.003-05:00

It is longer than I thought since I last up-dated this blog. This is partly due to that retirement syndrome that leads retirees to perpetually shake their heads while muttering: “I just don’t know how I found the time to work; I’m always busy but I don’t know what I’ve been doing . . . .“

Having lived my working life in fifteen minute increments to keep up with a demanding schedule and at the same time enjoy the clients who visited me daily I was definitely a slave to the clock. If I was in the middle of the woods on the blackest of nights without a watch on I could still tell you what time it was within a few minutes. I know, without looking, what time I opened my eyes in the morning and what time it is when my brain shuts down sometime the next morning.

Here in Mexico it would seem that each day’s schedule is established by a single sentiment –-MANANA--. I frequently consider just throwing my watch into Lake Chapala and I probably would if it didn’t hold such sentimental value. It was a gift from my parents when I finished university which, incidentally, was about thirty years behind schedule on that but apart from my tardiness in getting a formal education, I am mostly on time for appointments.

I do recognize that I am an absolute tyrant when it comes to time management. Cath on the other hand is largely unchanged by retirement when it comes to schedules and respecting them. A watch on her wrist is one of those useless bobbles that might just as well be worn in her ears (where she can’t see it) for all the significance that it holds.

Yesterday we were going out to lunch with friends; before that I had a couple of errands to run. My errands had to be taken care of before lunch, as businesses in Mexico typically close at two (or shortly before) for siesta and may or may not open again at four (or shortly after) depending on the whim of the merchant. But yesterday was Saturday. Double whammy! On Saturday, two o’clock is the end of the business week . . . PERIOD!

I started the day early, had my bath, got dressed and set about feeding the dogs and doing a few things while I waited for Cath to get ready. When I had run out of things to do I decided just to do a little finishing work on a chest that I have been painting. I was being oh so careful not to get paint on my clothes and little by little I applied paint and resisted calling out to Cath with instructions to “get the lead out.”

I had some coffee, I got fed up painting because it is too hard if you have to worry about keeping it off your clothing and therefore not an enjoyable pastime. I went into the back yard and picked up the poop. I took a few pictures, I played ball with Hadley and finally . . . FINALLY!!! I heard Cath coming out of the bedroom and I thought: “at last!” But no. Out strolls Cath, still in a bathrobe, uttering that familiar refrain: “I can’t think of anything to wear!”

I have to admit my peevishness escalated into a full blown rant as I reminded her of the importance of leaving on time to catch the art store open, and still be on time for lunch with Fran and Bill.

Did you ever watch Lucy pull the football away just as Charlie Brown is about to kick it to kingdom come? If you have then you will understand the futility of timekeeping in Mexico with Cath!

2008-11-02T22:15:00.002-05:00

2008-11-02T22:11:00.001-05:00

Happy Sixtieth Mom & Dad

2008-10-22T00:33:00.003-04:00

Sixty Years . . . Remarkable Couple Celebrates Anniversary!

2008-10-22T00:00:00.005-04:00

There’s fireworks again tonight and Lizzie and Cayden are here cowering at my feet convinced that it is a storm.

Every night, periodically during most days and almost without exception, in the pre-dawn hours there is fireworks. I can’t keep up with identifying the celebrations and it seems like the Mexican people can’t either. When ever I ask about the fireworks someone is bound to say: Si fuegos artificiales! . . . Translation: Yes. Fireworks! That’s not an answer to my question of course but it’s nice to know that both parties are discussing the same subject.

I’ve just been explaining to Cayden and Lizzie that tonight’s fireworks must be to celebrate their “grandparent’s” sixtieth anniversary. That’s right. Today Howard and Jean Miller, my parents, have been married for sixty years.

Love one another and you will be happy. It's as simple and as difficult as that. ~Michael Leunig

Let’s not oversimplify Mr. Leuing. Love is a thin blanket on a cold night when the furnace has quit and the kids are sick. Love will not help you to discover a way to keep the car running or the cupboards filled between paydays. Love is often left in the dust when there are disagreements over: money, kids, in-laws . . .

But love for all that it is touted and celebrated with hearts and flowers, with songs and sighs and batting eyes, I believe it to be like a strong rope whose individual fibers are partnership, mutual respect, trust, tenacity, inspiration, creativity, imagination, humor and a host of attributes that are intricately bound and wrapped so that as it is woven its strength will be enough to bind together two people who have agreed to share their lives come what may.

A sixtieth anniversary is such an incredible and rare event that it honors the very notion of love. So Mom and Dad: the fireworks are still booming here and Cath and I are cheering, toasting your achievement and apart from all of that we are trying to peel the dogs off of us for despite the fact that we have decided that on this day the Mexican fireworks should be in your honor, Cayden and Lizzie still hate the sound of thunder!
I love you.

Howard & Jean Miller

2008-10-21T23:50:00.002-04:00

Message to Mom & Dad & Betty & Joe

2008-10-15T11:17:00.002-04:00

The spider is dead!

Just when we had planned to buy him a collar and leash and start walking him with the girls, Cath discovered him leering at her from a new hiding place.

As she was putting the vacuum cleaner away yesterday she moved the laundry hamper further over to make room and viola: THERE HE WAS.

She didn't have time to plug in the vacuum again but the mop was at hand and after nearly two weeks of cat and mouse SHE GOT HIM.

I would have taken a picture to post but it was too gruesome. By the time Cath was finished with him he looked like a used SOS pad so I didn't bother.

Our Daily Constitution

2008-10-15T01:41:00.001-04:00

I think that we are adapting fairly well although there are still some lessons to be learned along the road to assimilation.

One lesson: DON'T GO WALKING AFTER A DOWNPOUR!

There are no sidewalks in Roca Azul; there are cobblestone roads hemmed in by some sort of grass/weed areas on either side. When it rains, as it did last night, due to the uneven nature of the roads, you are going to get some fairly significant puddles which eventually give way to some amazing mud holes.

This afternoon at about four we loaded up the dogs, two in strollers and two walking, and we set out for our daily walk in the park. We decided to take the long way, walking several streets out of our way, so that we all would get maximum exercise.

About a block from home there is a fenced yard that holds in four barking, Husky like dogs. We usually avoid that place because these animals are big enough and strong enough to jump the fence if they take a notion to, but today we were in one of those “devil may care” frames of mind and ignoring all reason we walked past the Husky yard and as predicted the Husky look-a-likes came snarling and charging at the fence. In our haste to put some distance between them and us we managed to drag our two walking dogs through a couple of healthy mud puddles and at the same time nearly swamped the strollers.

Ordinarily there is not a lot of traffic in Roca Azul; but today for some reason it seemed that there were at least a dozen cars or trucks that passed us as we headed for the entrance to the park. Each time a vehicle passed we would do our best to get off of the road and onto the grass border but it wasn’t long before we realized that as the volume of mud on our shoes and on the wheels of the strollers increased, our traction decreased and it wasn’t long before we were really having to put some muscle into the job of getting the strollers on the grass verge, not to mention the work out we were getting trying to pull our feet from the suction grip that the mud had on our shoes.

By the time we reached the park Cath’s black clogs looked like platforms with pontoons while my own tennis shoes resembled those patio tiles that are shaped like feet and they weighed about the same. Oh well, the park has interlocking stone and a lovely walkway and recognizing that the mud was sure to dry and fall away, we pressed on.

Did I mention that the park has these wonderful pine trees? I don’t know what they are but the needles are soft and about twelve inches long and the walkways have piles of these needles that have been shed by the trees plus millions of miniature pinecones.

At some point I noticed that Lizzie was limping due to a build up of little pine cones between her toes. They were jammed in there pretty good with the mud but I managed to pick them out and at the same time remove the pine needles that had attached themselves to the back of her heels and were following her like streamers from bicycle handles.

Eventually we left the park to walk back home through the mud holes. In front of our house and to the right, we have a Guava tree (everyone here seems to have at least one) that drops a ton of fruit on a daily basis. Guavas look like green apples and are about the same size as golf balls but unlike green apples, Guava has the resistance of bananas so when you step on them (something that is unavoidable) they tend to slide you sideways.

Today the Guava that didn’t squash under foot, simply attached themselves in whole form to the mud, the pine needles and the cones. When we got in the dogs all needed foot baths and it took Cath an hour in the driveway to hose the clay off of the carriage wheels. As for our shoes: we are not likely to be wearing them again as they seem to have turned into adobe bird’s nests.

A Walk in the Park

2008-10-15T01:18:00.001-04:00

The Nanny!

2008-10-15T01:16:00.002-04:00

2008-10-08T12:28:00.001-04:00

2008-10-08T12:05:00.002-04:00

The Long and Winding Road

2008-10-08T11:57:00.004-04:00

I know that it’s been awhile but since our arrival in Roca Azul it has been very hectic with unpacking and trying to get organized. We’re not there yet but we have made some progress in the last week.

I guess I left off with us leaving a campsite in a very rural part of Missouri which turned out to have some of the most beautiful, tree lined stretches, of highway right into Arkansas before we finally hit Texas.

As we crossed the Mississippi I was reminded, in some small way, why I had wanted to make this trek by motor home rather than flying. To be honest that is the only way we could have done it with the four dogs, but the Huck Finn in me made the lure of the open road, in a six wheeled “raft”, irresistible.

I loved The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; the kid was an irascible scamp but it was Huckleberry Finn who always set me to dreaming. Growing up on the lake and having access to a neighbor’s raft probably had something to do with my vision of packing a stick with some string and a fishing hook (I don’t even eat fish) and setting off on the neighbor’s raft for an unlimited adventure. In reality I knew that I would have to be home and in the house by dark but in my heart I was always half way across Lake Huron with the wind at my back.

I have to say though that the thoughts of endless days with only a stick, string, a fishing hook and the same old underwear day after day no longer holds the same appeal. Now I am quite content to have a full kitchen, comfortable beds, air conditioning, a television and a lap top at the ready for any voyage of more than a day. Oh! And I must not forget: having a shower and hot water keeps the otherwise pungency of canned humanity at an acceptable level while traveling along the road in what is essentially a well equipped tin can. I have gotten soft in my old age!

But don’t let my reference to “Gertie” as a tin can fool you; she was quite a work horse when the going got tough while lost in the Serria Madres for two days. But I’ll get to that later. First I have to comment on the Mexican border crossing. A NIGHTMARE of un-rivaled proportions to be sure!

After spending the night in Lake Casa Blanca in Laredo, Texas, which is by far the most beautiful campsite that we ran into along the way, we set out for the border at first light and immediately got lost. After about forty minutes of heading in the opposite direction on a very rural road, with “Wrong way” at the wheel, we finally found some recently flooded and mudded ruts on the side of the road which afforded us the narrowest of margins to turn around and head back to Laredo.

Needless to say we were about two hours later than planned when it came time to drive across that short bridge to Nuevo Laredo and into the quagmire that is their border crossing and descent into officialdumb (and no, that is not a spelling mistake although I might have made it two words official dumb).

I won’t bore you with the details but initially we were pointed in the right direction (just follow the “blue signs”) by men with guns and no English, to ask for “permission” to bring in our vehicles. Half an hour later, after snailing our way through streets no wider than a bowling lane and loaded with people selling things and shouting and of course hundreds of blue signs in Spanish, we boarded a young bandit named Jessie (pronounced Yessie) who had been running alongside our vehicle shouting directions.

Jessie helped us negotiate the streets until we were finally ensconced in a parking lot for “Dinky Toys” outside the Department of Immigration. Yessie kept pounding his chest and saying: “It’s Ok. I help you”. A true humanitarian; it cost us about eighty bucks to eventually offload Jessie after registering our vehicles and setting out for the next checkpoint where the price of importing our own stuff was the lions share of five hundred dollars U.S. but then, FINALLY, after five hours of chaos, we were on our way.

It took two days of driving through the mountains which wasn’t bad until we missed our exit to a toll road and ended up competing with long distance haulers for inches of cliff side, with drop aways the depth of the Grand Canyon. I don’t recall ever being so terrified. From my side of the vehicle there was no side of the road and from Cath’s side the perspective wasn’t much better. Thank goodness for her driving prowess; if she were not such a competent driver I’m thinking that we would have a final understanding of a descent into hell and have ended up sitting with our maps and GPS at the bottom of some valley picking cactus needles out of our sorry butts.

. . . Well Stanley . . . isn’t this a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into?

2008-10-08T11:50:00.001-04:00

2008-10-08T11:49:00.001-04:00

2008-10-08T11:48:00.001-04:00

Get Over Here Toto! I think we've left Kansas!

2008-10-08T11:46:00.003-04:00

Vehicle Registration, Mexico

2008-10-08T11:44:00.004-04:00

I Hear Banjos

2008-09-24T23:14:00.002-04:00

I Hear Banjos

I don’t mean to whine but some of the campsites we have stayed in leave a lot to be desired.

On Monday, at the end if a very long day that included being lost with “Wrong Way Broderick” on a slithering mass of gravel which snaked its way through acres and acres of cotton and bean (local pronunciation: bain) fields, I walked into a camp office to register and was offered greetings and salutations by a big, blue striped bum!

Closer inspection revealed that it was not some dissembled ass that was speaking in tongues; the rest of the man eventually emerged from under the reception desk waiving a handful of wires -- his “internet connection – which, if I heard him right, became a useless snarl after a wind storm last Sunday. Now I’m not sure what one thing had to do with the other but one look at his red and sweating face told me not to question his reasoning. For one thing I couldn’t quite understand him (have you ever seen that Kia commercial?) and for another there was something about his expression and the strangle hold he had on those Medusa’s locks that suggested he was about at the end of his rope. I didn’t dare ask but I was pretty sure that the snarl of wires translated into another night without the benefit of e-mail!

After registering, the man climbed into a golf cart with a huge sign that read: “FOLLOW ME” and led us to a barren patch of half grass half gravel about thirty feet from the office. It had a spigot sticking out of the ground beside a post with an electrical connection. For thirty five dollars we had ourselves a little piece of hell in the middle of nowhere where the sun beat down with unrelenting intensity, the tree frogs croaked a dusty song and the mosquitoes were as big as birds.

I stood looking out across the adjacent cotton field and shuddered. Here we were in hell without a single neighbor, no telephone and at the mercy of a man with hands the size of hams. Suddenly I could hear “dueling banjos” and for just a moment I was tempted to run but as I stood there the banjo music in my head was replaced with the real life sound of tires on gravel approaching and when the plume of dust had settled there stood the man in the blue striped overalls with a half of fresh watermelon. Once again I am reminded that you cannot judge a book by its cover.

After a very restful night we left as soon as the fog lifted.

Smores: some sort of chocolate, marshmallow thing or: That which separates us from the Neanderthals

2008-09-09T22:54:00.002-04:00

Last weekend Cath and I took part in an ancient ritual that has drawn folks together for a couple of hundred thousand years: the campfire!

Now, what I know about the history of the campfire could be inscribed on the knee of a bee but I expect that the partakers of the campfire ritual in ancient times were forced into it for a variety of reasons not least of all no central heating, no microwaves, no newspapers and finally: NO TELEVISION. The campfire provided what was lacking in so far as it kept people warm, gave them a means to cook dinner, become informed and I expect, like our campfire on the weekend, it kept people entertained.

The highlight of our evening was just spending time with our two best, childhood cronies Cathy P. (the p is for clarity) and Peg. But the four of us have done that before and though it is always a celebration of life and of friendship there was something quite unique about sitting in the dark, until the wee hours, sharing everyday “ghost stories”, blackened wieners and the coup de grace: “smores” that will be remembered long, long after the intensity of our common embers begin to glow less brightly though always with warmth.

I’m not sure what it is but there is some mesmerizing demand and reciprocal obedience between the campfire and the mortal. And the campfire is an ancestral linkage that draws civilizations together over time. It is the fire that unites the spirit of modern humans in lawn chairs with smores with their ancient counterparts who most probably sat cross legged in the dirt with pterodactyl wings dripping from sticks over the open pit.

FIRE . . . it is a good thing . . .

My New Bed

2008-09-02T08:50:00.001-04:00

So this is what it has come to . . .

2008-09-02T08:36:00.005-04:00

This is my new bed . . . compliments of Rubber Maid. That’s one of my new pillows that I still haven’t adapted to but I am working on it, and hey: when compared to my new bed, my new pillows are a dream (no pun intended).

My old bed left last Friday along with our family room furniture (that’s me in the lawn chair watching the news on Saturday morning and trying to wake up after the first night on my “new” bed). Our patio furniture is gone too. I think that it is time for us to move into Gertie except that she has to go in this week for an oil change, new filters etc. before we can move in.

We are still packing, un-packing and re-packing trying to prioritize, trying to be reasonable about what should go and what we should simply find storage for and leave behind for another year. And OMG what do we do with the really big TV? We could put it on the bed in Gertie since I now know that it is possible, with enough padding, to stretch out on Rubbermaid containers, although I have to say that I wouldn’t recommend it as it does leave you feeling a little punchy and insensible in the morning.

We’ve also done a little cooking to try and load up Gertie’s freezer with some things that would make some reasonably healthy meals that also taste good at the end of a days driving without going to a lot of trouble. Mike: did you know that your recipe for Fettuccini al Coccio-Fettuccini with Creamy Porcini Mushrooms and Pancetta Sauce freezes beautifully? It’s certainly not as good as yours but we love it still! You have brought new meaning to gluten free pasta!

And we have been shopping.

Let see . . . we have a ton of cheese, we’ve got some cereal; some for me and some for friends, and some cinnamon sticks. The bucket of maple syrup and bags (?) of summer sausage will be in our possession within a week.

Cath has gone in for her second to last day of work this morning and will be finished forever on Wednesday afternoon . Yeah!!!!! We haven’t started any sort of official count down yet but the day of departure draws near and we still have so much to do and then: the goodbyes . . .

Beds by Rubbermaid

2008-09-02T00:15:00.002-04:00

What Day is it?

2008-09-01T23:54:00.008-04:00

Are the wrinkles in my face from my new pillow or is that a Rubbermaid Logo embossed into my forehead?

Another Sleepless Night

2008-08-21T20:53:00.005-04:00

Most people do not consider dawn to be an attractive experience - unless they are still up. ~Ellen Goodman

Another more or less sleepless night. I can’t decide if it is sub-conscious angst caused by the many details of the up-coming departure or if it is my new pillows.

Sears is having a sale! What could be more newsworthy eh?

It was Cath who spotted the sale on accessories for my mixer; they had a meat grinder and an ice cream maker listed and although I need or want neither they had a bowl with a lid and a handle that sent out those commercial come hither signals that got us both in the car and headed for the mall.

Of course the accessories that we were shopping for were no where to be found and as we toured the small appliance section we eventually found ourselves in an overlapping lane with chest high boxes that were filled with pillows.

My own pillows are probably about twenty five or more years old. They are still considered “feather pillows” I suppose but frankly they now fold over my forearm like a Butler’s serving cloth when I pick them up to put on clean pillowcases. I doubt that between the two of them that there are enough feathers left to make up one small bird. It is like a death every time I throw them in the dryer with one of those bounce sheets to “freshen” them only to find that during the process more of their life’s blood has become trapped in the lint filter. I’ve gone so far as to stand there and force the quill end back through the fabric but I do recognize the futility of this; my pillows have been living on borrowed time for years. Plain and simple: my pillows are dying and there is nothing that I can do to save them.

Anyway, back to that aisle in Sears. The sale was buy one and get the second one for a penny and who knew that there was so much technology involved in the making of a pillow? The labels made it simple enough: buy this one if you sleep on your back and that one if you sleep on your side, another if you are a stomach sleeper. Not a single brand offers the tossing and turning pillow and thus I eventually settled for the “on your face” type which felt soft enough and was said to contain less fill, making it more like my dying, soon to be featherless pillows.

The same night after I lifted my old pillows from their normal resting place between the mattress and headboard and replaced them with the “in your face pillows” that sat against the headboard looking ever so perky and inviting, I climbed into bed with drooping eyelids and too tired to read I switched out the light.

For an hour or so I flopped around like a fish periodically punching at my pillows to try and get them to conform. I was tempted to retrieve my old friends from the linen closet where I had placed them “just in case” but I knew that down the road I would have to go through this adjustment period all over again so I decided to persevere.

I seem to get to about three thirty A.M. before my usual grip starts loosening and I become increasingly unreasonable as my inner, middle aged child takes over. It was ten to four when I leaped from bed, snapped on the light and drop kicked the first pillow across the room. It hit the ceiling and bounced twice before scampering gleefully down the stairs and landing in the doorway between the family room and kitchen. As I grasped the second pillow and positioned it over my foot to send it sailing after its mate I suddenly realized what a ridiculous, immature and ineffective way this was to deal with change.

I retrieved the exiled pillow from the floor downstairs and tried not to permit the feelings of jealousy over the sonorous yips and trills coming from my sleepy babies in the dog room or of the window pane, rattling snores from Cath as I paused long enough to pour myself a cup of luke warm coffee from the carafe and head back upstairs to read until morning. One thing about my new pillows they offer significantly better back support for reading into the wee hours and maybe that’s the best that I can hope for during this transition period.

Consciousness: that annoying time between naps. ~Author Unknown

2008-08-21T20:38:00.002-04:00

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie!

2008-08-21T09:14:00.001-04:00

Ayelish looks disgusted probably because Hadley is snoring!

2008-08-20T23:00:00.000-04:00

Ayelish on her big camping trip last weekend

2008-08-20T22:54:00.001-04:00