My girlfriend says…

4 Replies

My obsession with the English language is a form of obsessive compulsive disorder. That’s what my girlfriend, Donna, recently told me. I’ve heard that before.

Is it my fault that I get upset when people say things like, “I seen that,” or “There wasn’t much people there,” or how about when someone writes, “Your a happy person.” That one really gets me. I find myself yelling, “It’s the contraction you want, YOU’RE, not the possessive pronoun, YOUR.”

Oh, and guess what? A lot =two words. It isn’t alot. Is it a lot to ask that you write it as two words? I used to ask my students, “Do you write a little as one word?”

The English language is a living language, so the common practices sometimes find their way into our lexicon. I predict that in my lifetime, the two words a lot, when used to mean a great number, will be acceptable written as a single word. I will have to get over it. Let it go. Oh heaven forbid.

Don’t get me wrong. I make plenty of errors. Big mistakes and itsy bitsy ones too. (That’s too as in also or excessive…not to, the preposition as in I went to the park).

People look at me funny when I tell them that I actually read the dictionary. I start to look up a word, and something on the page catches my eye and I start reading. Don’t you do that? One day I was looking up a word I didn’t know (there are many of those), and I read the definition for moot. What an eye-opener. I will bet you a million dollars that 99 of 100 people use that word incorrectly.

Moot

Contrary to common misuse, “moot” doesn’t imply something is superfluous. It means a subject is disputable or open to discussion. e.g., The idea that commercial zoning should be allowed in the residential neighborhood was a moot point for the council.

Here’s a test for you:

Correct? Incorrect?

Everybody must bring their own lunch to the meeting.

As an English teacher I spent hours reading my students’ writing and using my green, blue, or purple pen (red gets a bad rap) to give them feedback. It was the worst part of my job. It was my responsibility to actually teach these wonderful children how to communicate in writing, do it well, pass the WA State assessment of writing, and move on into the world with a sharpened pencil. It was my job to find mistakes and help my students not to make them. I took my responsibility seriously. Just ask them.

Okay, back to your test. If the subject is singular, the pronoun, to which it refers, must be singular.

EVERYBODY is singular. That, in itself, may be news to you. But it is singular. Consequently, the correct way to write this is:

Everybody must bring his or her own lunch to the meeting.

It sounds a bit awkward, with “his or her,” but it is correct. I suggest you find another way to get that information across so as to avoid having to use his or her. How about a simple, straightforward directive, “Bring your own lunch to the meeting.”

You can only imagine how much fun it was to be fifteen, in my sophomore English class, and having to put up with me constantly going on about such matters. Teen-agers spend a lot of time thinking about themselves–how they look in the mirror, how they look to each other, when is the next party, who will be at the next party, who likes them, who doesn’t like them, among many other things. Using good conventions in writing isn’t high on their list of things to think about. I had to be sneaky and creative.

For example, PUNCTUATION DOES MAKE A DIFFERENCE:

WOMAN WITHOUT HER MAN IS NOTHING.

WOMAN, WITHOUT HER, MAN IS NOTHING.

You see how two commas make such a big difference?

Writing well isn’t merely mastering the WRITING CONVENTIONS; there are a lot of other issues. The use of proper grammar, punctuation, spelling, and word usage are only a small part of what it takes to become a good writer. But I’m not going into the rest of it right now. Maybe another day.

Don’t think I can’t hear you sighing with relief.

10614157_846168008735524_8439734457997245870_n

How about some bacon?

Six Words Can Say a Lot

7 Replies

It’s your life. Make it work.

The road is long. Get going.

I had three sons. No daughter. (a six-word memoir)

Time out, time in, time out.

Have fun, give hugs, get love.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Move on. (Jimmy Buffet)

Take a shower and get clean. (good advice)

Um, six words can’t encapsulate me.

I only live for the moment.

He said, she said, who cares?

Too little and far too late.

And eventually we all will die.

The mailman brings me bills. Damn.

Wherever he goes, black clouds follow.

It’s the summer of my life.

It’s hard now, but easy later.

Where should we go? To Mars?

Let them eat cake. Me too.

Birds, flowers, pots, turtles, skulls, pomegranet.

I found happiness in my heart.

Who put sand dollars on the beach?

When will I ever learn? Tomorrow?

“Life’s a bitch, get over it.”

“I’m not very good at this.”

“I don’t know, do you know?”

I dance like I am invisible.

Six words are not nearly enough.

Time’s change, People change, That’s life.

Sunflowers brighten our lives, don’t they?

I was a teacher. Not now.

Always create, have fun, die later. (philosophy)

Work hard. Take chances. Can’t hurt.

It pays to get up early!

“…sounded like a good idea” Part II

2 Replies

On one of many trips to La Paz to the bank, we also saw a doctor about my husband’s ear drum fiasco (a whole other story). El sol–the sun– shines hotter in La Paz. The humidity is higher in La Paz. We turn into big, slippery, balls of sweat. Happily La Paz is a mere 1.5 hours from here on a beautiful highway, but it always promises to be hot. It was so much fun the first day; we thought visiting our friends at the hospital and the bank would be fun the next day too.

Soon after the doctor visit regarding the holes in Greg’s eardrum, we stop (in a bus zone) in front of a pharmacy where I jump out to purchase a prescription while Greg stays in the car with the car running. Greg has lost 90% of his hearing in his left ear and doesn’t hear the horrendous noises coming from the idling car. After my success in getting the prescription, I hurry back to the car. OMG! I have never heard such racket coming from a vehicle. I can’t believe my ears. A man waiting for the bus looks at me and points to the spewing smoke and pinches his nose with one hand and points to the car with the other. Well, as if the weather isn’t enough to make us cranky, the VW has decided to blow up. In a bus stop zone. On a busy street.

The van is so great when it’s operational. This picture is from one of those good times

We call our friendly VW mechanic, Rogelio, who has patched up the Westfalia several times before, and his shop is conveniently located about a mile away. He kindly sends a nice young man, Rafael, aka Rafa, to our rescue. While waiting for Rafa, Greg investigates and suspects it is the alternator causing the ruckus.

Rafa arrives and after handshakes and introductions he comes to the same conclusion and he calls his friend who has a tow truck. Once our car is hooked up, Rafa invites us into his car and off the three of us go to Geraldo’s, the best VW repair shop in La Paz. At this point in the story, it is important for you to understand one tradition in the Mexican culture: start work early, take two-hour lunch breaks and come back to work till 7:00PM. We arrive right in time for their lunch break. We will wait for two hours in this stifling heat to find out our car’s fate.

By this time we are very hungry, so we head to the Chinese restaurant, called Comida China, down the street. La Paz is so international when it comes to food, and they love their Chinese restaurants. Oh sweet air conditioning. Ah, blissful air conditioning. It is 95 degrees in La Paz with a heat index of 107, so the air conditioning is blessed relief. After a long lunch of five different items that all look and taste the same, we stroll on the Malecón–a promenade or boardwalk along the seaside. Stroll makes it sound like fun, doesn’t it? The reality? Let’s just say that walking around La Paz in midday heat is something much less than fun.

The foot that I injured a year ago, doing Zumba in an exercise class, is killing me from all the walking. (I don’t realize at the time, but I find out later, that I have broken several little bones in my foot and it has not healed well). It is miserable in this heat, our van is broken down, and my foot is throbbing with pain.

We need to get out of the heat. Although it was great that we got towed, and that they would squeeze us into the car repair line-up, this is not my idea of a good time. After a long, grueling day of walking and waiting, we surprisingly get our alternator patched up and the capable guys at Geraldo’s get us back on the road at 7:45 PM. The mechanic’s parting words are a warning to us to replace the alternator belts sooner, rather than later. Greg says he has a new one in the van and will do it in the next week or so. We are on our way again.

………………………

We make it all of about three miles away. I hear a loud snapping noise. What’s that? You may have guessed it. The belt from the alternator has snapped and we must get off the road before the car blows an engine. We only run one red light and make one illegal U-Turn before pulling off the busy street. Well, well. We are in another bus stop zone…all I can think is thank God for bus stops. Being the bright and happy person that I am, I find this sort of funny in an ironic sort of way. We are driving a VW Bus and this is the second time today we are finding ourselves broken down in a bus zone.

Irony is a weird thing. It has the initial sense of being rather humorous, or at the very least coincidental, and then it hits you right between the eyes! It’s déjà vu. It’s The Twilight Zone. Oh, it’s irony all right, but it is not funny.

Greg drags himself from the car and finds that the water and coolant have spewed. These are signs of the real possibility of a blown engine. His reaction is one of fear and loathing for our bus. This just can’t be happening. It’s getting dark and traffic is horrendous. Dark does not mean cooler either.

Sweat is trickling down in places I’m too much of a prude to mention. This must be one of the more trying moments I can remember. My usual sunny disposition is being tested, and I’m failing the test. Greg never has a sunny disposition to start with, so it isn’t as big a pendulum swing for him.

We try calling Rafa’s friend, the tow truck guy, on his cell again and again, to no avail. Remember, we don’t speak Spanish. And it’s still really, really hot. Sunny Disposition Susie thinks, “This is such an adventure.”

What the hell are we going to do now? In a moment of desperation, Greg just takes off walking. He’s going to see if he can find someone who can help us. He doesn’t have much of a plan really. At least he’s doing something. I just can’t walk another step with my swollen, painful foot, and yell this to him as he’s dodging cars in the intersection on his way across this main street. “I’ll wait here!” I scream, but I know he doesn’t hear me because of that 90% hearing loss in his left ear, not to mention the horns honking as he runs in the street in search of whatever he is in search of.

Half an hour later he comes back to the car where I am all by myself on a busy street in the dark dripping with sweat. But my man has come back with more phone numbers for tow trucks. I don’t know how he did it, but he did.

Because I’m the so-called Spanish speaker in the family, it is my turn to be of use. I dial the first number. I’m muddling along with these people on the phone trying to explain our dilemma and working equally hard just to understand whatever they are saying at the speed of light, and holy crap! I am so hot!!!! My foot is swollen and throbbing and the lunch I ate (Comida China) is gurgling in my belly causing excruciating pain. What the hell? We’re broken down for the second time in one day, in a bus zone, calling for a tow truck!

Finally I get hold of Jesus. In Mexico many men are named Jesus. It’s pronounced Hay soos. But I think of it more as Jesus, as in the Son of God. I think, but am not sure, that Jesus understands me, what we need, and where we are. It’s a lot like praying.

We wait and we wait. Now we break into hysterical laughter. We’re going insane! It’s all like a bad movie and we are the stars of the show. After about ten minutes that seem like three days, Greg gets out of the car and decides to throw the remnants of our lunch in the trash. Thank goodness he does too, because lo and behold, there is Jesus in his tow truck! He’s been waiting around the other side of the building looking for us.

This particular Jesus is about 300 pounds, dripping with sweat, and has several missing teeth, but I swear to God I have never been so happy to see someone in my life. I jump out of the car and run to greet him. I stop short of hugging him and exclaim, “Oh, Jesus! Muchas gracias!!!” He is equally excited to see me, or maybe it’s just because I am so excited to see him. We all begin laughing for some reason, and I tell him, “Cinturon roto!” I’m pretty sure I just told him our belt was broken. At least I hope that is what I said.

He hooks the VW up and we squeeze into the front of his truck with him. I can’t be certain, but I could swear he has no headlights in his truck. We are going five miles per hour, listening to authentic Mexican music on his radio (the kind with accordions), and we get about a mile before the hydraulics begin to slip and the front end of our car is no longer riding high. Jesus applies his brakes, and in one swift motion which is impressive for such a big guy, he’s out and adjusting the hydraulics.

As we continue on our merry way, Jesus and I are doing our best to carry on a conversation in Spanish. I understand enough to know he asks me where we live and after I tell him vivimos en El Pescadero–we live in El Pescadero–, he wants to know where I was born. I only know he is asking this because we have recently practiced asking, “When were you born?” in our Spanish class last week. At this point I am getting pretty excited about being able to actually communicate with Jesus and I elbow Greg, as a way to point out to him how absolutely fantastic it is that Jesus and I are actually speaking in Spanish with each other, but Greg is so focused on the task at hand and he fails to feel the thrill.

Once we arrive at Geraldo’s (again) and Jesus disconnects the car, he seems concerned about what we are going to do next. Jesus wants to take us home. We live 1.5 hours away, so we decline his generous offer and we tell him we’ll be fine. The three of us heartily shake hands and Greg gives him 500 pesos for his trouble. Mucho gusto and hasta luego, Jesus! This means that we enjoyed meeting him, and we’ll see him soon. Why am I saying I’ll see a tow truck driver again soon?

It’s about 9:30PM. Now what? We go for beers (Greg) and limonada–limeade–(me). Back to the Malecón. More déjà vu. After a few drinks and some belly laughs, we are soon trudging to the VW that is sitting across from the repair shop. Now it’s 10:30PM, still in the 90s and still humid. Greg says, “You aren’t going to like sleeping in the van.” I know what he means. There is no breeze. The humidity is off the charts.

As fate or luck or God would have it, a great guy, Omar, that Greg met at Los Cerritos last week, has an identical VW van as ours, and he has also been at Geraldo’s, getting his oil changed or something. Omar told us earlier in the day that he and his traveling companion were spending the night in the hotel across the street from the VW repair shop. In fact his Mexican friend, Lalo, owns this hotel.

As we approach our broken down VW, we see them all standing a mere fifteen feet away on the sidewalk out front of the hotel chatting. Oh thank God (again) Lalo says he has a room for us! And it’s got air conditioning and an internet connection. It also has three barking dogs and two crying cats, but it has a shower and a toilet and it is so clean it’s almost sanitary enough for surgery. Seriously clean. What a relief to have such a clean and comfortable room with a bathroom when you’re sick all night ridding yourself of the Chinese food you had for lunch.

I awoke next morning with a sty in my left eye and a big red spot on my face from an insect bite. I have bags under my eyes and I have no deodorant or clean clothes to put on. Before checking out of the hotel, we each take a shower and I even wash my hair. The hotel coffee is more than passable. We have to put on our stinky clothes from yesterday, but somehow we can’t wipe the smiles from our faces. The car gets its new belts and new coolant, and the mechanic tells Greg our engine is not ruined.

It has rained really hard in the night as we slept, and it continues raining all morning. Our world takes on the incredibly sweet smell of rain in the desert; trust me, there’s nothing quite like this sensory experience. We are driving through standing water on the roadways feeling genuinely blessed and marveling at the kindness of the people of La Paz. The total cost of two tows, repair, new belts and hotel stay is about $100.00 USD. We are more determined than ever to learn to speak Spanish, and to do whatever it takes to build our dream home in the Baja!

It will be a long time before I eat Chinese food again.

Buying a lot and building a house in Baja Sur sounded like a good idea?

#11-Expatriated

4 Replies

We are a different bunch of folks, those of us who have expatriated to Baja Sur, Southern Baja. It takes a certain kind of person to live here after living and working in the US. In my opinion, one must commit to embracing a new reality, and not being too idealistic. As Dorothy told her dog, Toto, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

This sure isn’t Kansas!

Some are here for reasons they don’t care to discuss; they may be evading the law, taxes, or who knows what? The majority of us gringos are retirees, but there are younger people who don’t have an obvious income; they make their money trimming marijuana buds up norte—north of the border, in the US. They leave every year for the harvest, make a pile of money over the course of a few months, and return to a simple life of hanging out on the beach and surfing. But most of us are here because we are retirees who are sun and beach lovers, ready to slow our pace down.

Curious visitors

Other lucky part-timers are the retirees or middle-aged sunbirds who own houses in more than one country. They work hard for the privilege to come and go as much as their jobs allow, usually missing the hot time of the year when the water, humidity and temperature numbers are lo mismo—the same. That is when it’s too damn hot and sweaty and you can’t get yourself into the kitchen to make a real meal because you can’t bear to be near a burner or an oven. After all, you are living in one! One woman I know confesses to only being able to make and eat ice cream in August. Are you thinking of moving here? If you can slow down, overlook lots of litter, do without paved roads, a legitimate police force, and other things that high taxes would pay for, you might be a candidate for residence here.

A Wide Variety of Cactus

There are many wonderful things about living here, but make no mistake—challenges abound. Life here in Baja Sur can be so enigmatic. To get mail here, you must be willing to pay for what you used to get for free. Get out your wallet. Mailbox, Etc. in Todos Santos is what we use. We share our little box with three other people, and the annual fee for our portion is $175.00. Our delivery mailbox address is in California. After it is processed in the USA, the Mailbox, Etc. company loads their truck with mail and drives it to Cabo San Lucas. After it is processed in Cabo, it makes its way to Todos Santos, taking generally about two weeks from the time it is mailed to our box in California. Maybe it isn’t a truck they load our mail in; maybe it’s a donkey!

Is he bringing my mail?

We can receive letters, bills, books (if they aren’t in too big a box) and magazines. No internet shopping for us anymore. Would you like to buy something as mundane as stainless steel screws? Have fun procuring them here in anything but a small package for a high price, if you can find them at all. Yes, there is a Costco in Cabo San Lucas; there is a Home Depot too. These establishments retain similarities to their counterparts in the States, but forget your expectations of true sameness.

If you are accustomed to buying anything and everything your little heart desires, don’t move here. Or be willing to have it shipped. Again, get out your wallet. The duty and shipping charges add another 30% to your purchase. My budget does not easily tolerate these expenditures. It is a lot like living on an island, because all the goods are trucked or shipped here, adding to the cost. Many items you may want are not in existence here.

This has been an eye-opener for us. We were naive when we dreamed of finding a cheaper cost of living by moving here. I recently spent six days in San Diego and had many experiences with friendly and helpful customer service—in Von’s grocery store, the US Bank, the CVS drug store, the Apple Store, Starbucks, Macy’s and Target. It was such a marked difference from what I have become accustomed to in The Baja in only four years, I felt shocked. When I lived in the US, I took all of this for granted.

For the most part, I cannot attest that customer service is part of the culture here. One exception: some restaurants here have satisfactory service. We frequent a small, outdoor restaurant in El Pescadero called Los Poblanos. They have the true spirit of extraordinary customer service. Their food is good, the prices are right, and the wait staff is friendly. Plus, they actually anticipate our needs. Another favorite of ours is in Todos Santos: La Casita, Tapas and Wine. The food is as good as anything we’ve ever had. You can expect good service too, but the prices equal the fabulous dishes they prepare, so it’s more of a special occasion restaurant for us.

The Hotel California in Todos Santos, BCS

In my short list of worthy places, it is only fair to include The Hotel California in Todos Santos. While the Eagles may not claim to have ever been there, and they say they didn’t write their song about it, it remains a big tourist attraction. I have to admit I did not expect the restaurant to be so wonderful. Their pear pizza (yes! pear!) is to die for. The hotel, restaurant and gift shop are worth the trip. I’m sad to report that excellent customer service is not the norm for most businesses here. Muchas gracias, Los Poblanos, La Casita and Hotel California!

The Baja teaches you to watch your step!

One friend of mine says, “Sometimes Baja bites!” And that is definitely true. We have been robbed twice. Once we were only away from our house for an hour to have dinner at a friend’s house. One of the first people we met here told us, “Living here teaches you to let go—of your preconceived notions, prejudices, your possessions, and your money.” As for us, we are learning to navigate life here. Sometimes it is annoying. The arduous process to get a contract for an internet modem from Telcel is an example. I had to fill out two legal sized pages and get three letters of recommendations from other Telcel customers. All of this and they still require you to pay for the service ahead of time. It was news to me that there was never any intention of giving me service without prepay. That is fine, but why did we have to go to all that effort and time if you have to prepay for their service? The process took six grueling weeks.

From time to time we are saddened and disappointed. For instance, it is depressing to come home and find your house torn apart and everything of value gone. It is commonplace to find beer cans, plastic bottles, dirty diapers, and used condoms (seriously!) littering the beach. How discouraging!

Other occasions feel like happy escapades. There is nothing like catching your first marlin in the waters so close to home, or coming across the tracks of a mother tortuga–turtle who has made a nest for her eggs and many weeks later coming back to find 70 newly hatched turtles and witnessing their arduous journey from nest to ocean.

Tortuga eggs have hatched!

Newly hatched…their tracks to the ocean!

On the way to the ocean–an arduous journey for a little one!

This tortuga made it to the shallow water

I can sit on my deck and watch ballenas–whales– during their migration. The thrill of seeing a whale spouting, slapping its tail, or lifting completely out of the ocean and landing with a huge splash cannot be equaled. Continually during their time here in our local waters we are joyful spectators to their antics.

Ballena

A Thrilling Sight during Whale Migration in Baja

Taking it all into account, I believe that being here full-time takes stamina. Of course it helps to speak Spanish, or to be willing to learn the language.

In the States you may be accustomed to seeing signs in businesses that proudly announce, “Se habla español—We speak Spanish.” The converse is not true in Baja. There are no signs that say, “We speak English,” though many of the locals do speak English and they are always willing to help us. In fact, it has been hard to learn Spanish because there are so many people here who speak English. We have been a bit lazy as a result, though we did take classes for six months and know enough to muddle along. I promised myself to learn more and now I need to follow through.

You may feel like I’ve been doing a bit of whining. After all, nobody forced me to move here. How can I complain? While you may still be participating in the nine-to-five thing, I am retired. I live by the ocean, and get out of bed and go to sleep listening to the sound of waves crashing on the beach.

Moon on the Water Early Morning

I am greeted most mornings with gorgeous sunrises.

Sunrise at Los Cerritos

Evenings reward me with some of the prettiest sunsets I’ve ever experienced. And I’ve seen the green flash numerous times!

Sunset over San Pedrito

I walk on the beach everyday and fritter my time away doing mostly what I want to do. I write, read, listen to music on my iPod, paint, take photos, swim, have dinner parties, and I do love my life. I am blessed, and I am grateful for the good (and the not-so-good). Mi vecino— my neighbor—puts it this way, “We all have good Mexico days, and bad Mexico days.”

My refrain is, “Let’s hope the good days outnumber the bad ones.” And they do!

We all make choices. Sometimes we don’t know enough about what we are getting ourselves into.This post is in response to the many who have asked me about living here. I figure most people already understand the paradise aspect. If I enlightened anyone about some of the challenges of existence here, I’ve fulfilled my commitment to be honest as I share my experiences.

What I’m after in my life is a balance. With an appreciation for reality—sweet and sour—I am keeping my dream alive.

Todo bien—it’s all good.

Bird_on_a_cactus_at_Los_Cerr

#10–Surfers–Getting to Know Them

2 Replies

LET US PAUSE FOR A MOMENT TO DISCUSS SURFERS

The thing surfers like best, after the thrill of surfing itself, is thinking about surfing, talking about surfing, planning which break to visit next, and buying surfboards and gear. Surfers will visit a large number of websites to learn when the tides are high or when the tides are low, the water temperature and conditions—warm and glassy being the most preferable, of course. Surfers will tell you about the peak of the breaking wave, the height of the wave face, time between waves (interval), swell direction, on or off shore winds (I still get those two confused), the need for full length wet suits or wearing a shorty, or best yet, when there is no wet suit necessary at all, sometimes referred to as “trunkin’ it.”

Hang with a surfer long enough and you’ll hear them talk about pumping the wave, shredding the wave, or gliding with it. They will tell you about the closeouts, the mushy waves, and the speed and power of the waves. Oh, and there is the rush they experience on the wave they did get, conversely the wave they missed because they should have made two more paddles, the perfect wave they should have gotten, but someone dropped in on them; the rocks they avoided (or unfortunately didn’t avoid), what specific board is right for the waves at a particular moment or break, and other diatribes about this amazingly difficult, but super fun and addictive sport.

PaperArtist_2013-04-21_12-13-04

Surfers come in all shapes and sizes, genders, ages, classes, professions, species, and they hail from all over the globe. All the surfers I have met care deeply about the sport. Most of them care deeply about the ocean and beaches where they surf as well. Good on ya, people.

He’s making it look so easy!

I can tell you with absolute certainty and personal experience, that surfers get grumpy when they have been out of the water too long. What is too long? In my husband Greg’s case it’s three days; a week is really pushing the envelope for most of them. If they are anywhere near a surf break there is a magnetic draw pulling them in. We’ve been known to put on the brakes in the middle of the road in order to look at the water. “Look at that! There’s surf down there. That looks like a good wave, doesn’t it to you, Susie?” While for me, I’m worrying about the cars coming from behind us around the bend. This annoys Greg and he condescendingly reassures me that before slamming on the brakes and halting (abruptly) to gaze at the surf, he has looked behind to make sure nobody is coming. But geez, sometimes it is so dangerous, and I am rather annoyed with him for stopping. Then again, it is sometimes safer to stop than it is to continue driving in one direction while completely staring in an entirely different direction, especially on a winding, coastal highway on a narrow curve, where the cliffs are steep.

When a surfer has had what s/he believes to be a perfect ride, anyone within ear shot is in for it. “Did you see that killer ride I got?” The telling of the ride goes on for a considerable length of time, most often lasting much longer than the ride itself.

“How nice for you,” I might interject, or maybe I’ll just tune out altogether and begin mentally planning our next meal or shopping trip, making note of what ingredients I may need to buy. I’m in my own little world while the surfer is blissfully recounting each turn, acceleration, power of the wave, the height of it, how long it lasted, and the feeling of pure joy in the riding of it. It’s not that I’m not interested. I am. Really I am. But there are occasions when I just want to scream. There are other topics worthy of consideration aren’t there? Well no, apparently there are not. Not for a dedicated surfer. Like I said, surfers like to surf, to think about surf, to talk about it and to plan their next surf trip.

Oh, and by the way, surfboards break. At some point the surfer will be in need of a new surfboard—one longer, or shorter, or somewhere in between. There are many types of boards. There is a definite science to picking a board shape and size. Basically, you have your longboard, shortboard, gun, fish, fun board, (they aren’t all fun?) or hybrid.

WE BOTH GOT NEW BOARDS!

Among many other decisions, how to glass the board, plus what design and color(s) to chose will undoubtedly come into play. Whether you are having a custom board made just for you or buying one off the rack, be forewarned: this decision takes time. Lots of time. After all the choices have been made, you are ready to make your purchase. Wait! Not so fast! You must also buy a new bag for the new board, a new leash, new fins and some more wax.

Oh well. At least it isn’t golf.

A Typical Surf Shop… This one is in OB in San Diego, CA

A John Kies Custom

Oops! Big surf today!

FOR RENT

Can you find what you want?

ENCINITAS SURF SHOP

Here’s a STAND-UP PADDLE Boarder! These boards are called SUPs.

Nobody caught this one!

A beautiful morning in Baja

The Pacific Northwest is a glorious place, but we’re ready to go where the sun will warm our souls. It is bitter sweet leaving our friends and saying good-by to our home onWhidbey Island, and all the places we’ve loved in the Northwest!

Sunset from our Deck on Whidbey Island

Skagit Head with The Olympic Mountains in the Background

Shipping Lane in Puget Sound: from Whidbey Island, Looking Toward The Kitsap Peninsula

Blanca Lake is a Turquoise Glacial Lake in The Cascade Mountain Range

Coupeville, WA…Ebby’s Prairie with Mt. Baker in the Background

I tell myself that we are doing the right thing. It feels right.

Freeland, Washington…a Typical Whidbey Island Barn

Downtown Seattle with Mt. Rainier in the Background

Typical Gloom in Seattle as seen from The Space Needle

…………….

We know we will miss our friends and pieces of our hearts will always be here, but we are thrilled to be creating a new adventure after 33 years in Washington. The time is right and we couldn’t be more excited about whatever is to come.

wherever you go

Remember, wherever you go, there you are!

At least ten different times, I give up on the whole job of dealing with all the sentimental items. I can’t do this! It is such a burden that I have nightmares about them. They grow arms and legs and chase me down long, dark corridors into the bowels of the earth. The nightmares prove to be a pivotal event. I do not want to be haunted by my past, no matter how good (or bad) it was.

In the end, I am able to pare things down to one large manila envelope that I fill with a few physical mementos: cards the kids have made just for me, (only a few) cards with mushy hand-written notes from my husband; things like that.
Eventually, when I am so weary I can’t stand it anymore, I just throw the rest of the treasures away, along with five assorted sized jars of partially used Vicks Vapor Rub, ten tubes of Clinique lipstick samples, three dozen bottles of dried up fingernail polish, all seven of my frayed crocheted dish rags, two stained Christmas table cloths, a wild assortment of previously burned candles, and thousands of other objects. What I don’t outright throw away, I put up for sale or give away, but that’s a long story in its own right.

We birds are almost ready to fly!

Initially I put our collections into four categories:

The “Odd Thingy” category;
The “Could be Useful and Necessary” category;
The “My Emotional Well Being Depends on This!” aka “The Sentimental” category, and
The “Why the Hell Did I Keep This?” category.

Categorizing is a step in the right direction, making it easier to decide what to do with all this stuff. My goal: Begin work on paring down the “Could be Useful and Necessary” stuff after tackling the hardest one of all—The “Emotional- Well Being-Sentimental” category. I’ll worry about the other two categories later. Tucked into assorted bags and boxes and drawers are my old report cards from junior high, tons of cute projects our three sons have crafted (they were such little geniuses), cards, notes, letters, a baptism certificate, pins, badges, trophies, certificates, my college essays, the kids’ drawings and literally pounds of photos. Holy smokes! The pictures we have taken over the past 30 years number into the thousands. The hours I spend picking through the photos alone add up to a couple of weeks. I must study each photo individually to decide what its fate will be. It requires careful scrutiny to sort them into piles. Sorting things into piles and categories is my life for the time being, and oh my! It is grueling. As I see it, there are seven piles of photos to make:

Three separate piles to give to each of the three adult sons
A pile to definitely keep for Greg and me
A pile to possibly keep for the kids or for us
A pile to (almost) definitely throw out
A pile to definitely throw out—especially the ones of me that make me look fat— positively throw away—no questions asked—burn those suckers!

Some days while sitting amongst and between mounds of photos, reliving the past, I get depressed for various reasons. For one thing, how can one have ever looked so young and beautiful and be the person I see in the mirror today? But mostly, I picture myself (no pun intended) sitting in this heap for the rest of my life, unable to move—to make any decisions at all. Sometimes the memories are just too precious. Baby pictures are the hardest of all to throw away. If you have ever had a baby you know what I’m talking about. All the “firsts”…first steps, tooth, smiles, birthday parties, Halloween, Christmas, first poop on the toilet (seriously), the first day of school, first sleepover, and first fish caught, to name a few. What about all those other important moments in a child’s life carefully caught on film to be cherished F-O-R-E-V- E- R? The problem is that these children of ours, whom we hardly see, and don’t hear from often enough, were the sweetest, cutest, most fascinating and brilliant and most-loved kids ever born. How can I just throw their childhood away?

First Son’s First Steps!

Middle Son

The Youngest Son at Nine Months

Peanut Butter and Jelly! Yum!

My Middle Cutie!

“It’s way over there!”

First born!

“Why did you make me do this?”

Mom and her little kids

I solve the problem somewhat by picking the 100 or so I cannot live without, and next I scan them into my computer. This is a process that requires lots of time. Ugh. Suddenly, after scanning half of them, I realize that computers are known to crash, so eventually I will either have to say good-by to them forever, or put them on disks, or better yet reprint them. In the meantime, as any recycler can tell you, photos are evil. My children’s pictures are now littering a landfill on Whidbey Island, as are all the snap shots of Greg’s and my own childhood, including my high school yearbooks. I tried burning them, but that didn’t work out very well. (Recalling the smoke pollution alone gives me shudders to this day). I carefully bundle the three separate piles for each of our three sons into packages for mailing. I place a few of their school mementos into each package too. I tell myself that I don’t want to know what they do with them. It’s their business. As far as photos go, I have what I want in my computer now, and they occasionally appear on my desktop, bringing me back to a precious, long-ago time. Sigh.

#6–Dreaming of a Beach Life in Baja

4 Replies

We spend a lot of time talking about our dream to live on a beach in Baja where we imagine the cost of living to be cheap and there will be good surf. I don’t surf, but Greg does. It is part of who he is, and I love that about him. Well, most of the time, anyway. His obsession with it somewhat dictates how we live our lives—what we do on the weekends, where we travel, how we spend some of our money, and even which magazines we buy. But that doesn’t mean it is bad or wrong. The ocean has great lure for me too. While I am not a surfer, number one on my wish list is to live by the water. We ask ourselves over and over, “Can we do this? Can we sell everything and move to Mexico?”

We decide we can afford an initial visit to Todos Santos for 15 days to feel it out—try it on. I know that isn’t much time, but part of the dream has been in place for a long time. Many years prior to our short trip to Todos Santos, we envisioned spending our last years in a warm, coastal environment. It has always been our plan to retire in Costa Rica or Baja Sur. In my gut I know the time is right to create the reality. Sometimes you just have to stop talking.

We celebrate our 31^st anniversary in May of 2010 enjoying our stay in Marita’s Casitas, a sweet spot in Las Tunas, Todos Santos.

Happy Anniversary!

31 Years Together!

Maritas Casitas in Las Tunas

We put our Whidbey Island home on the market in July and in August, during the worst real estate market in memory, it sells. We tell our friends it is a sure sign that our dream is meant to be. Greg’s last day of work is in October that year. We boldly drive away from our former Washington State life on November 1^st, pulling a 4’ X 4’ X 8’ U-Haul trailer containing all of what is left of our worldly possessions, the things we deem impossible to go without.

Packed and ready for the road!

We’re on our Way!

It had to fit in this little bitty trailer.

Everything we Own is in this 4′ X 4 ‘ X 8’ U-Haul Trailer

I cannot say it was easy to purge what had taken 33 years to accumulate. And what an accumulation! I’m sure we had, at one time, excellent reasons for keeping all that stuff. Okay, I confess. It is mostly my fault. I am the worst offender; I am often unable to part with things. But somehow I did it and off we go to our new life. We didn’t know what to expect, but we believed in ourselves.