When our air conditioner went out last week, we contacted Mario who had done all the original electrical work on our house. He had worked with a handful of laborers to bring our vision of a home in Mexico into existence.
My favorite spot. Doors lead to our bedroom.Hand woven Oaxacan rug hangs over our bed.
We hadn’t seen Mario in a while and he brought his wife to see our obra de arte, work of art. Watching his excitement at showing her around his work, gave me new eyes. Living in this house, I sometimes forget how beautiful it is.
Bathroom mural.More of the bathroom mural.Back gate with artist made angel ironwork.
I find that many houses in the US are beige, gray, black, white and brown with the occasional touch of color being a turquoise throw pillow. I find neutrality boring. Our house has blue floors! It was one of those risks that could have been a disaster but turned into a WOW. We forget how striking it is because, well, we live here.
Light fixtures.
Thank you Mario for reminding us what an obra de arte, work of art we live in.
We were looking for a house sitter and found a friend. Whenever we leave our home in Mexico, we must find a house sitter, someone to care for the dogs and manage the house. Michelle was recommended after she had visited Bacalar last year. We found a real treasure.
Wannabe influencer.
We have had mixed results with previous house sitters. Walking out the door and handing the keys to the house and car to a virtual stranger is not without anxiety and consequences. We have been lucky and any damage over the last twelve years has been repairable.
Michelle added fun to anything she touched.
On several occasions we have found folks who have continued to be friends and returned to hang out on the lake and play with the dogs. But none like Michelle.
This crazy woman fit right into our quirky lives and we will miss her. We became “sisters” and Lisa’s mom became Mom to another daughter. Even the dogs have a new “Auntie Michelle.” She left on Friday with a promise to return. The house already feels empty.
Lisa’s Aunt Linda is also visiting.
Thank you Michelle for coming into our lives and being someone to talk to, a swimming companion, a dish washer, a sous chef and friend to Lisa’s mom. You have added laughter and companionship that we didn’t know we needed.
I started back to physical therapy this week after six weeks of traveling and minimal exercise. The immediate goal is to walk without a limp and be able to step into my shorts one leg at a time. I’m coming up on a year since my accident and it’s time to kick the healing process into high gear.
Bathroom mirror selfie.
My physical therapist told me that in order to build muscle and improve balance, I need to work out HARD with weights and it’s going to hurt.
Multnomah Falls, Columbia River Gorge
He isn’t wrong. I hurt from my hair to my toes and I’m not even back at the gym yet. We hauled exercise equipment down from the States to Mexico and it’s been put to good use.
Our friends from Austin. This was my first outing after the accident. I was in a wheelchair.
I can now walk stairs, stepping one leg after the other, rather than relying on my uninjured side to do the heavy lifting. Hurray for small improvements, especially considering I only began walking with a cane the end of January. Thanks for all your encouragement and support. Little things make a difference.
As we wended our way back to our little jungle paradise, Lisa and I were both supremely happy to be back in Mexico. The US is exhausting and insane. We can deal with our broken mini-split air conditioner and the assortment of challenges that show up daily in Mexico, better than the drama going on in Texas, Washington DC, Alaska and every corner of the country.
This week I went to a Tuesday-night sketching group that has been resurrected in Bacalar. It was so much fun. I’ve been watching portrait drawing on YouTube and itching to be challenged.
All sketches done with my non-dominant (left) hand. Timed 3 -15 min
When I travel, I like to carry an art journal. Sketching in the park, and a quick drawing of Lisa’s 90 year old Aunt Edna (who follows my blog) are lovely ways to remember a trip. I also like to doodle, in the airport, on a bus or wherever I get bored with scrolling.
Doodles are great for relaxation.Aunt Edna lives outside of Portland
Whenever we travel, my caffeine addicted wife has to find out where she can get her morning fix. Many hotels have those cute little coffee makers in the room but our basic digs in Portland did not.
Our coffee haunt in Portlandia.
So every morning she got up early to tootle across the street only to return with two fist fulls of large coffees for our morning pick-me-up. On our last morning, my lovely announced upon her return, “I think the barista was hitting on me,” That got my attention and of course I wanted all the deets.
The use of a tried and true pickup line gave it away. “Are you here alone?” We had a good laugh, noting that the wedding ring and two cups of coffee was not a deterrent. I have seen both men and women flirt and/or hit on her over the years. Mostly she is pretty oblivious to how hot she is, having been happily coupled for thirty years.
When we first moved onto our property.She hasn’t aged a bit.
In Austin a few days later we were meeting our niece for dinner. Lisa dropped me off in front of the restaurant and went to park the car. I sat at a tiny table next to two young men, MUCH younger than me. One of them struck up a conversation telling me that he liked my “look”. I didn’t realize that I had a look, but my orange, tiger patterned cane must be the newest fashion statement.
If you are an Instagramer you would know that the latest trend on social media is age disparate couples both homo and hetero. Some have 20-30 years between them. Lisa and I have twelve. Now I don’t really think the guy was hitting on me, but who knows. Maybe I also still have somethin going 😂 on.
After ten months of recovering from an accident where I broke my femur and had surgery, I get down quite often. I want to be able to walk without pain or limping. The other day, in a tearful fit of feeling sorry for myself, Lisa reminded me how far I’ve come and said, “you’re doing great, you’re still healing .”
My surgeon said it would take a year.
Lisa has my back which makes all the difference in my healing process. Her comment also reminded me of when my mother had my back growing up.
My unstoppable mother.
I missed a lot of school as a kid due to asthma. In those days there wasn’t really any treatment. One day I returned to second grade having forgotten to bring my rosary. Bless their hearts those nuns had a lot of rules. I believe my “fine” was a quarter (25 cents) and I refused to pay it. I was about eight or so with an inflated indignation and sense of fairness.
Summer vacation.
The end of the school year came and Sr Angela refused to give me my report card until I paid up. I went to my mother who marched with me to the principal’s office to let me plead my case. The teacher was called on the carpet and turned over my report card tout suite.
Such a good Catholic girl.
It wasn’t the last time my mom had my back. She bought me long white gloves and a rabbit fur cape for my junior prom. They were adornments that I didn’t know I needed. God knows where she got the money, but it was important to her. I was her only daughter and no one had done those things for her.
1969
After almost thirty-one years I have so much gratitude for my wife. Having her in my corner means the world to me. Also thanks Mom,
None of us is getting any younger. I am seventy-three, and my spouse of thirty years is sixty-one. My mother-in-law who lives with us is eighty-one. Our dogs Stella (pug) and Luna (mix), whom we adore, both turn ten this year.
We had a friend Patty who fell three years ago Christmas. She hit her head and died. Her much older, cantankerous, whiskey guzzling, cigar smoking, big bellied husband, whom she cared for, is still alive today. None of us knows how much time we have.
Patty and her beloved Bonita.
There is a fine line between living in the moment and being prepared for the inevitable. Lisa and I have Wills and Powers of Attorney. But we also go to the gym most days and eat a lot of salads.
Not bad for seventy-three.
This past weekend, Stella quit eating. Now if you know anything about pugs, you know that they live to eat. About an hour before her daily meal time, she vehemently reminds us that she is starving and her demise is eminent. Seeing her turn and walk away from dinner had our anxiety up and Lisa frantically searching the internet for a possible explanation.
Our little blind pug.
When I was a kid, we had a dachshund name Fritz. Every summer he went camping with us. I’m not sure why Mom didn’t bring his usual wet food but he’d get dry food on the road. Inevitably he’d turn up his nose and refuse to eat. My mother’s attitude was quite different from ours. “When he’s hungry enough, he’ll eat”. She’d pick up the untouched food and present him with it the next mealtime. Of course she was right and eventually he ate.
Fritz looked quite similar to this handsome chap.
We’ll never know how long Stella would have held out. The conversation quickly turned to taking her to the vet. She had never skipped a meal in her life. With suggestions from the online world, we removed her slow-eating bowel and simplified her food. And of course she’s back enthusiastically snarfing down her dinner.
That princess has us wrapped around her paw. When she eventually crosses the rainbow bridge we will take it very hard. But for now she is doing quite well and so are we.
I had a teacher in high school, Mrs Fran Durst. A foreign language was required in those days and for some reason, I chose Spanish.
Graduation photo 1970. I was cute.
I liked Mrs Durst. She was young and fun. One day she made a comment to me that has stayed with me and possibly changed the trajectory of my life. “You have a good accent”.
I don’t remember getting many compliments for school performance. I wasn’t a highly motivated student. But a good accent was a natural talent. I could hear nuance and mimic it. And she was right, I DO have a good accent.
I have tried to find Mrs Durst numerous times with no success. I’d like to tell her that I now speak very well. I can carry on a conversation, speak on the phone, understand enough to get by at a doctor’s appointment, and get the car repaired. My reading skills are not the best but I constantly look up words and add them to my vocabulary.
My high school.
Thank you Mrs Durst. I’d love to let you know how much your words shaped my life. I live full time in Mexico and yes, I do have a good accent.
Moving to a country that is not our origin takes effort that we did not always foresee. For almost twelve years we have attempted to make friends and create relationships. Some lessons learned –
Traveling “home” to maintain relationships is not as easy as we thought, especially as we age.
People/family do not visit. Travel these days is just not easy.
Most of the people we met and socialized with in the early years of living in Bacalar have moved on. Aging in place has challenges we didn’t foresee.
We’ve made friends with locals and treasure the connections. Barriers have lessened as our language skills have improved.
Another way we have built relationships is by showing up.
In the US, workers and managers don’t really mix, classism at its finest. Things are more muddled here. The economic disparity with the US allows us to hire help with cleaning and house maintenance. Workers take pride in their jobs and we pay them well.
This week we bumped into a friend who has been our massage therapist for many years. She said that her mother was dying and burst into tears. Two days later, our gardener asked for time off since his mother-in-law died. It was Lisa who put it together that they were related. We didn’t know!
Gathering of family and neighbors.
We saw the surprise in peoples’ faces as we showed up to a backyard where a coffin sat to one side marked with candles and flowers. My grandmother taught me that when someone dies you show up, so we did.
Trying to be discreet does not produce the best pictures.
The next day we attended the funeral mass.
It was the third funeral we’ve attended in Mexico. Having a coffin set up in your home is not something we’re used to in the US. In Bacalar, neighbors and family sit together, keeping vigil, telling stories, and eating. We did not stay long, but we showed up and contributed to the expense.
The church of San Joaquin
Attending funerals has made us a part of a world that is very different from ours. We did not expect that this is how we would connect. There will likely be many more in our future.
Guests are like grandchildren, they come for a visit, and then they go home. We certainly enjoy them while they’re here and then we collapse.
My brother and his new bride.
After twenty-two years, they finally tied the knot and came to Bacalar for a honeymoon.
Our friend Michelle took most of the pictures.Lots of sampling of the best of Bacalar cuisine. Mayan fusion at Nixtamal.It was a perfect day to be out on the lake.Captain Blaine, our tour guide.A good time was had by all.
the adventures of dos tortas 
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