We kicked off Christmas morning sitting on our sun filled porch, quietly taking in the day. My MIL is very attached to opening gifts and she was gleefully tearing wrapping paper.
Merry Christmas Alice.
Suddenly our dog, Luna began barking franticallyand we were shocked to see a dog standing in our yard. He was wet and shivering having just swum up out of the laguna. Where on earth did he come from?
A very sweet boy who we later discovered is named Oso.
In Mexico, Christmas is celebrated December 24 with family dinners, midnight mass and fireworks, It was the fireworks that sent Oso to our house and numerous other terrified doggos running and in the case of Oso, swimming for their lives. Poor things.
Another run away on Christmas Eve, a chihuahua named Larry. .This beauty named Melon was also reported missing.
After posting notices on numerous community pages, we located Oso’s family. The reunion brought tears to our eyes as his excitement was demonstrated through whimpers, wiggles and wet kisses. Unfortunately there are no photos.
Melon and Larry also found their way home. We are lucky enough to be out of earshot of the fireworks in town. Many poor dogs are not so lucky.
It seems that the older I get, the less enthralled I am with the lights, the gifts, and the fuss. Even our little Mexican town of Bacalar has a Santa parade and school Christmas shows. We’re having some folks over for a potluck so I guess any excuse to gather with friends and family is worth it. However you spend your time, I hope it includes what gives you pleasure. Happy Holidays.
DOS TORTAS
Our first Christmas many moons ago.Our three kids. Me with my brother William. My finger is bandaged because I rocked on it while sitting in my rocking chair.My mother. Isn’t she a beauty?
Healing is not a linear process. To do and not overdo takes trial and error and a lot of finesse. As I begin to put weight on my healing leg, pain and fatigue show up in unexpected ways and places.
In order to respect my body, I’m going to make this week’s blog short and sweet. I thought I’d post some of my artwork, none of which has been produced while I’ve been laid up. Stela has decided that my pens and sketchbook make a lovely place to nap.
Stela our blind pug.One of my first attempts at painting on canvas.A first abstract.CollageMuch of my art is about the Laguna.This one really spoke to me.Mexican singer Lila DownsDark.
After two and a half months of being bound to my bed, and not in a fun way, Lisa and I ventured out of the house three times this week. While it might not seem like much to someone who can stand up and walk to the kitchen, it was a big deal for us.
When we built our house ten years ago, we built a ramp from our front door to the car. Our house itself is on one level but we live on a steep hill with parking up top.
Tropical paradise but not for a broken leg.
In true Mexican style, the ramp was built way too steep and not according to any regulations. Pushing my walker up it this week took strength and self control not to laugh.
Our three outings were 1) to the doctor.
The grey area is bone growth. Yeah.
2) A birthday party and…
Fun dinner with friends.
3) An hour drive to the coast to meet up with friends who were visiting Mexico by cruise ship.
Great friends from Austin.
So to say we are tired is an understatement. The doctor released me to begin putting weight on my leg in a week. Light at the end of the tunnel.
I found myself lying awake at two a.m. last night. The room was bright due to the full moon shimmering on the Laguna outside the window. The silence was palpable except for an occasional snort from our little pug. I love the quiet of night here in the Mexican jungle. Drifting in and out of sleep, I began visualizing myself healed, walking, swimming, squats and leg presses. I was seeing complete recovery from this broken leg that has kept me immobile for the last two months.
Visualization can be a powerful tool.
Last summer on our cruise to Alaska, I noticed a pickleball beginners’ class being offered on the upper deck of the ship. If you’ve been living under a rock for the past few years you might not be familiar with this cross between tennis and badminton, played on a smallish court with a large paddle. It is very popular with the grey goat population.
I’d been wanting to give it a try, seeing myself with some level of skill. Boy was I wrong! My cruise partner had brought his own paddle! Who does that? I’m not sure what the problem was but I couldn’t connect with the ball to save my life. I zigged and zagged trying to keep my eye on the darn ball. Back in the day, I used to play a decent game of tennis. That day is long gone.
Pickleball rules are very different from tennis.
My two a.m. visualization included playing pickleball. My feeble cruise attempt was fun in spite of making a fool of myself. I hear there’s a court in Bacalar. While I’m at it, I think I’ll visualize playing pickleball well. Ha ha. Might as well ask for what I want.
As another week creeps by in my healing journey, I am reminded of a friend, Nora. Nora and I worked together in Texas, traveled for work and for awhile shared an office. Nora had polio as a child and lives with no use of one of her legs. During the ten or so years we worked together, I was aware of her leg brace and watched her go from using a cane, to crutches, and after a fall, a wheelchair and walker. Since my accident and loss of use in my leg, she has been much on my mind.
My friend Nora.
Once we were traveling together and I got to see first hand her daily experience as a person with a disability. I had sprained my ankle at the time and was using a walking boot to hobble about. Nora insisted against my objection that I use a wheelchair to get through the airport. I remember feeling embarrassed. I saw how people with disabilities, even temporary ones are made to feel less than.
At the office, Nora worked a later shift and often arrived at work to find all the handicapped parking spaces occupied. She had to fight with administrators to get a designated parking space. Her car was her legs.
In front of our building there was a dip in the curb supposedly to act as access for anyone with difficulties climbing a step. The trouble was, there was a drain that always clogged after a rain, right where the curb opening was. This caused water to pool and made the ramp impossible to walk or roll through. Nora had been fighting for years to get the drain cleaned regularly or moved, to no avail. It seemed like she was always fighting for the smallest accommodation.
I have been out of the house once in the past seven weeks. It is impossible to get around as a disabled person in Mexico. The sidewalks are a death trap even for able bodied people. Accommodations are almost nonexistent. When our local hospital put in ramps, they had chains which blocked people from using them! I unhooked the chains every time I passed by. Finally the barriers were removed. We will all experience handicaps in one form or another in our lives. The US has The American With Disabilities Act, human rights that were fought for long and hard.
Figuring out how to spend my time as I head into three additional weeks of R & R is a challenge. Thank God for Netflix where I have discovered Korean cinema. With a plethora of drama, romance and horror (I don’t do scary) I’m probably late to the game. Three programs have captured my interest or at least have kept me from loosing my mind.
The Extraordinary Attorney Woo
Attorney Woo to the far right.
My favorite by a mile, Attorney Woo is a young woman entering her first professional job as a person with autism. The program captures attention with drama and sweet romance. It was almost binge worthy but I chose to stretch it out. I do hope they have a second season.
2. Culinary Class Wars
While I’m a sucker for cooking shows, this is my first foray into foreign reality cooking. Dubbed in English, both Michelin star chefs aka white spoons and lesser known black spoons compete in grueling cook-offs. The best one included a mound of tofu. While I didn’t know a lot of the ingredients, I’m ready to pack my bags for a taste-testing trip to Korea.
3) Physical 100
A reality show featuring world class athletes, body builders, martial artists and even actors who go up against each other to prove their physical prowess. I love how the show includes their internal dialogue which features a lot of trash talk and overly inflated self-confidence. As participants are winnowed from 100 to a final winner in both individual and team challenges, there are many exhausting twists and turns. Your ally becomes your enemy in a matter of minutes.
My surgeon has relegated me to bed rest for another three weeks before taking an additional diagnostic X-ray. Plenty of time to continue to explore the world of Korean cinema.
It’s so easy to blame myself for the last two months’ trauma. “If onlies” run through my head. If only I had paid more attention passing through security in Vancouver. If only I hadn’t been so careless playing with the dog. Sigh, an accident is an accident, is an accident.
Surgery scar is healing nicely.
About two weeks after my fall, I got a message from my youngest brother emphatically telling me to pick up the phone. My brother William who is 16 months younger than me had an accident and broke his left leg! (same as me). He lives in Asheville North Carolina and was preparing for Hurricane Helene that swept through in September. My 71 year old brother climbed onto the roof to clean out the gutters, caught his leg and had to be lifted off the roof by the Fire Department.
We have matching walkers.
He spent a week in the hospital after surgery with no electricity, riding out the hurricane. Food and supplies were being delivered by helicopter. At home there was no damage to his house, only the loss of a freezer full of food. He is very grateful.
We talk frequently commiserating over our bad luck. There’s nothing like someone living the same experience, at the same time, to make you feel seen, even if they are a couple of thousand miles away. Maybe we have stupid genes running in our family but I doubt it. I spoke to another friend this week who reminded me that she broke her arm this time last year.
I don’t think we will stop making mistakes because we are older. We may think twice, or three times, but an accident, is an accident, is an accident.
I left the hospital the end of September after a 24 hour stay. I went home with a bag full of inhalers, breathing treatments and pills galore. We had taken rapid Covid tests with us on the cruise and all three of us, my wife and I and my MIL tested negative multiple times. I wore my mask at all times because my sister had come down with Covid on her Alaskan cruise a couple of years ago. Little did I know that I had already acquired it. My symptom was a persistent dry cough which could be heard echoing among other passengers as well, up and down the ship’s hallways.Who knew?
A small 14 bed private hospital.
In the hospital in Mexico, doctors performed an antigen test which showed that I had indeed had Covid. The inflammation had settled in my lungs which caused an asthmatic crisis. I went home after 24 hours with a prescription for R & R.
On the evening of September 14, only a week out of the hospital, I was playing with Luna and tripped over my own feet. I went down hard on the concrete floor. Lisa says she heard the crack. I never felt such pain nor screamed so loud in my life. Poor Lisa was freaked out. We both were at a loss as to what to do and I was in no position to make a decision.
Living in the jungles of Mexico one does not just dial 911. No one speaks English and explaining your location and situation takes skills. So Lisa called David.
David built our house in 2015 and is like a son. He has a Mexican wife and has lived here many years. His Spanish is top notch. He dropped everything to arrive at our house in 30 minutes, a new world record.
The rest is blah, blah, blah, emergency room, X-rays, tests and more tests. On the 30th anniversary of the day we met, I had surgery to set my leg. Not the plans we had for our special day.
Staples have now been removed leaving a kick-ass scar.
Life continues. I am to be 6-8 weeks off my feet. I’ve gotten access to my electronic accounts through no small miracle. Thanks to everyone who has commented and contacted me. It means the world to me.
You might have noticed SILENCE from the Tortas since our trip to Alaska in August. Life took such an unexpected turn at the end of our trip that I cannot even begin to explain in one blog. It started in the Vancouver Airport with a moment of inattentiveness. We were catching a red-eye to return to Mexico after disembarking at 8 am. It had been a long day. I didn’t know at the time that I had Covid doing its tap dance in my lungs. I wish that were an excuse. Anyway, someone snatched my cell phone and iPad while I tied up my shoes not three steps away after coming through security.
Home Sweet Home
Not wanting to miss my flight, I returned to Bacalar getting sicker and sicker while some very poor choices on my part became evident. Online security and rampant identity theft have Apple, Google, and Samsung making it harder and harder to get into locked accounts. Google will not even talk to you. No live person to plead your case to. There are “procedures” and I made all the mistakes one can possibly make.
I allowed my iPad to store my secure passwords without writing them down. My two-step verification was to my phone and vice versa. I had NO passwords, No access to any of my accounts. No FB, Instagram, Apple ID, Google, banking accounts. Need I say more?
Then I ended up in the hospital with complications from Covid. And believe it or not, this is only half of the story.
DOS TORTAS
Forgive the stripped down blog. I’m still not back 100%.
the adventures of dos tortas 
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