Lisa drove this week to Cancun to pick up her aunt from the airport. As many folks do, she stopped at the large La Gas station exiting Tulum on her return to Bacalar. This particular gas station is always busy with long lines and many trucks. There isn’t another gas station for many kilometers.
Stock photo.
Lisa pulled the car in and when the tank was full, handed the attendant two 500 peso bills plus 100, about $56US. In Mexico one is not allowed to pump their own gas. I actually quite like not having to get out of the car. Her change would have been 80 pesos.
The attendant returned and claimed that Lisa only gave him one 500 peso bill. Hahaha he didn’t know it but he was trying to scam the WRONG person. Lisa immediately told him that she in fact gave him the correct amount. She called him a mentiroso liar and demanded loudly to speak with his boss.
I can only imagine the ruckus since I wasn’t along. Lisa’s Spanish pronunciation may have been a bit off, but her confidence was certain and I’m sure he knew exactly what she was saying. He quickly returned with her correct change and even had the temerity to ask for his propina tip.
It is customary to tip the attendant if they go all out, washing the windshield and checking the tire pressure. Lisa only laughed at his cajones and skeedadled.
Lisa and me in Teotihuacan 2017
I’m not saying that you won’t get scammed in your own country, but unfamiliar foreign currency and insufficient language skills can leave you vulnerable when traveling. Scammers beware however when hurricane Lisa comes to town haha.
My mother-in-law fell this week. To a degree I blame myself. Our car had been in the shop for ten days and we were beginning to run out of fresh food. Shopping list in hand, I called my taxi friend Franklin to meet us on the highway. Alice badly wanted to go and pick up some things, but mostly she was bored and wanted to get out of the house.
Christmas a few years ago.
The short walk from our house to meet the taxi required skirting puddles due to recent intermittent showers. Our road is made from layers of sascab or decomposed limestone which is slick as snot after the rain. I was doing my best to walk along the outer dry edge and expected Alice to follow me. I should have been holding onto her. Then I heard an oomph.
Falling is so hard, literally and figuratively. I should know, I’ve done it enough. My first thought was to take her home. Once on her feet, Alice vehemently declared herself to be “OK”. I knew better, but wanted to avoid an argument. She can be quiet stubborn and vocal about getting her way.
2017 Three hotties.
At the grocery store she insisted on carrying her own heavy groceries until I put my foot down. Still she insisted that she was fine. The next day told a different story.
Last April at a friend’s wedding. The many faces of Alice.
Alice didn’t break anything but there was definitely pain, bruising and regrets, both mine and hers. The end result, was an honest and vulnerable conversation about aging. Alice admitted to something we all experience, feeling younger and more capable than she is. She will be eighty in February. While some people are running marathons at eighty, Alice is not one of them. She is rather frail, as much as she prefers to believe otherwise.
We had a very honest talk. It is so easy to believe the messages that growing old equals worthlessness and being a burden. We begin to loose control as others make decisions for us, something no one likes.
Last summer’s gym rat.
Alice and I came to an agreement. When it comes to matters of health or injury, she will trust that Lisa and I have her best interest at heart. There will be no more arguments or fussing. This is a dance we all get to do. For me it’s important not to get scared but take one day at a time, keep the lines of communication open and most importantly, come from a place of love. We’ll all get through it together.
This week, I began listening to a podcast while prepping food for dinner. Let’s Not Be Kidding is by gay comedian Gavin Crawford. It is the story of his relationship with his mother and what it was like for him and his family as she swirled into the dreaded disease of dementia caused by Alzheimer’s. My mother also died of dementia with no specific cause named.
Bernice 1922-2008
I wasn’t living near my mother and didn’t experience daily her spiral into dementia. I was residing in Texas with teenagers and a partner. She was in a nursing home 1100 miles (1770 km) away. She died February 20, 2008 almost sixteen years ago.
My mom loved to dance. Can you tell it was the 90’s?
Listening to the podcast brought back memories that I have conveniently locked away. Rarely do I think about what it was like for her. Before we realized that my mother had the beginnings of dementia, she was in an horrific car accident that killed her husband. I jumped on a plane to be with her. As I exited the elevator on her hospital floor, I heard her voice echoing down the hall, cracking jokes and sounding quite flirtatious with the doctor and priest. She was in a body cast from chin to thigh. I had expected to find her at death’s door. Her response wasn’t from pain drugs either. Gavin talks in the podcast about his mother’s uncharacteristic flirtatiousness which perfectly described my mom in her final years. I was surprised to find that her behavior was likely due to her illness! I thought she was just odd.
Me, Mom and my daughter.
One time I came to see her in the care facility where she lived after the accident. She didn’t know I was coming as I wanted to surprise her. She was sitting in the common area enjoying an entertainment program. I slipped into the seat beside her and put my arm around her. She pulled back and looked at me in confusion. She didn’t know who I was. At first I thought that she was kidding, which was so like her. Later when she remembered me, she was horrified that she didn’t know, “my own daughter”. I pretty much dismissed her emotions and reassured her, blind that her behavior was a symptom of her mental decline.
All my life I telephoned my mother every Sunday. It was just what we children of a certain era did. In the final years it never failed that Mom would ask me, “how’s my friend?” She meant my wife Lisa but could never remember her name. Everyone loves Lisa, my kids, my siblings, everyone. I often wish I had her like-ability. But my mother never asked me how I was.
The last picture with my brothers.
Lisa and I were holding her hands when she died. Her last word on this planet was my name. I was such a tangle of anger, grief, resentment and confusion at the time. We had a challenging relationship. I wanted it to be more loving but didn’t know how to change things. I tried. I wish I’d tried harder.
My mother’s ashes center near the house where we grew up in New Jersey.
I guess it comes down to accepting her the way she was and that we both did the best we could. Unfortunately I think I learned from her all too well and this week I’m feeling particularly sad. My children also have difficulty feeling loved by me. And the cycle continues.
When people come to visit us in the jungle of southern Mexico I admit to being less than understanding with their inability to deal with the heat. Winter is the best time to visit Bacalar. Sometimes one even needs a light jacket or shawl! It’s really not that bad. Ha!
Now Alaska is the exact opposite, even in the late summer. Lisa’s cousin walks around the house in a t-shirt while I look like a homeless person wearing all the layers I brought with me.
The view from our bedroom window the evening we arrived. Denali (highest peak in North America) on the right made an appearance after a few days.First time seeing a glacier.The sky is magical. Cook Inlet is on the horizon.
A rugged environment for an old gold mind.
The art museum in Anchorage was amazing.
What an wild and wonderful place is Alaska. I can’t imagine living here. I guess like Bacalar, it takes acclimation. We will be home Monday after almost six weeks traveling. I miss my dogs.
We left Northern California for Seattle, Washington on Monday. We were on to cooler climes and a visit with friends before heading to Vancouver Canada.
My daughter and twin granddaughters.
Unfortunately things took an unexpected detour.
Lisa got sick and ended up in the hospital. A nasty UTI (urinary tract infection) which traveled to her kidneys, has her with an IV pumping antibiotics into her arm until Tuesday. So much for Vancouver. At this point we’re grateful she’s alive and healing. She was one sick puppy.
Near my hotel is an art museum with Chihuly glass.Native artists and subject matter.Powerful images from native artists.
It’s been a crazy week. We literally opened google maps and went to the nearest hospital. We lucked out. The doctors and staff have been amazing. We are so very grateful.
Off to visit our daughter and family in Northern California. Taking a bit of a break from blogging for awhile.
Grandkids starting their first day of school. How they’ve grown!A day hanging out with my daughter. Eat, pray, get a pedicure!The town square in Healdsburg and some art museums.Only in California.Some random kids enjoying the freezing Pacific Ocean Luna and Stella enjoying time with our house sitters.
We leave Monday for Seattle, Washington. Lisa is already freezing. 😆
When I was about eighteen my older brother married Ronnie. She was a petite redhead with huge fiery curly hair. I loved her dearly. With four brothers, she was the big sister I never had.
In 1974 I returned to the US from a year abroad, studying Spanish in Mexico. I felt uncertain as to the direction my life should take. A teacher I admired had casually suggested I go to Austin and finish my education at the University of Texas. Not having a better idea, I applied, was accepted and got on a plane. Ah the spontaneity and optimism of youth.
University of Texas tower.
I tell the story in more detail as to how I ended up in Austin at Down To Our Skivvies
Austin in August 2023
I’m not sure what I expected in Texas, in August. It was hot as hell, like I swore you could fry eggs on the sidewalk. I was a fish out of water. I called home to the East Coast and talked to Ronnie. I was crying, homesick and wanting to throw in the towel. Nothing in Austin was familiar and I had no one to turn to. Instead of getting the sympathy I sought, I got a kick in the pants.
Ronnie told me to stay and figure it out! In a way she told me that I could do it. Her confidence in me gave ME confidence in me. And she was right.
There are so many forks in the road that can direct the rest of our lives. Staying in Austin was a big one for me. I found help, made friends, found housing, independence and a whole new life that lead to where I am today. I’m not sure I ever thanked Ronnie. She and my brother separated a few years later and I never saw her again. Hang on to people when you can. You never know when advice given or received can completely change someone’s life.
This week Lisa and I are off on a long awaited and meticulously planned trip. She left on Thursday to travel with her mom to Cancun and on to Southern California. I am traveling through Mexico City to see my daughter in Northern California. We will meet up in a couple of weeks.
Stella supervising.
My last night in Bacalar, I tossed and turned, restlessly anticipating the morning’s departure, I finally fell into a deep sleep and had the most vivid dream. In the dream I had overslept and missed my flight entirely. In that way that dreams can be, I stumbled madly over and over with my iPad, attempting to somehow reschedule the missed flight which of course was impossible.
Ten minutes before my six a.m. alarm sounded, Luna began whining to be let out. Waking, to my relief and frustration, I had not missed the flight, but I wanted to strangle the dog. Argh.
Luna, Love her and hate her,
Wonderful house sitters are in place and I am traveling to cooler climate. And while I’ll miss them, (NOT! well maybe a little), there will be no dogs. Stay tuned.
I started graduate school at the University of Texas in 1994 at age forty-two. The day was exactly twenty years after I had walked onto the UT campus for the first time to get my under graduate degree in 1974.
The famous University of Texas Tower lit up for having won a football game.
I had been a stay-at-home mom, caring for three children and helping our family survive on one income. But events changed and I needed to get back into the world. I needed a job. Computers were relatively new and I was low on confidence and unsure as to how to find my way.
Graduate school seemed like the obvious answer. I did the required prerequisite class in statistics at community college. I was the oldest class member in all situations but I persevered and grew in confidence. My brain worked just fine albeit a bit slower. I had to take the GREs (Graduate Record Examination), a standardized entrance exam in math and English. I hadn’t had algebra since high school. A prep class, a lot of studying, crossed fingers and I passed with a more than adequate score. Success breeds success!
When Lisa and I left Texas for Bacalar in 2013 we had to make a lot of decisions as to what we would keep and what items were sold or given away.
Packed
For some reason, I held onto my old graduate school term papers. Writing them had taught me so much. I learned how to do research, spending hours in library stacks. Today’s students would laugh at how things were done in the “old days”.
Dot matrix printer.My major was Health Education. My focus was adolescents.
These term papers were the beginning of honing my skills as a writer. Best of all were the comments from teachers. Where else does someone of import write “Well done”, appreciating the extraordinary effort of a middle-aged mom returning to academia? I have held onto these papers for almost thirty years. Time to let them go. Today I can look back and pat myself on the back and say “well done”. I no longer need confirmation from out-dated college term papers.
This week, in an almost empty gym, a young woman ambled up and asked me in SPANISH, “have you always exercised?” She had blond hair and a braid down her back the width of my arm. She’s Colombian and has lived in Bacalar four years. I was thrilled by her question.
Nevys
I think many of the locals that work out at the gym think that I don’t speak Spanish, which is barrier number one to conversation. Barrier number two is that I don’t socialize. I’m not chatty, I tend to focus on my work-out, nose to the grindstone. And then there’s the biggest barrier, I’m old.
71 and not getting any younger.
I have worked on overcoming these barriers, except for the old part. There’s nothing much I can do about that. Research clearly shows that a contributing factor to longevity is having close personal relationships, right up there with diet and exercise. In Mexico it is thought rude not to greet everyone with, “buenos días” upon arrival. I make a habit of looking at people and greeting them every morning. There’s been little change in camaraderie however, until this week.
15 months progress. Slow but steady.
I know I’ve talked about this topic before. It is not easy for me but I’m determined. I asked the receptionist her name and now use it when I arrive each day and this week I made a new friend. I will attempt to nourish this seedling. Wish me luck.
the adventures of dos tortas 
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