NEW YEAR'S EVE, MEXICAN-STYLE

Uh, oh! Here I am in Mexico on New Year's Eve, and I don't have any red underwear.

This morning I did a little research to prepare us for New Year Mexican-style. This means a trip to Tony's veggie stand to buy grapes, so we can each eat 12 of them at midnight, one for each month, and make 12 wishes. In the modern version, the TV is turned on to a channel with the midnight countdown, and a grape is eaten with each chime. (Best to write down my wishes in advance, so I can keep up with the chimes.) There's nothing about resolutions in the Mexican tradition, although the more US-centric Mexicans are familiar with the concept. But wishes are more fun than resolutions.

Traditionally families have a very late dinner, featuring some sort of round dish (a gelatin mold or bundt cake, maybe) for good luck. Just so all bases are covered, I'll cook up some black eyed peas and rice for dinner, too...in the southern US they're supposed to bring prosperity. Then everybody goes to work it off at a series of parties at the homes of friends, bars and on the streets until the wee hours. Some of the parties feature destruction of piñatas, hopefully before too much tequila and rum have been consumed.

I doubt we'll be awake for the party part, but we do have a giant sparkler given to us by our friend Alma the Dogsitter, and we're only a block from the Beach Club, where they set off fireworks at the least excuse so we can count on pyrotechnics.

If we hope to travel this year (and we definitely do) we should grab a suitcase and take a walk, at least around the block. It's my own personal tradition to clean up the house so I can start Jan. 1 with my surroundings in order.

And if I expect to have any love in the new year, I should be wearing red underwear. I noticed there seemed to be a lot of red panties in the lingerie department at Ley this week, but didn't make the connection. Caramba!

I remember when Noriega was arrested in Panama, it was reported that he wore red skivvies in an attempt to keep away evil spirits. I guess if you're beset with evil spirits, you're not very lovable OR lucky.

SWEET AND COOL: THE PALETA STORY

One of my favorite things in Mexico is paletas, those irresistible fruit pops on a stick, sold everywhere, from little carts in the tianguis to the big Flor de Michoacán franchises downtown. So far I've tried and loved limón, coconut and pineapple, but there are plenty of other flavors, including chocolate and caramel. Paletas are to popscicles as a fine cheddar is to Velveeta...hardly worth comparing. In fact, given a choice between even ice cream and a paleta, I'll take the paleta every time. Much more refreshing and natural, crammed with real fruit. I couldn't swear to it, but I suspect they're much healthier than ice cream.

Paleterias started, according to fellow blogger Cristina (Mexico Cooks) in Tucumbo, Michoacán. Ignacio and Luis Acázar and Agustin Andrade introduced paletas to Mexico City and eventually established franchises all over Mexico...now they're opening up all over the U.S., too! Called Michoacana or La Flor de Michoacan, they now number more than 15,000 outlets, the majority owned by Tucumbo residents. Numerous other paleterias have imitated the name, which wasn't immediately trademarked, so you'll see the names Michoacan and paleta linked together everywhere in Mexico.

And that brings me to another favorite thing: an entrepreneurial idea that has brought wealth (i.e. better schools, paved streets, utilities) to a whole community, without involvement in drugs, oil or environmental degradation, without graft or corruption. Now that's cool!

Cristina blogged the whole sweet story of Tucumbo in June, and offered a current update this month about a new book, La Michoacana: Una Historia de los Paleteros de Tucumbo, by Martin González de la Vara.

The word paleta is a diminutive of palo (stick). If your community has yet to acquire a paletera, you can make your own with these recipes from the Diana's Desserts website.

Photo: from the website of El Paleton, a paleteria and neveria chain in the US

MEET CRISTINA

Another link I wanted to share is Mexico Cooks, by Cristina, a blogger who's lived in Mexico for 26 years, speaks Spanish like a native, and offers guided tours. She's also a living, breathing encyclopedia of Mexican cookery (see her entry on tamales! Imagine, blackberry tamales?)

AMAZING WHAT YOU CAN DO WITH A STAPLER

So real it's scary!
Thanks, Cousin, for sharing.

THE UTMOST IN EGREGIOUS EXCESS

What do I remember about childhood Christmases? We had a family tradition of piling into my dad's 1952 Ford on Christmas Eve and cruising Ocean Drive, where all the biggest, finest houses were. The mega-mansions of the era, which would probably serve as maids' quarters for the monstrosities they put up now. While my mom swooned over the stately mansions, my sister and I ooohed and ahhhhed over the light displays. There were Santas on the roofs here and there, an occasional snowman, lots of lights, but the movement toward egregious excess hadn't really gotten going, at least not in Corpus Christi.

Today on a Blog of Note called Tacky Christmas Yards I finally saw the absolute utmost in egregious excess. There wasn't an inch of room for another plastic elf, Santa or snowman.

I also saw a display I really liked, and from the comments I gather it was a unanimous hit, but not because it was cute or nostalgic or particularly Christmasy. The house was ordinary, but the consistent blue lights over every foot made it look like an ice palace built by aliens from outer space.
It had a shivery, spooky dream quality with all the interior lights out and no snowmen to spoil the effect.

GIMME SHELTER!

In addition to his many other skills, the Capt is now an accomplished craftsman with sewing machine, canvas, webbing, Velcro, snaps, shadecloth and Sunbrella, the bulletproof sun-resistant fabric covering sails and providing shade on almost every boat in the Western Hemisphere.

In the last two weeks he wrestled our new-to-us walking-foot sewing machine (German make, bought from a German sailmaker) into submission and created a new enclosure for the cockpit of our 33-foot Morgan. As you can see from the thermometer in the first shot of this slideshow, the temperature in the cockpit is now a cozy 69 degrees while the rest of the anchorage is shivering at 55. It's like adding a new room to the boat!

Granted, we won't be needing the whole enclosure when we're in 80-degree locales south of Mazatlan, but we'll have a chilly passage between here and there. And each of the four panels is removable, so we can use any one of them to keep out the sun, too.

BENAZIR BHUTTO

The former prime minister of Pakistan was assassinated yesterday after a rally in Rawalpindi.

Like the legally elected prime minister of Burma, Aung San Suu Kyi, Bhutto had taken a stand against the incumbent dictatorship. Like Suu Kyi, she had been recently placed under house arrest in an attempt to silence her.

Just before she was shot and her vehicle destroyed by a suicide bomber, she said:

"I put my life in danger and came here because I feel this country is in danger. People are worried. We will bring the country out of this crisis."

LINKS IN THE CHAIN

The pink line shows our proposed course for this year's journey south. Optional stops would be Mazatlan, Chacala (just above Puerto Vallarta), Puerto Vallarta, Barra de Navidad, Las Hadas (near Manzanillo) and our destination, Zihuatanejo. Of course, there are always unscheduled stops, too...

Every year I try to do a little preparation for our annual voyage south, always hoping for a more interesting trip. We used to limit our stops to La Paz, Mazatlan, Nuevo Vallarta, and then we added Barra de Navidad. Because I was initially shy about wandering in new places by myself, and the Capt prefers to concentrate on his endless boat projects, my past trailblazing consisted mostly of shopping--boring after a while, and expensive!

But I'm always hoping to explore smaller towns, the places where gringo tourists and their needs don't dominate the activities of the locals. And I always look forward to stopping at places where I know someone. Using the Internet to do a little advance reconnaisance, I've lately found bloggers in Zijuatanejo and Yelapa whose writings whet my curiosity. I hope to get in touch with them, keep up some correspondence and possibly (best of all) meet them in person when we get down that way.

SAILING WITH SANTA?

If two years in a row makes an annual tradition, then we've just had our traditional Christmas dinner at the (ahem) Yacht Club. It's the only time of year I know of, when we riffraff who haven't signed up are welcome to join the members for libations and semi-potluck dinner (ham, scalloped potatoes and LOTS of desserts) in their classy digs, and have catch-up chats with people we haven't seen for months.

Our friend and fellow blogger (Ferroever), the skipper of "Arigato! Jack" (who recently promoted herself to Admiral) crashed the party for an hour or two, so I introduced her to her new crewmember (more about that in a minute) and got a photo of her with no hat, kerchief or other headcovering...a very rare occurrence indeed.

The new crew is compliments of the grateful gaggle of feral felines who live around our house and would starve when we're away if it weren't for our amiga Maria, who comes over daily to feed them, at least as long as she's in town. Since she has a sweet spot for the species, said crew is a cat who will cause no quarantine problems on voyages to Australia, French Polynesia, and other stuffy ports where the natives consider any pets other than their own to be scrofulous, disease-ridden vermin. Humph!

We also talked to Ray from "Pavane," who will be sailing south about the same time we are, about buddy-boating. He takes a unique approach: instead of gunkholing here and there all the way down as most people do (spending like...well, drunken sailors), he leaves the anchorage, turns left and goes straight to Barra de Navidad. Not as easy as it sounds. He says it takes about eight days of sailing (literally...he very seldom turns on his motor). "Pavane" is a Cape George, faster than our Morgan, so even if we motor we may lose him along the way, but at least it helps us set a goal for getting started.

Pogonophiles take note: This time of year, Ray, with his snowy white beard and red & white hat, makes you think of Santa Claus, but the rest of the year he's just another old salt. This is a great place for people who like facial fur.

So now we're actually looking at a possible date (Jan. 7, mas o menos) for cutting loose the mooring and getting underway! Zihuatanejo, here we come!

FELIZ NAVIDAD, AMIGOS!

To all our old friends, new friends and friends we've yet to meet...
Hope the joy of this day carries you through many days to come.
Love,
Bliss, The Capt, Sofia & Chica

LIGHTING UP THE NIGHT

The locals had their annual Lighted Boat Parade tonight and I stumbled out into the dark looking for a good vantage to shoot it for the blog. See what I go through for you, dear reader(s)?

There were perhaps a dozen boats cruising in a lazy circle in the bay when I found my spot on the cliff overlooking the bay, about a half-mile from home. I sat on some rough concrete stairs going down to the beach, set down the camera on the top step for lack of a tripod, and hoped for the best. The shutter must have taken a full minute for each shot, and the boats kept on moving, so the photos were...um, abstract, to put the best light on it (pardon the pun).

Alecs, moderator of the Viva San Carlos community network, got a much better shot as the boats were entering the bay just after sunset

I had a lot better luck with the rising moon, which wasn't moving as fast as the boats, of course. What the photo doesn't show is that it was an intense orange.
I could hear hoots and calls from each boat to the others, music, horns and whistles and the sound of small firecrackers, and was reminded of a different kind of cruisers: lowriders on the streets of San Jose having a fine time gliding through the night. Or a tribe of pagans dancing in circles under moon at midwinter, entreating the gods to bring back spring.

The full moon makes me so romantic...

THE FERAL FELINE FAMILY

Here they are, all six of them at breakfast. Zorra, on the ground, has first watch while the others eat. Her twin kittens are drinking together from the stainless bowl. Chucho, Zorra's half-brother, is the dark, all-tabby tomcat behind the kittens. Felipe, her brother with white face and a rakish slant of black on his forehead, has moved aside so Mystery Cat can have some kibble from the orange bowl. (We're not sure where Mystery Cat came from, but she looks just like Zorra's sister who disappeared when they were just babies, and they treat her like family, unlike any other interlopers.)

Zorra's still the only one I can pet and feed by hand, though Chucho sneaks into the house occasionally to investigate the snack supply.

NOTE TO SELF: tidy up their dining room before Christmas, pick up a couple of cans of sardines for Christmas morning.

BEYOND THE "NUTCRACKER"

They make it look so easy...

The embedding feature of this video was disabled by request so click here to see a breathtaking combination of ballet and acrobatics developed for a Chinese version of "Swan Lake."

I had a hard time selecting a snapshot, every move was astounding. Wait 'til you see her pirouette en pointe on his shoulder!

Gracias, Cousin Gene y feliz navidad!

FOR SAILORS, CHRISTMAS ISN'T ALL SUGARPLUMS

The Capt sent me this gnarly description of Christmas written by Robert Louis Stevenson. Best read next to a warm fire with a cup of hot cocoa in hand and a sense of gratitude for dry land.

For my landlubber friends, "sheets" are the ropes that control the sails. a-lee is opposite the windward side and a tack is a turn, what the boat does when it "goes about." I suppose "suff" is surf.
"Port Jackson in Heavy Weather" by William McDowell. Click here for more images of tall ships.

Christmas at Sea
by Robert Louis Stevenson
(1850-1894)

The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;
The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;
The wind was a nor'-wester, blowing squally off the sea;
And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.

They heard the suff a-roaring before the break of day;
But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.
We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,
And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.

All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;
All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;
All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,
For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared;
But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard.
So's we saw the cliff and houses and the breakers running high,
And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.

The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;
The good red fires were burning bright in every longshore home;
The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;
And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.

The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;
For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)
This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn,
And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born.

O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,
My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;
And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,
Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,
Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;
And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,
To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessèd Christmas Day.

They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.
"All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain call.
"By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate, Jackson, cried.
. . . ."It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied.

She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,
And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood;
As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night,
We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.

And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me,
As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;
But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,
Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.

I GET MY CHRISTMAS WISH

Last night I had a number of exciting first-time experiences. It was my Christmas wish this year to be part of a posada, and it came true when my maestra Lolita invited me to join her and the other ladies of the church in their evening posada. I spent a couple of hours practicing the villancicos, a musical dialogue between the Peregrinas (pilgrims, aka Joseph and Mary) and Hosteleros (the innkeepers) until I knew the tune and could provide a reasonable alto part for it.

On the way I stopped at at Guaymas Norte to investigate the Super Val market, which someone on the San Carlos community net had touted to find 'something sweet' to bring to the posada, but I didn't find anything appealing. In the process of getting lost on the way out of Guaymas Norte I stumbled across the Friday night tianguis. This sort of discovery is why I enjoy getting lost sometimes.

I walked in one door of the church just as Lolita entered the opposite door. Mass was beginning, so I joined her and experienced my first Mexican Catholic mass. Having been high-church Episcopalian at one time, I could make out quite a lot of what the priest was saying, and noticed that the woman sitting behind me used a book that would have helped me with the responses. Next time I'll ask for one.

After the service, Lolita led me outside to show me an almost life-size nativity scene complete with live baby animals. Not a petting zoo, it's completely fenced in, but there were lambs, baby (or miniature) goats, a bunny, baby ducks and chicks surrounding the 3/4-size figures of Mary, Joseph and Jesus.

At the other end of the courtyard stood a litter holding another set of 3/4 size figures: Joseph leading a donkey on which Mary was seated, circled with burning candles. With typical Mexican modesty, Mary had a willowy, defined waistline. I decided it would be prudent not to mention the discrepancy, but if she had given birth within 24 hours the offspring would have looked like Tom Thumb.

We received lyrics sheets for the villancicos, which still managed to get it wrong; a verse was missing. The Hosteleros sang flat...the priest joked that they'd just been wakened and were grumpy. As we sang the last verse, we were welcomed into the social hall, where a long table laden was laden with a potluck dinner. We all sat politely while the padre led a long prayer and then brought in a traditional star-shaped piñata. Normally the piñata would have been hung from the ceiling and we would have taken turns trying to break it, but this one was allowed to escape that fate for now. The padre explained the significance of the piñata (mostly for my benefit, Lolita whispered). The star represents worldly sin, gaudily colored and shiny with the glamor that makes sin so irresistible. Its seven points stand for the Seven Deadly Sins. It's necessary to break open the piñata to release the goodness and sweetness (i.e. candies and fruits) that emerge when the sins fall away. Rather than break the piñata, we were each given a bag full of typical dulceria treats with cutesy names like Chocoretto (like Oreos), Cheetinis (same as Cheetos) and Chaca-Chaca, dark brown tamarindo pulp, which I've been curious to try.

After yet another prayer we were set loose on the dinner, which consisted of chicken stewed in a savory sauce for hours until it was falling off the bone, lasagna, enchilada casserole and beans. No tamales. Lolita said everyone was tired of tamales. There were two traditional hot beverages in enormous pots: one was atole, a thick spicy chocolate and the other ponche, a punch with fruit chunks, raisins, cinnamon, cloves and sugar cane that Lolita explained requires about seven hours of simmering before it's ready to serve. And a large platter of bunuelos, Mexican fritters, for dessert. (Note: I've found various versions of bunuelos, none of which matched Lolita's recipe, basically a sort of thin flour tortilla fried crisp in lard, soaked in honey and sprinkled with ground nuts)

After dinner the padre presided over a raffle, and several gift-wrapped prizes were distributed: teddy bears, fragrances and knicknacks. As we stood putting on our coats, I was unexpectedly introduced by the padre (in Spanish, so it's good that I was paying attention or I'd have missed it), warmly applauded, and asked to come sing a duet with Lolita for a service sometime. I mumbled my thanks and reminded myself to learn some polite phrases ('thanks for your hospitality', for instance) before the next social occasion. On our way out, I exchanged warm hugs with dozens of women, a custom Lolita confided was encouraged by the padre since many of them were widows who had little physical affection in their daily lives.

Another first was driving through downtown Guaymas, alone at night. I'd been a little nervous about that prospect. But the streets were festive with sparkling Christmas lights and families out shopping, socializing and sitting at sidewalk cafes having their dinners. I remembered how much fun it is to be out and about in a Mexican town after dark.

And this morning my next-door-neighbor delivered a sample of what she'd been busy producing the past couple of days in her kitchen: zucchini and carrot muffins. Que rico! Life is good when you live next door to a former restaurant chef!

Photos: Piñata from blog.ning.com. Ning is a free online service for creating, customizing and sharing your own Social Networks.
Contents of a typical modern piñata.

WILLIAM TELL OVERTURE LIKE YOU'VE NEVER HEARD IT

Mom "Tells" you what for

A POGONOPHILE TELLS ALL

I may have already confessed that I am a pogonophile. Don't worry, it doesn't mean anything obscene, just that I really like beards and mustaches, at least on men. A pogonophobe, on the other hand, is someone who is seriously offended or even frightened by the sight of a beard. Poor things.

Here's Willi Chevalier of Germany, first place winner in the Partial and Freestyle Beard Division of the World Beard and Moustache championship in Brighton this September. Reuters photo

Fellow pogonophiles can view other contestants, in a Time Magazine slideshow here. Pogonophobes can turn the page.

SMARTER THAN THE AVERAGE SQUIRREL

I haven't figured out how to embed this video yet, but this squirrel's so bright, I bet he could teach me how... as long as he could get a nutty reward.

FREEZE! DON'T MOVE FOR THE NEXT TWO HOURS

M.C. Escher's "Drawing Hands"

You'll never guess what happened in art class today: everyone set aside their watercolors and watched instructional videos on drawing human figures and portraits, and the Capt gave a talk, by request, on perspective. Sitting there with my pencils and sketchpad, sketching from a photo of a couple of women I met in Costa Rica, I was suddenly in the loop!

The bad news: The instructor in the video said drawing from photos is not encouraged. Beginners can practice with them, but the result is a flat two-dimensional effect, so it's best to work with the live model.

Maldito! Rayos! (as they say in the subtitles when somebody utters an obscenity.) None of my friends would be willing to sit still that long unless I zap 'em with a stun gun and then they'd look...well, stunned. I have to learn to draw faster!

Did you know the average figure is seven heads high? The average face is five eyes wide?

MONDAY CULTURE IMMERSION

Artist Judy Davis (yes, like the actress) described her
watercolor techniques for the Liga de Arte

It's Liga de Arte day, and I have some nifty new drawing pads, pencils and pens to take. I'm still the only sketcher in the place, everyone else still splashing about with watercolor, and the Capt with his oils. But today I might get up the nerve to actually (gulp) do some pen and ink drawings. Of what? you ask. Well, last time I took along my laptop with all my blissbloggin photos and did a drawing of the Puppy Man holding Chica and her brother. I was trying to get that quizzical expression he wore. Probably calculating the gringo price, and deciding if he'd give us a bulk discount.

This afternoon it's my Spanish lesson: an hour of language, an hour of singing. It's been three weeks since I saw my maestra and I have gifts I bought in AZ for her to give her grandsons for navidad. I hope they like them. For the six-year-old I bought a toy plane that flies in circles on batteries (hoping he can find a big open space to fly it in crowded Guaymas) and a beautiful kite (hoping his dad will have to help him assemble it, a boy-and-his-dad kind of moment). For the 11-year-old I got an art set in a wooden box, a better set of real hair brushes and a sketchpad like mine. "He's good with his hands and likes to make art," said Lolita.

I want to learn the songs for Posada, even though I probably won't get to go to one this year after all. Maybe Lolita knows of one I can crash.


Posada in San Miguel de Allende, where they take the tradition more seriously, from the archives of the "Our Move to San Miguel de Allende" blog, now defunct.

My horoscope today:

You know something big is coming, but you cannot discern exactly what it is.

Reminds me of that song from "West Side Story"

Somethin's coming,
I don't know what it is,
but it is
gonna be great...

Maybe a really big posada?

SOME OF MY FAVORITE THINGS

Imagine having baskets like these all through the house! Eritrean artist Rigat Tesfasion made these of colored yarns, since the traditional materials are scarce because of the Eritrean/Ethopian war. These were displayed on the NY Folklore website, "Voices," last year.

The box I found today at tianguis started me pondering my favorite things, and why they call to me so consistently.

• Boxes. Sometimes I'm more attracted by the box than in the contents. Everything from Altoids boxes to clear plastic boxes, to big containers that hold my out-of-season clothes and slide under the bed. Could be that I'm just a secretive sort of person who wants to stash everything away. But I also enjoy opening boxes that were filled a long time ago and discovering things I thought I'd lost or forgot I had. My new box has a little window for a label, but it would be a shame to spoil the surprise by identifying the contents. An obvious sign of a disordered mind.

• Baskets. The Capt calls me a basket case. The fact is, he's a scatterer and I'm a hunter/gatherer. I follow him about and try to organize the stuff he has spread hither and yon into baskets which I then stack and store. When he says "Where's my..." I smugly say, "Look in the white basket in the bodega, top shelf." I have made drawers for my clothes out of baskets that handily fit the shelves in my closet, since we had to leave our dressers behind in California. I keep my canned goods in baskets since my lower cabinets are deep, dark and easy to lose things in. They're all plastic baskets, not so aesthetically pleasing as natural straw, but less likely to be chewed on by mice. They slide out easily and they're ventilated to fend off the musty moldies.

• Bags. He could just as easily refer to me as a bag lady, with my collection of tote bags, travel bags and stash bags. I'm always finding uses for them, such as keeping my digital camera and video camera with their essential cables in a pair of zippered toiletry bags. Another one holds my iPod, charger and portable sound system. The most crucial bag I need to get together is a ditch bag for the boat, with all the things we'd need if we had to abandon ship, a task I find baffling. If they're items we need, then we're most likely already using them and they're all over the boat. So if we're to have everything in one ditch bag, does this mean I must duplicate everything? And where will I find a bag big enough for all that? When I was little I used to think Santa carried the toys for all the world's kids in his sack and therefore it must be a magic bottomless bag. That's the kind I need.

At the moment I'm listening to one of my favorite Christmas songs, the Bobs' "Santa's Got a Brand New Bag." Much funnier than "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer."

• Cast iron cookware. What is it about the heft and feel of a well-seasoned cast iron pan? So much better than Teflon, and handy for keeping errant husbands in line. My friend Sue recently sent me a photo of cast iron pans she had re-seasoned with Pam and steel wool. They had been rusting in her storage room until a customer tipped her to this method, and now she's industriously rehabilitating the whole collection. Good on you, Sue!

STUFF AND MORE STUFF

Loot from the Rescate tianguis

This morning we hit the Rescate benefit tianguis promptly at 7am, the advertised opening time, and passsed dozens of people already making off with interesting booty. My neighbors had been hoping to score a sofa that was rumored to be available, but it had already been carted off. They still managed to find a couple of badly needed bathroom shelves.

NOTE TO SELF: Next year, take a flashlight and a big tote bag, and get there before dawn.

Oh, well, it's just stuff anyway. The stuff I accumulated included a small linen-covered box (what is this thing I have about boxes?), a Chinese silk purse (made from a genuine Chinese sow's ear) and three pottery candleholders, the old-fashioned kind with the handle that Jack Be Nimble jumped over.

The Capt acquired a flashing red LED bike light, still new in the package, another spool holder for sewing (now that we have two sewing machines, we can sew simultaneously. Maybe have a race!) and a bracket he's hoping to use for a dinghy light. Or something. There's always a need for a bracket of some kind.

If one can't resist accumulating more stuff, Rescate is one of the best excuses. It's the local ambulance and emergency care facility, and if you need them it doesn't cost a year's salary to get patched up, or take a ride to the nearest hospital. We're very lucky to have them.

Out in the anchorage, the Capt has rigged up LED Christmas lights on the boat that turn on with a timer at dusk, and he's almost finished with a shadecloth enclosure that will block wind and sun in the cockpit. Yesterday, he reports, he was able to sit in the cockpit in shorts and a T-shirt and enjoy his coffee while chilly 25-knot winds had everyone else shivering in their fleece and booties.

OREGON GETS A WHITE CHRISTMAS

I was marveling over the light dusting of snow on the mountains in southern AZ, but my friend Sue in Oregon saw some REAL white stuff last week. In summer, this is a wheatfield between Pendleton and Milton-Freewater. Photo: Sue Keith, Susantiques, Aloha, OR

THE LIGHTS OF HOME

Snow on the mountains overlooking southern Arizona

I never thought the sight of a prison would thrill me, but that was before I moved to San Carlos. On Highway 15 coming down from Arizona, a few miles north of the junction where we turn left to Guaymas or right to SC, a double string of amber lights tells us we're approaching the Guaymas prison, and we're almost home, after five long hours of driving. Then we make that right turn and soon we see the Tetas silhouetted against the sunset. Sophie begs me to open the window so she can smell home, and we're all sighing with relief and euphoria.

We were in Arizona for three days, collecting two months of mail, picking up a box of the Collector's Guides we printed back in October and never got to see until now, and joining the frenzied hordes in a day of shopping. We needed a spare bed for upcoming family visits (my son and the Capt's sister) and after reading a comparison article on airbeds in Slate Magazine we settled for the Aerobed (queen-size, with two layers), which the article claimed was the only one worth buying. (The article quoted the price at $289, but we paid $105 at Costco. We'll see if the airbed makes a decent spare bed (yes, it rhymes, doesn't it?)

There was icy rain, snow on the mountains, the sort of weather the Capt, a tropical kind of guy, moved to Mexico to escape. He coped with admirable serenity, but I think one more day would have pushed him over the edge. It wasn't good weather for bathing in moonlight*, but then there wasn't a moon anyway.

Our friend Maria again took over the feeding of our Famished Feral Feline Family...

Mil Gracias, Maria!

Yesterday was the holiday to honor the Virgen of Guadalupe, the patron saint of Mexico, and just outside Hermosillo there's a Guadalupe shrine built into a hillside about a half-mile from the highway, where hundreds of people were driving and walking to pray to the Virgen. It wasn't all solemnity, though. From the road we could see a brightly lighted ferris wheel and a small carnival at the base of the hill, as though a county fair was taking place at Guadalupe's feet.

In other parts of Mexico, there were fireworks and singing, and many make pilgrimages to the Basilica of Guadalupe in Mexico City, some crawling on hands and knees. The Basilica is traditionally believed to be the original shrine built after an apparition of the dark-skinned virgin appeared there 476 years ago.


And as we drove into San Carlos we saw a police car flashing its lights in the distance, and when we got closer we saw a small procession heading for the church, maybe fifty people carrying candles behind a flatbed truck on which a young girl dressed as the Virgen with her starry mantle stood before a giant Mexican flag. But it wasn't all solemnity here, either. Mariachis were waiting at the church plaza to entertain the crowd. I'd have walked down to hear them, but all I really wanted to do is crawl into bed. Maybe next year.

*See "It Must Have Been Moonglow" post from last week

GROSSOUT OF THE DAY...THE WEEK...THE MONTH!

Just squashed a fat tick off Sofia's neck and it sprayed me in the face! Dios Mio!

CRAFTY BUNCH AT THE MARINA

A stroll around the marina, hugs from old and new friends, free coffee, artists and craftspeople selling their work for Christmas. Pleasant way to start the day, and ten percent went to Rescate, the local medivac service. A bonus: the sun broke through an otherwise cloudy morning and lit up the Tetas. Click on the image to enlarge.

METEOR SHOWER SHOW

Speaking of things celestial, a Geminid meteor shower is scheduled for mid-December, with the biggest show on the 13th and 14th when up to 120 meteors per hour are expected. Nice time to anchor out in Martini Cove and stay up late.
Photo, a Geminid meteor in Dec., 2004: Joe Orman

IT MUST HAVE BEEN MOONGLOW...

If you can't go to the moon, maybe this is the next best thing. Now you can go to Tucson, take off your clothes and bathe in concentrated moonlight at the Interstellar Light Collector. The next full moon is Christmas Eve!

"I haven't seen any hard scientific evidence that it's not a placebo effect..." said Katherine Creath, research professor of optical sciences and medicine, University of Arizona. "But ... I don't think that matters as long as people feel like they are having a positive effect, then it's worth it to them to do it."

A PASSION FOR POLVORONES

Dos Hermanos' polvorones

Recently my fellow blogger Maria and I came across a bakery a block from the Guaymas tianguis, and in the interest of research, of course, we had to check it out. I've found most Mexican pastries somewhat disappointing (dry, dense, tasting of nothing but sugar), but I'm always on the lookout for polvorones, aka Mexican wedding cookies, which for some reason nobody sells in San Carlos. (Porque? they do have weddings there.) This panaderia makes a version that's melt-in-the-mouth tender and light with no aftertaste (unlike those at the supermarket bakery which taste like somebody's laboratory experiment).

Yesterday the Capt and I revisited the same bakery, which is called the Panaderia Dos Hermanos (Two Brothers). One of the Hermanos, a muy simpatico young guy named Felix, was at the counter. It was late in the afternoon after siesta but the bakery was still well-stocked with quite a few items we hadn't seen elsewhere. After bagging up our polvorones and a couple of cream-filled pastries, Felix then put together a free sampler bag of his croissants stuffed with cream cheese and bolillos warm from the oven, two of each! Such a shrewd marketer...he knows we'll be back.

Polvorones are a little like shortbread, Pecan Sandies, or those addictive Chinese almond cookies that come in a pink box. Dos Hermanos' polvorones are even better than the ones at the 100-year-old French bakery in Santa Rosalia.

Polvorones are too fragile to mail off as Christmas gifts, they'd arrive in crumbs. But I think I'll try making some for my local friends, even if I can't expect to meet the standards of Los Dos Hermanos.

I found a recipe at CDKitchen that makes three dozen cookies (with this website, if you want to change the yield, they do the math!), and only calls for a half-cup of powdered sugar. I'd roll them in regular instead of powdered sugar. Unless I'm wearing white, I avoid eating anything dusted in powdered sugar. The traditional polvorones I've found in panaderias are without nuts. Chop them very fine if you're going to use them, or your cookies won't hold together. Instead, how about one walnut half on top of each?

CYBER-ART MEANS NEVER HAVING TO WAIT FOR THE PAINT TO DRY

I've been lurking among artist blogs lately, dazzled by some of the work I've seen, my fingers and mouse itching to do some creating of my own. I even started hanging out with the local Liga de Arte, furtively sketching everybody else while they paint. The Capt has been involved, too--the only oil painter and the only male, getting lots of attention and admiration for his work. (It doesn't hurt that he's muy guapo.)

The Liga Ladies as a group seem mostly focused on painting flowers, still-life with a Mexican flavor, scenes, etc. rather than abstract art. But of late I've come to admire the random wildness and freedom of abstracts. I'm not referring to the geometric sharp-edged stuff (which has always seemed architectural and cold to me), but the throw-caution-and-paint-to-the-winds school. Anybody who has ever been screamed at for dripping fingerpaint on the floor will be able to relate. When I watched Ed Harris as Jackson Pollock, flinging color onto his giant canvases (and not bothering to miss the floor), I was throbbing with envy. When I saw some of Pollock's work at the Museum of Modern Art in NY, a lightbulb went on in my head, and it's still glowing two years later.

This morning I found this widget on MaraZine's blog, and had to have it. (I was led to Mara by her sister Neda, a collage artist who was a Blogger.com "Blogger of Note this week.)

Tip for doing your own Pollock: It starts off in black, but a click will get another color: magenta, camouflage green, blood red, light blue, pink, teal, lapiz blue and...who knows? I haven't discovered them all yet. If you hit the space bar it blanks out and you can start over.
I was able to change the size and shape of the canvas by clicking on the little wrench. I would print one out if I could get my %*&)#@ color printer to work.

I call this first piece "Blogblobs."

Jackson Pollock by Miltos Manetas, 2003, original flash animation by Michal Migurski.

Enjoy!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM

The birthday girl, photo by my sis with her new digital camera

Now it can be told: my mother is 89, and she doesn't care who knows it. Via the Internet, I sent her roses in every color and I think she was pleased. But best of all, she says the people at Tallgrass gave her "the best birthday I've ever had."

I LIKE THE CALM, RELAXING COMFORT PART...

Here's a Blogthings quiz that purports to reveal my soul. I don't think the result really fits...well, maybe it does...naaah...I'll have to ruminate on this.

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are a wanderer. You constantly long for a new adventure, challenge, or even a completely different life. You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but your head is in the clouds. You see yourself with pretty objective eyes. How you view yourself is almost exactly how other people view you. Your near future is calm, relaxing, and pretty much what you want. And it's something you've been anticipating for a while now. For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust.

Inside the Room of Your Soul

ORANGER (AND WEIRDER) THAN I EVER KNEW

My fellow blogger Helena in England took a fun test, "What Color Crayon Are You?" and I couldn't resist doing it too. Who'd of thunk I was orange? Weird and fearless? Me?

You Are an Orange Crayon

Your world is colored with offbeat, confident, and stimulating colors. You have a personality that's downright weird - and you wouldn't change it for anything. Loud and expressive, you voice your opinions fearlessly and strongly. And while you have a strong personality, you can be friends with almost anyone. Your color wheel opposite is blue. Your confidence is something blue people truly envy.

What Color Crayon Are You?

THE CAPTAIN AS ARTIST

I think I mentioned the Capt is also an artist. Lately he's joined La Liga de Arte, the San Carlos art league, and is getting serious about his painting again, after several years of dry brushes. Today at the League meeting one of the officers encouraged members to launch their own web galleries, and the Capt was paying attention.

Check out the result, and check back now and then as he adds new works.

THE ULTIMATE CAT VIDEO

Awwww. How could anybody NOT like cats?

CAR LUST, REVISITED

The Zenn electric vehicle

The last electric car I checked out, the Tesla, had me lusting for one, but the price tag, almost $100K, seemed excessive even for new technology. Now, I'm glad I didn't draw on my winnings from the Irish Lottery, my inheritance from the anonymous dead banker in Hong Kong, and my share of the take from the stolen millions in Nigeria, and blow them on a Tesla. For the same price, I could have a fleet of Zenns and have change left over. One in every color!

The Capt spotted the Zenn in this online article. Its style reminds me of the Mercedes Smart Car, only it's the Smart Car's even smarter younger brother. OK, it's small, it can't carry six people or a three-month's supply of groceries from Costco, and it only goes 25 mph, with a range of 35 miles. The article reports experimental cars are in the works at VW, Mitsubishi and other major manufacturers, with considerably higher mph and range. But the Zenn is a good place to start...sort of like a golfcart, with more of the advantages of a car (it's enclosed, so you can drive it in the cold and rain, for instance). It's perfect for a small town like San Carlos. The Zenn hatchback runs on photovoltaics...solar panels on the roof, which is an idea I always hoped somebody would take and run with.

Either that, or I'd have to reincarnate as an engineer, which is chancey at best. All that math!

FRAGILE, WAN, THIN AND PALE

Home at last, and my Famished Feral Feline Family is glad to see me, but they're not fooling me with their Starving Cats of Calcutta act. I know Maria was here to feed them, motoring in from the anchorage every day even when it rained and blew and it would have been much cozier to stay on the boat.

Thank you soooo much, Maria!

My horoscope today:

Your way with words is quite powerful now and you may find it much simpler to communicate your feelings and ideas, especially if you take a bit of time to focus your thoughts before proceeding.

So maybe I'll get back to that book I'm writing. I luv what Deanna Raybourn says about the writing process:

...be a little selfish. At this point in the book, a writer is a bit like an invalid emerging from a life-threatening illness. We are fragile and wan, and people will remark that we have grown thin and pale. We startle easily and we tire quickly. This is when we have to be kind to ourselves. If there is someone who can cook for us and bring us cups of tea and rub our feet...

Truth be told, the tired and wan part is only because I didn't get to sleep until 2:30, not because I've been slaving over a hot keyboard for weeks. But the footrubbing part sounds so good, it might be worth a little keyboard slavery.

The hard part is going to be ignoring the fact that everything in the house and on the boat needs cleaning. I must look into obtaining a clone. Here's what she'd look like:

STUMBLING HOME IN THE DARK...

But we made it! the hardest part was finding our way to the mooring using only a flashlight. Two in the morning, and I'm off to bed.

WE'RE OUTTA HERE

Got the rainy day blues yesterday, but today the sun's out and we are getting ready to go home. Weather reports are iffy, but everyone agrees tomorrow's going to be worse, so we'll have to take our chances.

What the heck, it's ONLY 79 miles. What can happen?