Wanna piece of this?

Though I haven't lived in Petaluma, CA for almost ten years, I still like to keep up with events like the Ugliest Dog Show, a regular feature of their annual June Sonoma/Marin Fair. Usually the Chinese Crested Hairless dogs are a shoo-in, with their impossibly long tongues, strange naked skin and bizarre Mohawk hairdos. But this year's contest was an upset, with a humble rescue boxer mix named Pabst taking the starring role. Baleful blue eyes, those fearsome lower fangs, that pugnacious expression…How'd you like to meet HIM in a dark alley?

Plan B, with a LOT of help from our friends

Like most of our plans written in sand at low tide, our Westy Rescue underwent major revisions last week, when our good friend Earl decided to help us out. "I just want to go somewhere," he said in his endearing Texas twang.

We've got a towbar, he's got a big diesel truck. Put them together and voila! We can tow the ailing VW home instead of trying to fix it in Mazatlan. We'd been thinking of driving down, limping the VW to an RV park, setting up a tent and trying to repair it there. If it didn't rain or blow 40 knots. If we could stand the elevated heat and humidity (reports said it feels like 122 degrees right now). If the problem is head gaskets. If it's something else, or if the gasket replacement doesn't solve the whole problem, there was no backup plan. So towing it is a much better option.

This morning Capt and Earl loaded the stuff that our friend Nancy had stored for us in her guestroom back into the van. By now they're on their way back home to San Carlos with the Westy behind them. They might even be home before dark, since Earl's big truck makes very good time on the road.

Good friends...definitely at the top of my Gratitude List today.

Blobmobile

Imagine a car so covered with padding you never had to worry about collisions. Here's what it might look like. All it's missing is padding on the roof, in case of a roll. Now picture it in Nude Pink! Gracias to my son Jay who went to a wacky car show in Northern California recently and shared his photos.

A piña colada morning

The world is a very pleasant place before dawn, at least once I get my eyes propped open. My two little furry alarm clocks have been very punctual in rousing me early, usually around 5, but today they decided to push the envelope and go for 4:30. I slipped on a light shift and stepped outside, sniffing the air like I was just another one of the dogs. A gentle breeze brought a subtle briny scent from the bay and the first bird of the morning was warming up for his solo on the balcony of the Texans' guest house next door.

I've been letting the girls run free in the morning, since we live at the end of a quiet road and they have an open field to explore. They don't usually go far and almost always come right back when I whistle. But this time, though Sofia ambled back as soon as she saw me, Chica had disappeared. I whistled a couple of times and then saw her darting ahead in the darkness about a hundred yards away. And out of the corner of my eye I saw what I first took for a cat, but no, cats don't carry their tails quite like that. A microsecond later, an all-too-familiar acrid odor filled the air. Chica came rushing home looking sheepish. Before allowing her inside, I bent down and gave her the sniff test. Caramba! She must have gotten a shot right in the face. This is the fourth time she's been skunk-bombed, and I'm starting to rethink the "free run in the morning" routine.

I'm just grateful it doesn't take gallons of tomato juice to remove skunk odor from a dog. Her usual piña colada-scented shampoo did the job, gracias a Díos. Around here, tomato juice comes in little cans, for Bloody Marys, not in gallon jugs for stink removal. At the Purely for Pets blog, I found a recipe for another solution using hydrogen peroxide, just in case the shampoo didn't work. Caution must be taken not to get it into the eyes, though.


I also looked up "skunk" in the diccionario and found two Spanish words for it: mofeta (f) and zorillo (m). Maybe a female skunk is a mofeta, and a male is a zorillo. One sure thing: I'm not about to investigate which this one was!

Llorame Un Rio

Here's Eugenia León, famous Mexican cantante first brought to my attention by fellow blogger Alejandra, or maybe it was Nancy... Here, Eugenia sings one of my favorite old Julie London songs, in Spanish!

About last night...

All I can say is, partying with Mexicans is not for sissies. Especially Mexican musicians.

The reunion at Hotel El Sol in Guaymas started around 8:30 and was still going strong when we slipped away at 2:30am. Almost everyone in the room was a singer and/or musician and most of them performed at one point or another. The main event was two young brothers who had so much talent and energy (who knew "La Bamba" had so many verses?) that nobody minded them taking up the stage for most of the evening. I was finally called up to sing at 2am, and the less said about that the better. I was an amateur in a roomful of professionals and I did my best.

At midnight everyone sang "Las Mañanitas," which is traditionally sung to honor people on their birthdays, and such special days as Father's Day. Nobody knew but me that it was also the Capt's birthday.

So this morning, with about four hours' sleep, we two semi-zombies are doing some birthday celebrating. I'm off in search of a cheesecake, his favorite. Later, maybe a nap…

Wild again, beguiled again

This house has been somewhat silent, music-wise, for the past couple of weeks. The daily detritus (derived from the Latin deterer, meaning "wear away") has been distracting. But now I've been beguiled again and I ask myself how I let it slip away.

Some challenges are involved. The Capt rashly volunteered us to play a July 4th party, and we've been pawing through our best songs, trying to put together a set. Began practicing some of our favorites, driven by a deadline. And our landlord called us, inviting us to a reunion of the group of musicians and singers he used to perform and tour with, 30 years ago. Suddenly, life is filling up with music again, at least for a couple of weeks.

My horoscope today:
…it's more important to stay in the present moment and handle each situation as it arises, rather than thinking about what you might have to do tomorrow.

We joined our landlord's group last night for a rehearsal, and some of my favorite people showed up at his house. Juan, an operatic tenor with hundreds, if not thousands, of Spanish songs filed in his head. Blanca, who has a sweet alto and the warmest smile I ever saw. Lolita, my Spanish tutor and singing coach, who sings duets with me. Julia, who loves politics and belting out boleros with all the dramatic flourishes. Last night we sat at the big round table in my landlord's kitchen and sang, swapped jokes (not many of which I was able to understand) and caught up with each others' lives.

I've gotten somewhat better at expressing myself with my limited Spanish volcabulary, but comprehension is still my weak point. After a couple of hours my head was aching with the effort of translating, but the warmth and humor of this group came through the language barrier and made me feel welcome.

Tonight, I'll take my camera to the reunion and make myself useful. Sing a few songs with Lolita. And maybe take along some aspirin for the headache.

Operation Vanagon Rescue

Phase Two of Operation Vanagon Rescue has been completed.

Phase One was towing the disabled VW Westie 100 mile$$$ north to our blogger friend Nancy's house in Mazatlan and offloading some of its cargo in her garage, after which the Capt. returned home to San Carlos on the bus. Thanks so much, Nancy and Paul, for the stowage space, your hospitality and use of Paul's suitcase for the bus!

Phase Two was driving NOB (north of the border) to pick up the parts needed to fix the blown head gasket, and post an entire bin of snailmail. This trip may have been the fastest turnaround we've made yet: up and back, 400 miles, in two days. We stayed at a friend's mother's house in Tucson so she and I did a quick hunting and gathering expedition to Trader Joe's, Sunflower market, and the GrantStone Asian market. And for Phase Three, the Capt bought a 9x13-foot tent with sewn-in floor.

Phase Three is a return to Mazatlan to get the Vanagon, which is marginally driveable, take it to an RV park on the beach, and put up the tent next to it. Then the Capt will (he hopes) get it running sufficiently to drive it home, with me following along behind in my car, just in case. Some of its cargo will go in my car to lighten the weight in the van. This will take place as soon as we've recovered from Phase Two.

And so it goes. Wish us luck!

Goodwill goes chi-chi

"The times, they are a'changing," Bob Dylan said. The retail market is tilting like the Titanic as higher-end stores begin scrambling for sales and the average buyer starts to see the virtue in becoming a recessionista.

Who'd have imagined that Goodwill would start emerging as a boutique? We're talking online fashion shows, auctions, designer goods, even sale notices in the mail to repeat customers. The CEOs' wives have to do something with those castoffs from last season, and donating them fuels a sense of righteousness that carries them right into their next shopping expedition. The economy may be tanking, but Mrs. Gotrocks is still not going to be seen in the same outfit twice.

Goodwill's transformation is most noticeable in New York, of course, along with Palm Beach and San Francisco and Portland, OR. Proceeds from the stores are still used to train the disabled and disadvantaged.

My all-time favorite Goodwill is in Bartlesville, OK. When I fly there to visit my family I take a single carry-on bag with my laptop, and my purse. Then my sister and I shop the Goodwill for Mom and me. (Mom has a tendency now to stain her clothes and the nursing home laundry sets the stains with hot water.) We get our female bonding thing going, and when we present Mother with her new duds, it might as well be Christmas. Prices are usually in the $4 to $6 range, and there's always a half-price sale going on. I find J. Crew, LL Bean, Ann Taylor...brands that might normally fetch in excess of $40 new. Depending on how much I collect, I pick up either another small carry-on, or a suitcase I can check at the airport, in Goodwill's used luggage department.

Will the boutique movement hit Bartlesville's Goodwill? Considering the poverty level in Oklahoma, I have my doubts. Fine with me. New York and San Francisco can keep their Prada, Armani and Vera Wang.

And if Goodwill gets too chi-chi for me, there's always tianguis.

Photos: vintage sundress and matching hat from Paris, shown in Goodwill Look Book 2008

Mom, now 92, in her flamboyant new outfit from Goodwill. She can hide a lot of stains on the shirt, but the white pants will last, I'm thinking, through maybe one meal.

Into the Unknown

Photo: Dark Roasted Blend, "World's Most Dangerous Roads"

While wandering the Internet I came across a blog called The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, that explores various methods and ideas people have come up with to make themselves happier. A friend said one of his rules is to “Control your exit.” He explained, “It means, always be able to leave when you want.” The downside of this rule is that you would never have people over, in case they turn out to be the type who don't know when they've outstayed their welcome. You would always drive yourself to any event, in case you want to leave early. You'd never go on a boat trip or a bus tour where you'd feel trapped and unable to bail out. What if the Vikings, or Amerigo Vespucci or Columbus had followed this rule?

Gretchen doesn't completely agree with this philosophy, and neither do I. Carried to its logical extreme, a person would never have the opportunity to get lost, find her way back and see new sights along the way. Her days would be more or less copies of each other, with the same loss of quality that results when you make a copy of a copy of a copy. Anything unexpected would lead to great discomfort.

Lately my days have been photocopies for the most part, which is why I was lured to The Happiness Project. The title of this blog is somewhat offputting; you expect it to be all butterflies and daisies, cartoon characters and silly sayings. But in fact, most of it makes perfect sense.

Gretchen suggests that sometimes, “not controlling your exit would lead to happiness. There’s a lot of happiness to be gained from spontaneity, impulse adventures, and unpredictable undertakings.” That's the kind I'm looking for: unpredictable undertakings that lead me to new places, doing things I've never done before. My mind is hungry for the unknown. I'm not sure whether this means a geographic change, or a mental one, but probably both.

So far what I've envisioned is a road trip that would take me, eventually, to see my mother and sister in Oklahoma, but would meander through New Mexico and Texas in the process, making it quite a long expedition. A month, at least. The fear that comes to mind when I try to picture myself doing this alone takes my breath away, but when I look beyond the intimidation I feel an almost irresistible attraction to the idea.

A compatible road buddy would make it a much more interesting and enjoyable trip. Someone with lots of stories to tell, but interested in my stories, too. Someone willing to navigate, stop here and there when we see something interesting, or when I want to take a photo or read a historical plaque or buy cherries from a roadside stand. Someone willing to take his time and not get irritated by city driving. And if that someone were willing to sing with me now and then, that would be heaven. But I will have to fill that someone's role myself. I will have to tell myself stories, navigate, sing to myself, make my own decisions about stopping here or there. It may take a few days, a few scares and a few wrong turns but eventually I might like being alone on the road.

Just once I'd like to travel without a strict ETA. I know my sister, who'd be waiting for me at my destination, would not be happy not knowing when I'd arrive, especially since her plans depend on when I'd get there. But maybe there's a way to work that out with her. Leave early, don't let her know I'm on my way until I'm almost there.

My mother, a control freak all her life, now has Alzheimer's, and never gets to control her exits. She doesn't know where she is most of the time. When she leaves her room and starts down the hall, she wanders into other rooms, talks to the other patients whether she knows them or not, because she doesn't remember whether she knows them. When it's time to go to the dining hall, she has to be steered in the right direction. But she seems happier than she used to be, when everything in her life had to be predictable.

Once I was not so preoccupied with planning every outcome. When I was in my mid-twenties I left San Francisco with my girlfriend Sandy in a pink and white Studebaker to travel down the California coast, across the southwest, down into Mexico and back into Texas, and eventually through the South, up the Eastern Seaboard, and back through Canada, funding our journey with temp work. Along the way we lost the Studebaker and gained another girlfriend, Helen, a dedicated wanderer from Scotland. I made it as far as Texas where, sick with a bad cold and Montezuma's Revenge, tired and broke, I succumbed to my mother's entreaties to go back home, get a steady job and anchor myself in a less volatile way of life. Sandy and Helen completed the trip, and it completely changed Sandy's life: she later married one of the guys we met in Mexico, a photography student on a field trip.

It seems to me that I have wasted a great deal of time trying to control my exits and entrances as well. I've been trying to write the script while some part of me is crying for improvisation. Maybe if I allow that inner gypsy some freedom, indulge her wanderlust a little, she will take me through the daunting veil of terror into new discoveries of what's out there, and what's in me.

Sweet coincidence!

Babs was just posting on serendipity, and now it's rubbed off on me. A friend of a fellow blogger just located me and commented on today's post, and she's here, in San Carlos. In fact, she's been in Mexico longer than I have.

Jan has just uploaded her first post on her new blog, and I invite y'all to head on over there, to
Life According to Jan
and get to know her. Load her up with comments, so she feels right at home.

I like your blog, Jan. I'm no expert either, but if I can help with it, just let me know. It's one of the most fun and fulfilling things I've ever done.

Dr O lowers the boom

Just when I thought I was out of the woods, medically-speaking, Dr. O set me straight yesterday after reviewing my blood test. Would you believe I'm 42 points too high on cholesterol and anemic?

My friend Ale, who came along to serve as translator, saved the morning from being a complete disappointment by regaling me in the waiting room with all the news about her upcoming family reunion (they take over the Fiesta Hotel, play music all day and talk all night, what fun!) and how the Hermosillo pork industry is going to use all the surplus meat they couldn't sell during the swine flu scare: have a party! They're going to be selling tacos four for ten pesos, all day Saturday, in a big park in Hermosillo, with live music, entertainment and no face masks.

I'm always learning something new from Ale: Spanish phrases, the latest political gossip, glimpses into Mexican culture.

Dr. O is a quiet, gentle man about five feet tall, very businesslike. He presented me with prescriptions for the anemia and cholesterol, and a strict diet listing comidas permitidas and comidas no permitidas, and told me to come back in two months.

Then Ale and I went prescription-shopping. Dr. O assured us that I could take generics, so we found the farmácia he recommended and by buying the full amount of each drug I'd need for the next two months we got a discount, plus Ale bargained us down another 20 pesos. I never heard of haggling in a pharmacy, but haggle we did. She's very polite and charming about it, and the clerk had no objection.

After a stop at my favorite coffeehouse for a coffee break, I took her home and got a quick tour of her new house, which is quite an improvement on her previous place. Lots of space out back for her two dachsunds, a more spacious kitchen plus a guest room and a TV room. I like the neighborhood, too—it's close to stores, but quiet, clean and well-kept, giving the impression the neighbors care about their homes.

Back home, my heart sank when I opened the fridge and saw all the comidas no permitidas—after having already given up cheese, yogurt, and sugar it just didn't seem fair. I never really took the whole cholesterol issue seriously before, just figured if I stuck to two-percent milk and didn't fry anything I could squeak by. But no.

And taking iron is no piece of cake either. A website I read yesterday said the best way to take iron is an hour before a meal, but since it upsets the stomach most people take it with a meal, thereby losing 60% of its effectiveness. And it should be taken with orange juice. But it's not like I can just add 60 percent more iron...or can I? Hmmmm.

I Googled "How to Avoid Iron-Depleting Foods" and found that caffeine and soy products (they contain peptides) are both bad news...there goes my soymilk cappucino and tofu! And peanut butter (or any legumes with polyphenols)…so much for my favorite Thai peanut sauce. And phosphates (no more lemonade with mineral water.) And chocolate! The list goes on. I'm amazed we aren't all going around with anemia.

Then I Googled Colesken, the generic form of Zocor which I'm supposed to take for at least two months for the cholesterol. Uh-oh, I'm not supposed to have grapefruit. And my friend Gail has a big bag of home-grown grapefruit waiting for me at the library tomorrow.

Reason #3 for being an early bird

My cost for all this produce was 80 pesos ($6.03USD) at the early morning market in Guaymas

This week there was a post on Viva San Carlos, the local forum, about an earlybird produce market in Guaymas, 20 minutes from here. I persuaded my Guaymas friend Ale to join me and we checked it out, mostly out of curiosity. It's two blocks off 20th Street, a stone's throw from the mercado. But the catch is that it's open from 5-7am.

I'm not sure I'd be willing to get up at 5 on a regular basis to stock up on veggies and fruit, but it might be worth the effort: this produce was so fresh, not at all picked-over, and cheap! I got all this for eighty pesos, or $6.03 at today's exchange rate. I have to add to that the cost of gas, but I drive a frugal car and anyway, this was research. Next time I'll do more advance planning and buy for the whole week.

Other options range from tianguis three times a week in Guaymas, Tony's veggie stand 11am-6pm every day but Sunday, the big Ley supermarket, or the smaller markets here in San Carlos. But even without crunching the numbers to compare them item by item, I'm convinced this early street market is the best deal yet. No crowds, friendly service and refreshing cool morning breezes (Reason #2). And I can always go home and have a nap.