What color is your roof?

In Conil, near Cadiz, Spain, you can paint your roof any color you like, as long as it's white

"Studies show that white roofs reduce air-conditioning costs by 20 percent or more in hot, sunny weather. Lower energy consumption also means fewer of the carbon dioxide emissions that contribute to global warming."

New York Times

¡No hay agua!

Installing our new tinaco this year — we didn't put it on the roof, unsure whether the roof could bear the weight, so we have no gravity feed and have to rely on an electric pump. Which isn't working anymore.

Between living on a boat and living in a house in Mexico, we've had plenty of experience running out of water. You'd think by now we'd have a better system for dealing with it. Murphy's Law dictates it's always going to happen at an inopportune time – but when is a good time, anyway, maybe from midnight to 4am? More likely it's when you're standing under the shower with a headful of shampoo suds, or at the kitchen sink about to wash up after the biggest meal of the day. Or when a dog comes in after rolling in the mud. Or the Capt has been making automotive repairs.

The water shut off last night, and is still off this morning. When we first moved here the local water company would post alerts on the Viva San Carlos Forum each time there were stoppages, but now it's anybody's guess.

We're a little better prepared today. We brought two five-gallon jugs from the boat, which we keep filled with washup water, and when the faucets run dry we fill plastic dishpans in the bathroom and kitchen, with smaller bowls to scoop out water for handwashing. No shampoos for us or the dogs, no major dishwashing or mopping, but at least we can have clean hands. And if we're pining for a shower, we can walk down to the hotel for a shower and a swim.

We have a full tinaco but its pump has burned out, so the only way we'll access that water now is by scooping it out with a dipper. Two things we can always count on: if a pump or a battery is involved, it will burn out. They can put a man on the moon, but they still can't come up with a reliable water pump or battery.

Our friend Mark, who has rented a casita in a Mexican neighborhood in nearby Guaymas while he's making boat repairs at the marina, said his water ran out a few days ago, and when he mentioned it to his neighbors, they said Guaymas only supplies water to its residents two days a week. Everyone's tinaco fills up when there's water, and then they get by with the stored water until the next refill day. They told him (not bothering to hide their resentment) that no such rationing is done in San Carlos because of all the gringos who live here. Of course, much of the problem with the Guaymas water system is due to broken pipes; it's not uncommon to drive through a flooded street when it hasn't rained for months.

We live in the desert, and rainfall is really pretty much limited to a few days a year and yet developers keep planning building condos and housing complexes here. What are they thinking?

Last week Shoestring Gringa had the same problem, when their water ran out, on Laundry Day. Hope your faucets are running again, amiga. And I hope you get yourself a tinaco soon.

UPDATE: I told the Capt if he was able to get the pump working, the water company would turn on the water again. Murphy's Law in reverse, being its usual contrary self. And that's exactly what happened. Ya hay agua!

Last year about this time we had a couple of gullywashing rainstorms. Wouldn't mind having one right now… I'd put on my bathing suit, grab the dogs, and we'd all go out and have a shower!

Got 18 minutes? Meet Liz.

A lovely coincidence: I finished reading Elizabeth Gilbert's immensely successful memoir, "Eat. Pray. Love." and my online singing coach Chrys Page posted a video of Liz giving an 18-minute talk for TED Talks. Well, thanks, Ted, whoever you are. Liz is on my short list of writing mentors and I was thrilled to have a chance to hear her talk about her work. Beyond being inspiring, she has a wicked sense of humor.

My post about Liz's book received comments from some people who had read it and, like me, were deeply affected by it. This is for them. If you don't have 18 minutes, or hate vids, or have no interest in the concept of creativity as a gift from God (or the Higher Power of your understanding), just pass on by.

Find more videos like this on Sing Your Life!

A man and his tools

There are plenty of cracks and creaks and exposed wires and such in this 50-plus-year-old Mexican house. Some will be ignored, others dealt with eventually. With two Westie motors sitting out in the carport waiting to be assembled into one usable unit, and the Green Flash waiting for its transformation in the workyard, the Capt still finds free moments to tackle "honey-do" projects around the house, a day at a time. A big improvement was a ceiling fan in the living room over the sofas, which we have set on high spin to maximize the AC's cooling power. He had to cannibalize an old light fixture for its base and deal with a spaghetti factory of Mexican wiring to get it installed. And he set up a small AC unit in the kitchen window to make cooking and dishwashing more comfortable.

This morning he applied what I call a "Mexican fix" to the problem of the back door's inability to quite meet the frame, leaving a crack big enough to see daylight when the door's closed—a crack big enough to admit cucarachas and other unwelcome creatures. The Capt applied one of his favorite new materials, foam from a can, which when it hardens can be filed and sanded down. In a true Mexican fix, of course, the filing and sanding step would probably be skipped.

I burned rice in my favorite stainless pot when I ran to answer the phone and got into a discussion with a new customer. I scrubbed it for about 15 minutes and might have gotten it clean with another 15 minutes of elbow grease, but he took it outside, used a drill with a brass wire brush attached, and brought it back gleaming like new in the wink of an eye.

Two friends surprised and delighted us this week by showing up unannounced at our door. Garth, our favorite fisherman rang the bell and immediately demanded to know, did we want scallops or fish? I'm not an afishionado, being pretty much all vegetarian now, but when he mentioned dorado I caved. He gave us enough for two meals, and we so enjoyed it, I've decided we're going to have fish at least now and then. The Capt made tacos with it, and the next day I dredged the rest of it in cracker crumbs and fried it in peanut oil. It's probably my South Texas genes; now and then I crave fried seafood. Even ordered a beautiful antique (1925-30) cast-iron pan with lid from my antique dealer friend Sue, which I'll pick up when we go to Arizona next week, having given up on Teflon.

Sue sent me this photo of the antique cast iron pan I'm buying… It's a 1925-30 Wagner, the lid a "marriage" with no label but ni modo! it fits fine and is designed to recycle moisture back into the pan.

The other surprise was our friend Mark from Canada, who is down here having his diesel overhauled. Having just bought his boat two years ago, I imagine he's somewhat disappointed to be facing such a huge repair already, but he's in good spirits. He's coming over for lunch today and we'll get to hear more about his adventures this year… he did the Baja Bash with his brother back up the Pacific Coast to San Diego which is not a trip for the faint of heart.

Our primitive but functional recording tools: a keyboard provides tempos, the Looper (that narrow doodad on the floor) records the tempo, bass and rhythm guitar tracks, the amp (black box) amplifies voice and the instruments, and Mac laptop uses GarageBand to record and remix it all. That's the Capt's foot keeping time.

This week we have also begun recording, which I can only describe as a somewhat painful but necessary process. I learn so much about my vocal flaws when I listen to myself. Ouch! I do one song fairly satisfactorily, and then blow it in the last few notes. But perseverance furthers, so we'll keep at it until we get something we can bear to hear.

And now I should start warming up; we're going to try "Round Midnight" today.

The can man

Monday is a good day for fresh starts and resolutions. Resolution #1 today was to get out before sunrise for a walk. Today I took not just one but three walks. The first one was at 6:30 with Chica and her buddy Una along the cliff where we spotted a heron on the rocks and found an easy way to get down to the water at low tide.

Next I took Sofia on a ten-minute stroll. Old and grumpy, she balks a lot, while young Chica always wants to run, so if I walk them both at once I'm prodding one and trying to rein in the other.

Then I changed into my swimsuit and ambled down to the Marina Terra Hotel pool (which I recently discovered is completely shaded by the hotel building at 8am! No sunblock required!) But on Mondays the maintenance man is cleaning the pool. "Hasta nueve," he tells me. Well, a freshly-cleaned pool after a weekend of hotel guests is worth waiting for.

On our street I noticed a man with a big plastic bag, stopping at each garbage can to look for recyclable cans. As usual, I felt a twinge of guilt (guiltmeister that I am). The Capt has been quaffing at least a couple of sodas a day, and the cans have been tossed in with the other garbage. I used to put them in a separate bag, tied to the handle of the garbage can so the recycling guy could get them without rummaging. Resolution #2 for today: I promised myself I'd start doing that again. A not-so-random act of kindness. But who knows? Maybe he'd rummage anyway.

Around the corner four recyclers were busy stomping dozens of cans spread out on the concrete. The garbage truck comes on Monday morning, so they have to get an early start to find their loot before it's taken away. There's a fellow in town next to the video store who throws the cans on the street at the bus stop, and sits in his plastic chair waiting for the bus to flatten them. He gives me a smug grin when I pass by. In our neighborhood a bus passes by every 15 minutes, so these hombres could also "automate" some of their work. But since they're in view of the police station and the nicest hotel in the vicinity, maybe cans in the street isn't a good idea.

When I came home the Capt was in his studio, practicing a series of songs we're working on. Resolution #3: we're going to try recording a few of them using GarageBand. I find that I'm feeling a form of stagefright, which is ludicrous considering there won't be an audience, only the Capt, me and the recorder. Maybe sometime this week I can upload a tune or two on the blog.

Blues on the Beach

Evening shadows were providing welcome shade and a soft offshore breeze was starting up when the Capt and I arrived at the beach with Sofia and Chica to hear some blues, meet some friends and sip a limonada or two. The free event was sponsored by a group of businesspeople who are promoting the state of Sonora in general and San Carlos in particular as safe for vacationers, despite the media reports and general hysterial over shootings, crime...the flu...corrupt cops...and a number of other hazards I've lost track of.

Angel Diamond and her band provided the music, some of my favorite songs and a new one I got a kick out of, the "Bureaucrat Blues." At least three boats cruised in as close as they could get to shore in order to hear the tunes.

The Pacifico Girls to the left of the stage were attempting to move to the beat, but the ones on the right seemed to be waiting for Latin tempos

Four Pacifico Beer Girls in sort-of-matching bathing suits flanked the stage, but they couldn't get the hang of the beat, not being blues kinda chicas, even though their handler did his best to get them to loosen up. Finally they began working the crowd, handing out blue plastic beads with the demand that if you took the beads you had to get up and dance. And, would you believe it, the Capt danced with me! Have you ever danced in soft sand? Exhausting!

It was left to gray-haired gringos to show them how it's done. But most of us were winded after one song.

Bands are scheduled once a month for the next four months, playing Friday and Saturday evenings. Maybe the Capt will go with me again, if I'm lucky.

Blood on the docks*

Photo: Sailfish, Captain Wally's Fishing Report

A giant two-story inflated Tecate beer can towers over the dock at the marina near where dozens of trophy fish will be displayed and photographed this weekend. A reminder to stock up, I suppose. The 62nd Annual International Billfishing Tournament was underway at 6:30 this morning and the docks were already buzzing.

The trouble with trophies, of course, is that these magnificent sea creatures have to die in order to get their pictures taken. The local restaurants offer to cook whatever catch is brought in, especially during tournaments, so the sports invite all their friends to the feast. Or donate the fish to the local orphanage or old folks' home. Regulations forbid selling the catch, or filleting it on the boat. The "bag limit" per fisherman is one billfish per day, although there's no limit to the number of fish that may be caught and released, as long as they're released in good condition. I don't know who is supposed to be the judge of that.

Our intrepid fisherman friend Garth is still in Mulege (Baja) with his panga "Tunaholic" (an oversize open powerboat), so he probably won't be competing this year. He sent me an email describing his exploits on his last fishing day alone in the Sea. (His reference to "feathers" is a special lure he invented.) I doubt any of the tournament competitors with their buddies, coolers full of Tecate and their lavishly-equipped power boats will be able to beat Garth's latest fishing-wrestling saga. Hemingway would have loved it.

Garth, aboard "Tunaholic"

"I wanted a marlin to fill Tere's** freezer. Made coffee in the panga about 4 a.m. and was underway by 5. No fish at all for 40 miles but I was bound for an area east of Isla San Ildefonso where I used to take clients that had never caught a marlin.

"First hookup about 10 was an 14-minute fight on a small sail(fish) which I released. Feathers back in and within 10 minutes a huge blue marlin hit the right rigger. I saw him hit and he hit so hard he nearly broke the rigger. He immediately took all the monofil out and about a third of the spectra. One hour and eight minutes later I had him to leader twice (counts as a release) but he finally abraded the line with his bill. I estimate this fish at about 200 kilos conservatively (more than 440 lbs.)

"I was pretty tired but I really wanted a fish so feathers back in. Within 20 minutes another blue hit. I had this one on a fairly lightly riggerd tuna feather. 53 minutes later I had this fish with the bill in my hands with a towel wrapped around the bill. I tried to reach the knife and could not so I held on with one hand and stretched and the fish twisted and I lost the towel but was able to grab the fish's bill with both hands. A real Mexican standoff. Tore the hell out of my hands but I finally got my shirt off and wrapped it around the bill. This fish weighed about 120 kilos and I could not control it and I could not kill it. I managed to get the hook out and let it go. Or maybe I should say he let me go.

"Fourth hookup was what I thought was a striped marlin. Good fight for a little over 20 minutes and I did get the bill and knife, bled the fish out over the side and hauled her aboard. I still thought this was a 65 kilo striper. Too tired to clean the fish there so I headed back to Los Pilares. Kept fish wet and covered. As I made the first cut I realized it was a sail, really huge for a sail.

"Hell of a day. I am really tired but really a great final fishing trip for the season."

* Blood on the Docks is the name of a local sportfishing outfit.
**Tere is the matriarch of the large Mexican family he "adopted" in Mulege.

A hug in Spanish

Sometimes I come across a word in Spanish that just delights me, makes me want to say it over and over, and find excuses for using it. One of my all-time favorites is albondigas, which means "meatball." It's just a fun thing to roll around in my mouth, even if I am a vegetarian these days.

By the way, the name of the boat piloted by the Pirates of the Caribbean in the sailors' cult movie "Captain Ron" was "Albondigas."


And now I have a new palabra, compliments of my blogging colleague Mexico Bob: apapachar, which according to WordRef means something like a cross between a hug (abrazar) and a caress (acariciar), an enhanced hug if you like. I do. A good mnemonic to help remember apapachar is that "papa" is embedded in it. As in "Come to papa."

(A good mnemonic to remember "mnemonic" is that it rhymes with "demonic," an apt description of whoever coined this word.)

How timely that I should learn apapachar, since the Capt and I have been practicing six-second hugs ever since I saw a report that hugs of six-second duration increase the huggers' serotonin and oxytocin levels. At first we were muttering "one, one-thousand...two, one-thousand..." and so on to make sure we put in enough time, but now, if anything, we tend to slide into the 30-second range. It must be working.

Most of us have a rough idea of what serotonin is, but I didn't have a clue about oxytocin until I Googled it. One women's website called filly.ca called it "The Cuddle Hormone...the Body's Own Love Potion." Here it is, right from the horse's mouth (sorry, couldn't resist):

Oxytocin is a hormone produced naturally in the hypothalamus in the brain. Studies have shown that oxytocin is associated with our ability to mediate emotional experiences in close relationships and maintain healthy psychological boundaries.

In studies with non-human mammals, oxytocin has been shown to promote nest building and pup retrieval, acceptance of adopted offspring, and the formation of adult pair-bonds.

There's even an oxytocin spray you can spritz on yourself to make people trust you. The salesman's dream. There's no evidence that it actually works, which is probably just as well…

I also read recently that 20 minutes of Vitamin D direct from sunlight relieves depression. There were a number of unanswered questions I still have to research on this subject. The article said you won't get your Vitamin D if you're wearing sunblock, but what if you only put sunblock on your face and neck, as I do? Can the 20 minutes be cumulative, ten now and ten later? (It's HOT out there!)

And can you get even better results by hugging out in the sunshine?

Defending my turf

For about a month you've probably noticed advertising on this blog. I signed up with AdSense, probably due to a recent temporary feeling of financial insecurity, self-delusion about how many viewers would be interested, and the hope that they'd pop in ads for sailing equipment and Mexican resorts, items I wouldn't really object to very much. Sometimes they actually did.

Other ads were even a little amusing, like the ones promising a pill to help you get over shyness. (I know a great commercial for tequila that promises the exact same thing.)

But today I decided to opt out of the AdSense arrangement, when an ad for Scientology appeared on my page. I hope all you Scientologists out there (Travolta, Cruise and the rest) won't feel you're victims of religious discrimination.

I'm sure there's a place for Scientology ads, but not on my page.

And for everyone else, I hope you won't miss the ads too much (lame joke).

False Evidence Appearing Real

FEAR is an acronym in the English language for "False Evidence Appearing Real"

Travel alerts, swine flu reports and news stories about violent crimes in Mexico have all taken their toll on the tourism industry which is the largest legitimate source of income in the country. Locally, a group of businesspeople calling themselves Sonora Is Safe has organized in an attempt to counteract some of the bad press, with a website (SonoraIsSafe.com) and a free live music series to be launched this weekend here in San Carlos. Blues and jazz on my favorite beach—what's not to like!? They'll be raffling off restaurant dinners, hotel weekends, dolphin encounters, quad rentals and spa packages, too. I never win these things, but hope springs eternal. Their posters say, "Don't let inaccurate information in the press ruin your vacation." The website extols the local attractions but also wisely includes travel tips for making your vacation safer.

I'm not deluding myself. For every person who swears life in Mexico is perfectly safe, there's probably someone who can recount some incident in which they or someone they know was robbed or burgled or worse.

All I know is my own history. I lived in Northern California more than 40 years. In San Francisco on my way to night class I was knocked down by a mugger who stole my purse, which contained my final exam. In San Rafael someone broke into my car and took my purse while I was lugging a basket of laundry and a baby into the laundromat. In Sausalito my houseboat was burgled, and my new stereo system taken. In Petaluma, I was victim of a midnight home invasion, with guns aimed at our heads and a couple of frightful hours while the thieves searched the house for everything of value. There's more, but these are the incidents that particularly outraged me.

I've lived here in San Carlos year-round for three years and have sailed the coast and visited places as far south as Barra de Navidad since 1997. My only losses in Mexico have been due to my own negligence: wallets left behind in public places a couple of times. No one has threatened me, swindled me or given me any reason to feel unsafe. Have I just been lucky? If that's the case, the Capt has also been lucky, as well as just about everyone I know.

So Friday I think I'll take a picnic and go dancing on the beach, maybe buy a couple of raffle tickets, snap some pictures and invite my friends. It's for a good cause.

The hens they all cackle, the roosters all beg,
But I will not hatch, I will not hatch.
For I hear all the talk of pollution and war
As the people all shout and the airplanes roar,
So I'm staying in here where it's safe and it's warm,
And I WILL NOT HATCH!

Shel Silverstein

Diligent Joy

I've been submerged in another book, this one so good that many times in the reading of it I have wanted to share some of my favorite passages with you even before finishing it. But a moment ago I regretfully put it down, having read the last page and wishing there were more.

The full title is "Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia" by Elizabeth Gilbert, an author who has all the best qualities of the best women writers I've ever read...wry humor, freewheeling joy and deepest sorrow all transcribed in vivid metaphors. She travels the way I'd like to do, spending weeks and months in her favorite places until they and the people who inhabit them become part of her. Leaving behind the frenetic life of a New Yorker, she devotes a year of her life to exploration of the outer world and her inner self, beginning with a pleasure-seeking tour of Italy to learn Italian before going on to an ashram in India to learn meditation and yoga and later to Bali for an extended visit with an Indonesian medicine man.

On learning Italian: "He didn't realize I spoke Italian. Neither did I, actually, but we talk for about twenty minutes and I realize for the first time that I do. Some line has been crossed and I'm actually speaking Italian now." Ah, that lightbulb moment when communication becomes natural. That moment I'm still hoping for.

On her struggle to learn meditation in the ashram: "I can't seem to get my mind to hold still. I mentioned this once to an Indian monk, and he said, 'It's a pity you're the only person in the history of the world who ever had this problem.'" And when she succeeds: "Thoughts come, but I don't pay much attention to them, other than to say to them in an almost motherly manner, 'Oh, I know you jokers... go outside and play now... Mommy's listening to God.'"

On happiness: "...once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it, you must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever... It's easy enough to pray when you're in distress but continuing to pray even when your crisis has passed is like a sealing process, helping your soul hold tight to its good attainments...
This is a practice I've come to call 'Diligent Joy.'... All the sorrow and trouble of this world is caused by unhappy people... The search for contentment is, therefore, not merely a self-preserving and self-benefiting act, but also a generous gift to the world."

Reason #12 for becoming a vegetarian

If you love eating pork rinds and you're thinking maybe you should give them up, here's a YouTube video that could expedite the process. Warning: animals were harmed in the making of this film.

Stormy Sunday

My friend Sue in Oregon emailed me this morning, "… I saw on the web site, the storm in your area. I do hope you are OK, and just wind."

The Capt calls it a chubasco, but there's no thunder and lightning, just a blustery, wild wind, the kind that makes me want to take a long walk with the dog and watch the waves crash against the rocks and listen to the palms rustling and feel its coolness on my skin. The scientific explanation is that the wind and proximity of rain produce negative ions that improve the mood and boost the metabolism. I could use a little of that. For some reason the Capt and I got an early start with coffee at 5:30 and then fell asleep again, so we had to start all over two hours later.

The sky is gray, darker gray in the direction of Guaymas, where I expect they'll get all the rain as usual.

I took my camera in my backpack down to the marina, which was swarming like a disturbed anthill. Vacationers, charged by all those negative ions, are standing in groups eagerly waiting their turn to climb into the rent-a-boats and venture out into the wind-tossed bay. They drove hundreds of miles, it's Sunday and they'll be back at work tomorrow, and by God they're going to get on a boat or else! Ladies in their new boating togs exchange nervous glances while their novios trade manly jokes and laugh in their bravado. A cluster of city folk, having wandered the docks and gotten bitten by the boat bug, are avidly studying the listings of vessels posted in the window of the sales office.

Ever hopeful, the wood carving man has set out his little dolphins, sailfish and seals as usual, and the Indian lady spread a blanket on the walkway to display her beadwork.

When I think of what I like about summer in San Carlos, it's days like today. I wouldn't mind if we got a little rain as well, but maybe another time.

Estas son Las Mañanitas...

For my birthday today, I want to share with you a traditional Mexican birthday serenade from YouTube, complete with mariachi, and sung by Chayito Valdez.

My name is Chica and I'm a ball addict

Speaking of dogs… Our dog Chica would rather play catch with her tennis ball than eat. I have to hide the ball before I can get her to her bowl. She has her own basket of balls, so we never run out.

In the morning while we're having coffee in bed, we take turns playing fetch with Chica. When she goes out, she waits outside the door until I follow with the ball.

Her favorite trick is to catch it midair before it bounces. She is learning to throw it back! When she catches it, she bounces it back to us, with amazing accuracy.

Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer, says the ball fixation is not a good thing, that as her Higher Powers we should intervene and make her give it up, cold turkey if necessary. It should be reintroduced as an occasional treat, not her raison d'etre. If we were walking her properly, at least an hour and a half a day, she'd be too tired to play ball.

But I find her dedication and discipline inspiring. Show her the ball, and nothing else of interest exists for her. You'd think she was in training for the doggie Olympics.

Endless summer with Spot

We've had very uncertain water pressure the past few days. Yesterday it managed to shut off completely about the time the Capt was working on the Vanagon motor and getting very greasy. But today (so far) it's flowing normally and I'm washing everything in sight: clothes, dishes, floors, tile, etc. etc. and feeling very grateful that for now we have good clean water. I have a sense of urgency about the cleaning, since the water could go back down to a disappointing trickle at any moment, but I've decided the urgency is a good thing, since otherwise I would probably be derailed by the book I just started: "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. Fascinating and funny, and the subject of a future post.

Speaking of water, and at the risk of seeming excessively frivolous, I couldn't resist sharing these how-tos I found this morning on Wiki-How, for dog owners who live near good surfing spots:
"How to Choose a Surfboard for Your Dog"…

…and on VideoJug, "How to Teach Your Dog to Surf"

So far I have persuaded both my dogs to ride my kayak (not at the same time), but before they'll be willing to go surfing, I guess I'll have to learn myself. Meanwhile, there's always a Net to surf, in air-conditioned comfort.

P.S. VideoJug has quite a wide and wild variety of tutorial vids, from "How to Enforce a Court Order" to "How to Get Out of a Car Without Showing Your Knickers."

Hold that hug! And that coffee mug!

Photo: Jonathan's Blog, by Jonathan Schwartz, Executive VP at Sun Microsystems

It was only weeks ago the threat of swine flu had us avoiding hugs and kisses, even here in Mexico where abrazos and besos are woven deep in the social fabric, so to speak. We've even had second thoughts about shaking hands. But there's a reason hugging is so popular among (most) humans, and I, for one, am not giving it up. Maybe I'll just be selective about huggees, at least until the flu gets the all-clear.

It's important to determine who's open to a hug and who's not (Was that a flinch? should I back off? offer a half-hug instead?) Suppose you want to hug someone and she seems reluctant? You might tell her this: studies have shown that a full frontal hug lasting at least six seconds will raise the serotonin and oxytocin levels. And women who got several hugs a day from their husbands have lower blood pressure. Hopefully it works for the guys, too.

Still hugging: Nick and Bobbi Ercoline, whose famous hug appeared on the cover of the Woodstock album, are still together after 40 years

I told my son about this (alas, he's much too far away to hug, being in California while I'm in Mexico) and he asked if it works with dogs. He and his main squeeze are on the outs, he grumbles, so his boxer Einstein is the substitute huggee. I asked the Capt for his opinion, and he says if the dog will hold still for it, a six-second hug should certainly have the desired effect. Especially if he licks your ear in the process.


And while I'm being scientific about the benefits what I love to do anyway, have you seen the reports that two cups of strong coffee might help stave off the effects of Alzheimer's? At least it worked with mice. We're talking about the good stuff, not a couple of mugs of Folger's. And tea drinkers would have to consume 14 cups of tea to get the same results. If you get your caffeine from soda, you need 20 cups.

So…have you hugged your local barista today?

And the winner is...

Guillermo "Memo" Padrés Elías has been elected the next governor of Sonora. When he claimed victory last night he proclaimed it a "historic moment" and said Sonora has chosen "a humble governor with his feet on the ground." (Let's hope those feet aren't made of clay.)

Padrés, a member of PAN (aka "panista"), won 47.76% of the votes while his opponent Alfonso Elías Serrano, of PRI (or "priista"), had 43.56%. You may notice some similarity in the candidates' names; they are from the same family. Cousins, maybe.

Padrés will succeed the present governor, Eduardo Bours, the chicken magnate (his family owns Bachoco chicken processors) who was contemplating a run for president of Mexico next term. But as my blogging colleague Ale explains in her comment to this post, Bours' chances now appear to be fried (pun intended), because of his family connections to the ABC childcare center in Hermosillo which was destroyed by fire last month, killing 47 toddlers, as well as the state's negligent response to the disaster.

A panista was also elected president (mayor) of Guaymas: César Lizárraga Hernandez.

P.S. Thanks, Ale! I always learn so much from you about all things Mexican.

Rainy days and Mondays…

…always get me down, back down under the covers that is, in close communion with my beat-up old down pillow. With the bed only about five feet away from my computer, the hypnotic patter outside the window and the sweet coolness of morning, all my ambition melts away and I want nothing more than to curl up with a book. One of those simple pleasures.


I'm reading "The Emperor's Bones" at the moment, by British writer Adam Williams about China in the 1920s, when the Japanese, the Chinese and Russian Communists and the warlords were duking it out for supremacy. My copy is hardcover, thick and heavy (664 pages), and when my eyes get tired and I doze off it topples onto my chest and wakes me up. But what can I do? The story has me mesmerized. Later there will be errands, but who goes out in the rain unless absolutely necessary? I'm self-employed, I have no office to go to.

Actually, don't tell anyone, but this morning at 4am I was outside in the dark getting happily soaked, watching the lightning show over the bay. It felt adventurous and refreshing and a little mischievous. Nobody was around to tell me I didn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain.

So now it's almost eight, and it's either a second cup of coffee or a siesta. Or maybe a siesta and then the coffee. We can have it all.

A Blogger Twofer!

Jan (left) and Chrissy (right)

It's my week to meet blogger colleagues (as Steve calls them). Yesterday it was Jan, who now lives with hubby Bruce a few minutes from my house, and Chrissy, who came down with Keith for the weekend (they're scouting Mexico to find a new home). We got together at Jan's house, which has the best view of the Tetas in town. Here's (from left) Keith, Bruce, Chrissy, Jan and the Capt. Just before sunset, we wandered down to La Palapa on the beach for dinner.


I shot these photos with my new cell phone! The Capt and I discovered what it needed to upload photos to my computer was a chip reader, and we were able to find this tiny device, which actually works on a Mac (!) at our local mall (cost about $20USD). The phone takes better shots in full sunlight than subdued light. Or maybe it shoots animals better than people. Here's Chica and Jan's cat, for example.

You can tell we don't get out much

Barrack and Michelle do it, why not we?

The Capt and I had a date last night. Actually, a double-date with my blogger friend Ale and her esposo Ulisses, at a popular club in San Carlos called Bananas. Ale had emailed me that she was in the mood for singing, and so was I, so we arranged to meet for Open Mic night and the guys decided to come along and get acquainted.

La guapa Alexandra

Our brave Ale went right up and asked the band to accompany her on a popular song called "Pedro Navanja," a ballad similar to Mac the Knife. Ulisses Googled the lyrics for her on his iPhone Touch and she used it like a cheat sheet, not having all the lyrics memorized. (We are so high tech these days.) If we hadn't known, we wouldn't have guessed, she carried it off with such style.

Not to be outdone, I approached the musicians right after their break and asked to sing "Besame Mucho." The key we settled on turned out to be a little high for me, but I remembered all the lyrics and did a pretty good rendition, considering all the vibrating my knees were doing at the time.

Best of all, the Capt asked me to dance, twice! I was grinning so much my face hurt.

Brío

"Singer" by Degas

You may be dreaming of becoming a stage performer, but the idea of being in front of so many people makes you nervous. If there's no apparent way for you to do your creative thing by yourself, you might just want to explore ways to ease your anxiety. The key to your current happiness lies in your ability to communicate, so talking about your fears is a sensible start to overcoming self-imposed obstacles.

My horoscope today

On Facebook my friend Phyllis and I were discussing skills, specifically skills in PhotoShop, and I remarked that:

I find that anything I do a lot, I get good at. If I do it now and then, I forget too much and have to struggle, even make the same mistakes I've made before. I get way out of my comfort zone. I need to pick the things I want most to be good at, and do them frequently, i.e. daily…

Simple enough, but the problem is that I want to improve skills in so many areas, having lagged behind for so many years, mostly out of fear. For instance, I've been with the Capt for 20 years, and during all that time, whenever we go anywhere in any vehicle, his or mine, he has to drive. It's a guy thing, he explains. So I didn't do much solo driving over the past 20 years. The result was that when I had to drive our '71 VW van from California to Mexico, I was, to say the least, stressed. As in terrified. Since then I've had to do a few long trips alone, and it's gotten easier.

Another skill I'd like to develop is fixing things. When I was small, I was instructed by my mother not to try to fix anything, I'd just destroy it, best to let Daddy do it. Somehow my younger sister avoided this edict, maybe because she hung out with Daddy more, and learned that fixing things was possible, even for a girl. As an adult, I found that my mother considered herself inept and projected this ineptitude onto me. Thanks, Mom.

Now, whenever I make something nonfunctional function again, I feel like celebrating. My sis, who's always making repairs, serenely takes her skills for granted. Someday I'd like to be that nonchalant about my abilities.

A big challenge for me is stagefright. Mother had it and never got over it. My stepfather had a band when I was in high school, and talked her into singing when their professional singer quit; Mom sewed up a couple of gowns, practiced quite a lot and made an appearance or two (one of them at my high school junior prom) and then resigned. I don't think she got much positive encouragement from my Type A stepdad, and she never had a chance to overcome her inherent insecurities. Certainly my sister and I didn't applaud her efforts. I'll always regret that.

If I go silent for months and then start singing again, the same reluctance and insecurity I felt at the start come flooding back. Will I remember the lyrics? Will I come in at the right time? In the right key? At the right tempo? Do I look strained, standing up there at the microphone? Will I choke? Is the audience (usually a bunch of people sitting around eating, drinking and socializing) drowning me out because they don't want to hear me?

Any one of these mistakes can and do happen, and the only thing I can do to prevent them and/or manage them and perform with brío (panache, verve, spirit) is to do it often. Not just for an audience, but for myself. A capella, if necessary. No more months of silence.

P.S. Calypso John PhotoShopped my head onto Degas' painting, to produce this bit of whimsy.

P.P.S. Congratulations to Chrys Page, my online singing coach, whose training (in only six weeks) enabled one of her new senior students to win the “Miss Coastal Bend Senior” Pageant in Corpus Christi. In her blog this month Chrys has these words of wisdom, not just for singers:

It’s a human thing to want always to be right, and to feel secure with what we know. But let me tell you singers, that it is in the insecure moments, the weaker moments, the less certain positions we take, where the inner growth truly occurs.