Miguel's dilemma

 Eight puppies are swarming all over the yard where our friend Miguel has his workshop and storage rental, the offspring of his guard dog Wendy. It's the one drawback to having a female guard dog, unless she gets neutered, which Miguel is not inclined to do.

Papa might be a German Shepherd, from the looks of some of the pups, or a Rottweiler. They're all males, and will probably be bigger than Mamacita, who's a medium-size longhair with no resemblance to them.

Now Miguel needs to find homes for these little guard-dogs-in-training.  I know, if he kept them all he'd have a formidable army that nobody would want to mess with. They're a month and two days old, and have yet to see a vet, but they are very healthy and bright-eyed, well-cared-for and socialized.

Now if we can just talk Miguel into having Wendy fixed...

Watching out for bad words

One of the things I love about learning Spanish: a whole new world of words. I collect words like a little kid collects shiny new marbles.

But as I delve further into the language in my current classes with Loli and Lolita, I'm more aware of the pitfalls of mispronunciation. Saying a word wrong can bring about reactions from mild amusement to hilarity to disdain to outrage — although outrage is rare since Mexicans are a lot more patient with the Spanish of gringos than North Americans are with the English of latinos.

Two of my favorite sources which present me with a new word each day are Dictionary.com and SpanishDict.com (which I mentioned in a previous post). I like the fact that they both give sample sentences and the roots of the words, which help me remember them. SpanishDict also offers idioms or common Spanish sayings too. (Collecting choice idioms is even more fun than collecting words!)

Today's Spanish word is noctorno, easy because it's a cognate, similar enough to the English word to be recognizable. But yesterday's was a challenge, not because it's long but because it's not easy to pronounce: otorgar which means to grant, to award or bestow. I had a hard time wrapping my tongue around the "r" so I had to exaggerate rolling it and I still can't say it fast (not to speak of three times!) But it's a word I want for my collection because the idiom is one we should all keep in mind: Quien calla otorga, which means "Silence gives consent."

My English word-for-the-day was orthoepy,  the study of pronunciation, which is precisely what I'm trying to do. If I were to study Spanish without a teacher, using only a book as I used to do because I was too cheap to pay a teacher, skipping my orthoepy and learning incorrect pronunciation, I would be guilty of cacoepy, or mispronunciation of words. Cacoepy comes from the Greek kakos (bad) and epos (word). In fact, if I habitually mispronounce words, I could be called a cacoepist.

How's that for an insult?

Whither Frank?

Just as the summer doldrums become almost unbearable, it's time for our annual Storm Vigil. Let's have a big hand for Hurricane Frank.

Three hundred thirty-one miles due south of Cabo San Lucas, Frank is spinning its way north/northwest, creeping along at 10mph, with 90mph winds. Frank, rated Category 1 for now, is bringing havoc to the aptly named Islas Socorro ("Help!"), a group of islands 376 miles west of Barra de Navidad and Melaque, two of our favorite anchorages. The main island in the Socorro chain is inhabited by the Mexican navy, and the rest are uninhabited.

The Capt thinks Frank may be headed our way after barreling through Baja. This map, courtesy of Stormpulse.com, shows Guaymas,  20 minutes from us and 682 miles north of Frank's position. I'm still puzzled how the predictors can say where a storm will be landing a week from now, and they've been wrong before. So far it's only been plotted up to 11am Tuesday morning, when it's expected to make landfall on the Baja coast. I'm wondering if it will affect the other San Carlos, in Magdalena Bay, where Jimena caused so much damage last year, much worse than our San Carlos.

Stormpulse is a useful weather site, with a discussion page that clarifies what you see on the map. Click on any town on the map and you can see how far it is from the storm. History buffs can dig into the Hurricane Archives all the way back to 1851; I could probably find the one that wiped out my great-grandparents in Southeast Texas. The site has been added to the Hurricane Watch list at right.

Night moves

Last night the Capt spotted a couple of coatimundis racing through the parking lot, and my first reaction was a resolution not to let the dogs out at night without a chaperone anymore. I've seen skunks here a few times at night, but these coatis are, from what I've heard, more of a danger to small dogs that attempt to chase them. They're members of the raccoon family and inherited that fierce sense of self-protection that could lead them to attack our girls, who have had almost no exposure to wildlife and would probably mistake one for a cat.

I've never had a close encounter with a coati, only running away at a distance, but I looked them up this morning and learned that they can be adopted as pets, though they're likely to tear up a home if left to their own devices. Very hyper and vocal, according to one web page, http://6thgradeanimalresearch.pbworks.com/Coatimundi

Poodle del día

Kristin at San Carlos Canine Center, affectionately known as Wagmore, has collected yet another foundling dog looking for a good home. This one's a white French poodle, a very small full-grown female with a shy but sweet disposition, though protective of her food (no surprise since she was starving when she was found).

She'd probably be happiest in a one-dog household. She has been groomed and was given the full treatment at the vet. Now she just needs some one-on-one time with a human who loves her. Could that be you?

A touch of cabin fever

...or maybe it's the full moon.

In summertime, our world tends to shrink down to four walls. It's the busiest season for our publishing business, and much of August and September we'll be bonded to our computers and the telephone, not all that eager to go outside anyway, when the heat feels life-threatening.

But now and then I hear from a friend whose adventures stir up my urge to go roving. Russ and Phyllis, intrepid world travelers who spend most of their time vagabonding in style, have been beguiling me with daily reports of their exploits. Just back from a round-the-world tour, now they've outfitted an RV they call "IVan" and started across the Midwest with their grandson, visiting some places I'd never have thought of as vacation destinations (Ypsilanti? Sandusky?) but they seem to be having a wonderful time. Phyllis has hinted that she'll be starting a blog, but so far she's been too busy living her life to blog about it.

 Russ and Phyllis stopped last week in Cedar Breaks, Ohio, which is famous for its roller coasters

And now I'm in touch with Isabelle, a Frenchwoman I first met when she was here in Mexico a couple of years ago. Currently she's in France, soon to return to her boat, a 32-foot Swedish ketch, in Portugal. A mutual friend stopped off at the library and gave me Isabelle's email, and when I wrote yesterday she immediately responded with her blog address. Now I can armchair-travel my way through Europe! Join me, by visiting Isabelle's blog, Nomad's Dream.

Fishing harbor at Le Croisic, France, from Isabelle's blog, Nomad's Dream

We'll publish in less than six weeks, and then we wait three weeks for our annual antique guide to come off the press. I'm daydreaming up a jaunt of some kind, maybe a road trip with the Capt and my son if he can finally get down here. So much of Mexico is waiting to be explored.

But for now, back to work.

Bugs and Blue Flashes

I was up at 4:15 this morning, reading the New York Times, cooking lentils and white bean soup. This time of year, when skies are overcast and hinting at rain, there's a fleeting moment before dawn when the whole world outside turns an intense lapis blue, and I was trying to capture it with my camera. You could call it the Blue Flash, it changes so quickly. I spied it through the window, grabbed the camera, and by the time I got outside the blue had faded into gray. Oh, well, maybe tomorrow morning.

Giardia lamblia under the microscope, at Wikipedia

The soup is for a friend who has been sick for weeks. Yesterday her lab tests came back positive for giardia, so I was Googling for information. I already knew it was a waterborne parasite, but wanted to know more, for her sake and my own. Giardia is a tough little bug, able to survive in cold water or hot spas and even after it's been treated, usually with metrodanyzol (flagyl), gut discomfort can go on for a long time. Dogs also get giardia, and I'm thinking of having us all tested.

We're not the only ones contemplating menacing bugs. The NY Times reports there's a huge infestation of bedbugs in Manhattan that is causing a social schism between those who have them and those who want to avoid them. A Times Square movie theater had to shut down while their seats were treated, and a Victoria's Secret store was shunned by customers scared of shedding their clothes in suspect dressing rooms. Bedbugs are by no means limited to New York, but are chomping on humans "almost everywhere" according to the CDC.

It's enough to give you insomnia. On the other hand, if you're in the business of selling new mattress sets, you're probably having a record quarter.

Lolita and Loli*

One of the high points of my week is the Tuesday Spanish conversation class with Lolita. It can only be called a class because she gently corrects us if we stray from proper grammar, and fills in the gaps when we can't come up with the proper word. (Whenever a new word pops into our chat, I quickly scribble it down in my notebook and show it to her to check the spelling.) It also differs from the usual conversation in that at 4:30 the guests dip into their handbags and come up with fifty pesos, which we place discreetly on the coffee table. Somehow it seems gauche to discuss the financial part of the arrangement. But after a couple of years of meeting like this, it feels like a get-together with old friends, very comfortable and sometimes hilarious. In summer, it's only Brenda, myself and Lolita, but in winter three snowbirds from Washington and Canada join us.


What do we talk about for a whole hour? Yesterday Lolita and Brenda talked about how they got together with their mates. I missed some of Lolita's story, since she talks faster when she gets animated, and sometimes I have to confess, "You lost me." But what I took from it was that she met him when she was 12 and he kept her supplied with comic books and chewing gum. (Brenda, you may have more details.) Later on, when they began to show an interest in each other, one of her older sisters was assigned to chaperone.


Brenda's story was that she suggested a seafood restaurant for their first date, after he assured her he liked fish. It wasn't until years later he finally owned up to the fact he didn't like fish at all!


Then I shared una historia muy triste, about the armed takeover of Tenacatita, formerly an ejido on one of the most beautiful beaches on the southern coast,  now in the possession of a corporation planning to build a golf course resort. Brenda pointed out that such land grabs are not unheard-of in the US and Canada, too. When a rich man (or city) wants a choice piece of property, nothing can stop him.

I just stumbled on a blog by a gringa writer learning Spanish in Argentina. Her all-female group's approach was to read and write love poetry and letters under the tutelage of a sexy male tutor, hence the name Sexy Spanish Club.  Sometimes we just need a little extra motivation...

Today I'm going to enroll in an intensive new Spanish class along with a few friends, all of us hoping to polish our Spanish conversation skills. Loli, the teacher is widely known to be one of the best in this area, and she has developed some new techniques we're all curious to learn about. Will she use flashcards? Videos? Will she put us to sleep and play tapes to train our subconscious? 

Tune in tomorrow... 
*Lolita and Loli are both apodos or nicknames for the name Dolores.

In the early morning rain

We've been having biblical skies this weekend, promising a good drenching, but not really delivering much. A couple of cloudbursts, some sprinkles. We're waiting with fingers crossed for the first real deluge, since the bricklayer who did the work on the new roof did a poor job of joining with the existing roof, leaving cracks that allow water into the new room. The Capt did his best to repair it, but now we can only wait and see. He also replaced a rotted section of the front door frame, where water seeped in with every rain.

I love the atmosphere of impending rain, when the breeze freshens and there's a bit of a charge in the air, so energizing after weeks of relentless sunshine. Too much of anything is not a good thing. And the same will be true if we have another tropical storm like last year, when Jimena caused so much damage here in 36 hours of unending rain and wind. We have done quite a lot of construction in hopes of fending off a flood, but we won't know whether all the expense and effort was worth it until it's tested by a good downpour. So we hope for the best, and buy flood insurance.

"But that's a dame, they're all the same"

 Vintage ad from Pop Massive

Last week the Capt was learning to play a new song, with a catchy tune and contagious syncopated rhythm.  "Girl Talk" (from the 1965 movie "Harlow") was one of the hits  that made Tony Bennett famous. I was intrigued, thinking it would be fun to sing, until he handed me the lyrics. "It's a bit...um...sexist," he remarked."Sexist" isn't even a word that was around in 1965. "Misogynist" might almost fit...it's a song for a man who chooses women for a particular combination of looks, immaturity and lack of intellect and then runs them down for their superficial interests. The last verse—the icing on the cake—turns it into a love song. Humph! I'm thinking of rewriting the whole thing. I may have no choice, can't get the tune out of my head!

They like to chat about the dresses
   they will wear tonight
They chew the fat about their tresses
   and the neighbours' fight
Inconsequential things that men
   don't really care to know
Become essential things that
   women find so apropos

But that's a dame
They're all the same
It's just a game
They call it girl talk, girl talk

They all me-ow about the ups and
   downs of all their friends
The who, the how, the why,
   they dish the dirt, it never ends
The weaker sex, the speaker sex,
   we mortal males behold
But though we joke, we wouldn't
   trade you for a ton of gold

So baby stay, and gab away
But hear me say
That after girl talk
Talk to me...

GIRL TALK
From the film "Harlow" (1965)
(Neal Hefti / Bobby Troup)

A bookworm looks at going digital

Don't get me wrong. I'm bonded with my computer, and not only because I make my living on it. I love the fact that I can Google facts and keep track of my friends and family. The output of my camera is dedicated solely to the Internet; I haven't printed a photo in months. But with the coming of the cyber age I will miss some things, such as bookstores.


A New York Times article last Wednesday demonstrates how prevalent the e-book has become in the States. I've been out of touch, since there are no English-language bookstores here. Since the Capt and I agreed to limit our trips to the US, my access to books has dwindled to our local library, where I volunteer Friday mornings. But when I lived in California, one of my favorite pleasures was browsing bookstores such as Barnes and Noble and Crown. Not that I could afford to buy many volumes, other than an occasional markdown from the sale tables. I went the book club route for a while, finding I couldn't keep up with it and books started coming to me that I didn't want. Later on I bought my share of books from Amazon.com.


But I liked browsing stores that sold used books, and libraries, accepting the fact that the hot new novel wouldn't reach me for three or four years. I stopped going to movie theaters, too, and settled for movies on TV, or DVD rentals. I'm not bothered by being a half-decade behind the times.


So when I first heard of the Kindle e-reader, I wasn't keen on buying it. Now I'm on the fence. What I like about it is the portability (perfect for boat people, road-trippers and frequent fliers) and the ability to store thousands of books in such a small space. But I'm so used to free and cheap used books, the idea of spending $25 or more on a new novel seems ludicrous to me.

Yesterday at our exchange library a discussion came up about the Kindle e-reader. Bob, one of our patrons,  was asking Barbara, a staff member who bought one as a gift a couple of years ago, whether the Kindle was worth the investment. Barbara paid $300 for hers, but the price has gone down and the Kindle is starting to look like a good deal. That the newest unit ($189 at Amazon) now comes with wifi and even 3-G wireless so you can order a book online without your computer makes the $300 unit obsolete already. The newest model will work as an audio book, too. And it holds a vast library of 3,600 books, more than I'd ever find room for in my house. There's a waiting list for the new Kindle, by the way, just to give you an idea of the unexpected demand.


Barnes & Noble bowed to the inevitable and came out with their own e-reader, called the Nook, which is $259 but has space for a million books. All the reading devices on the market are compared here.


The big drawback for me is the expense factor, with e-books even on Amazon going for at least $10. There's no market for used e-books because they can't be resold. Too bad for readers like me, who never reread a novel while there are so many more out there to discover. (I do have a reference collection that I'll probably always keep.) I'd probably delve into free e-books available through services such as the Baen Free Library and Project Gutenberg, if I had a Kindle.  Googling "free e-books" yields page after page of sources, not that you'll find Nora Roberts or John Grisham there.


Meanwhile, our little exchange library flourishes, with more used books coming in every week. Our space is limited so we put any duplicates on our sale table, at a peso apiece, to help pay our ongoing expenses. We have a chatty group of patrons, and when the subject of e-books and e-readers comes up, most people say they still like to browse, hold volumes in their hands. And of course, the free trade aspect of coming in with five books and walking out with five we've never read is irresistible. So is the fact that we can freely pass on books to friends we think would enjoy them. It looks like, for the foreseeable future at least, the Kindle and its ilk won't put us out of business.


The huge brick-and-mortar bookstore chains, and the smaller stores that carry predominantly new printed books? It looks like their days are numbered.

Let's you and him fight

This time of year the Capt and I are often up long before dawn. At five a.m. this morning, it's still relatively cool outside, and I feel more energetic, eager to get things done in the garden. Sofia and Chica have things to do outside, too, so we file out the front door, into a world of bugs. The air is so full of them, I avoid opening my mouth, and keep a hand near my face to fan them out of my eyes. Flying bugs,  clumsy bugs that seem to be spinning in circles at my feet, and millions of crickets. with their wall of sound.

Wikipedia says crickets sing by rubbing their wings together, not their legs, and only the males can sing. They have a quiet little courting song to attract the silent females, and a loud one for warning off other males. Their "ears" are located in an odd place, just below their knees. This time of year, with so many of them about, they're all very occupied with warning each other off, thus the wall of sound. And with such a population explosion, I shouldn't be surprised that quite a few of them end up inside my house. If it's true what they say in Barbados, that a cricket in the house brings money, we should be sitting pretty. But then again, crickets have been known to eat clothing, so a cricket in the closet might not be a good thing.


I discriminate when I choose what bugs to kill and what bugs to rescue and relocate outside the house. Without remorse, I'll mash a cockroach or a scorpion, but crickets get a free ride. I use a clear plastic container and a dustpan, and try to avoid damaging their legs or antennae when I scoop them up and carry them out. 

Something I didn't know: Wikipedia says crickets can bite, and inflict pain if they chomp on a tender place like, for instance, the webbing between fingers. 

In some parts of Southeast Asia and Mexico cricket fighting is popular, with betting, champion breeding and even mafia efforts to control the outcome of fights. I watched a Chinese cricket fight on YouTube, and it seemed to me most of it involved the owners goading the  crickets with long, thin sticks to put them in a fighting mood. It's said that good fighting cricket can cost as much as a cow in some parts of China, which seems extravagant considering crickets only live 100 days.

One mind at a time

In the five years I've lived in Mexico, I've always suspected that sooner or later I was sure to find myself into a situation in which I would need to, or want to, teach English to someone. I've wondered how I'd go about it, how I could make it interesting, how we would wade through the myriad complexities of my native tongue. But somehow I always thought I'd be working with an adult. What I wasn't expecting was that I'd take on a whole family.


Well, not a whole family at once. I'm starting with O, a 7-year old boy and M, his 10-year-old sister. (If I'm successful, I might tackle their 6-year-old twin sisters.) Both have had some exposure to English and since their parents are educators they've been expected to work harder than the average kid. But neither is what you'd call a natural-born scholar, so they need motivation. And it turns out that M, the 10-year-old, has recently gotten a major dose of motivation: her pride is at stake. She's been invited to visit family in El Paso. Cousins who have spoken English all their lives. So in order to not completely humiliate herself, M. is actually asking me for English lessons. I never thought of myself as a schoolmarm, but still...

For one thing, other than raising my son, I have had little experience with children. No grandchildren, nieces, nephews or stepchildren, only one younger sister who seemed to have turned adult when she was about seven. Until I got acquainted with M, I hadn't been all that interested in spending time with niños...not because they especially annoyed me (as they do the Capt) but because I was a little put off by their restless energy and short attention spans. But M and I have an affinity for each other, even with our language difference, that has changed my whole outlook where kids are concerned. And her sensitive, appealing little brother O touches my heart the way my own boy did at that age.


So yesterday we made a start, M and I, using a book from the series called The Babysitters' Club. (We originally tried reading The Swiss Family Robinson, but I think it's a little too difficult for now.) I asked her to keep a notebook of English words she needs to have explained. Yesterday's reading took us into the topic of extended families and we had a discussion about step-siblings, step-parents, and half-siblings. My dictionary says you add astro to the nouns hijo (hijastro), padre (padrastro), madre(madrastra), hermano (hermanastro) to convert them to "stepchild," "stepfather," "stepmother," or "stepbrother." So I'm learning a little Spanish too. Next session, I'll take my dictionary with me, and make my own notes.


My greatest resource is the library, where I volunteer every Friday. We recently received a large donation of children's books and today I'm going to see what I can find for O's age group.


 I'm hoping a couple of my friends who've had more experience teaching English can provide some tips on coaching M and O. Conversation sessions may end up being our main focus, but I'm hoping the reading will help develop their vocabulary. When I was O's age I was just beginning a lifelong love affair with books, and by the time I was M's age, I was a full-blown closet reader, fending off parents and teachers who constantly annoyed me by coaxing me to go outside and play.  M and O seem fairly typical in that they don't seem to like books very much. I'm hoping I can change their minds, because I believe my lifetime of reading has done more to educate me than any teacher ever did.


Games using language, too, would be useful. I can see I'll be spending a lot of time Googling.


I'd love to hear any ideas or experiences that might help me with this project.

View envy

I treated myself to a visit with my friend Jan on this lazy Sunday afternoon. She's just returned from a trip to Arizona, where she obtained a couple of items at Trader Joe's for me. It's a treat not only because we get to indulge in some girl talk, but I get kisses from the world's friendliest dog, Teddy, and I can stand and gape at her breathtaking view of the anchorage. Looming over it all are the Tetas, our most famous landmark, magically covered with green after the recent rains. They're called Las Tetas de Cabra because they're said to look like the teats of a goat. To me, the vertical rock on the taller peak looks like a thumbs-up signal.

Today has been one of the hottest of the year, and we're all lying low with the AC cranked on full blast. Here's Teddy, with his rubber chicken, spread out flat on the cool tile floor. Isn't he gorgeous?

Behind the Eight Ball

  S/V "Bliss," with teal canvas and trim, sits waiting for the move to her new mooring "There is nothing, absolutely nothing, half so much worth doing
as simply messing about in boats."

Ratty to Mole in Kenneth Grahame's classic, The Wind in the Willows.

This morning we spent some time messing about in our boat, and while the breeze was light and cool we moved to another mooring, closer to the docks and better maintained. She will stay there until after we go to press, and then we'll haul her out and put her in the workyard where she'll get a long overdue new coat of LPU paint and some other cosmetic improvements. 

When the weather isn't so oppressively hot we'll be able to get busy cleaning chrome, sanding wood, finishing the interior woodwork and "putting lipstick on the pig." The plan is to get her ready to sell, although I'm feeling a pang of regret over the idea of making her beautiful only to turn her over to someone else.

Our view: the gap is the gate to San Carlos Bay, guarded by a rock that in profile looks like a Mohawk Indian. To the left is the Caracol.

While I might not be as infatuated with boats as Ratty,  I was having fun scampering barefoot around the deck and indulging my inner tomboy. 

Our new mooring is Number 8, so we were joking with each other about being "behind the eight-ball."

Someone brought me flowers

Today I used the iPhone camera to get a shot of a bouquet of bonbon jasmine a kind library patron named Bob brought me today from his garden. I've seen a number of jasmine varieties, but this one's new to  me. They're so fragrant I can smell them across the room, their leaves are a lovely, glossy green and Bob says I can buy the plants at a nursery here in town.

Now I'm picturing a couple of Talavera pots planted with bonbon jasmine by my front door,  their fragrance wafting on the breeze.

Any of my friends who are allergic to flowers will have to come in the back door.

The iPhone doesn't produce what I'd call "tack sharp" photos with indoor lighting, but they're large so they can be reduced, improving the resolution.

Last Croak of the Cell From Hell

I feel like I've finally moved into the 21st century, cellphone-wise, and I'm only 10 years late.


For more than a year I've been carrying a cellphone with a battery so puny, if I used it for one call, I'd have to recharge it, or an obnoxious croaking sound would wake me in the middle of the night. I replaced the battery, with no improvement in performance. It was truly the Cellphone from Hell. I could never rely on it. My friends stopped calling me because they could never get through, and I swore I'd replace it with something reliable.


And replace it I did. Today my new (to me) iPhone arrived and I couldn't be more pleased with it. Of course it will take days to learn all the bells and whistles, but so far I've managed to take pictures, send email and text messages, make calls... Being a Mac fan, I'm finding all the apps very familiar and comfortable. It only took a couple of hours for me to pry it out of the Capt's hands. He's such a gadget freak.


Now if I want I can watch my favorite TV show while waiting for a doctor's appointment. (No, sorry, I won't tell you the name of the show, it's my private guilty pleasure.)

I wanted an iPhone for years, but was stuck in the belief I had to sign up with ATandT. But now there's "jailbreaking" so I can use it with phone cards. No commitment. The one I bought (via eBay) is used, but in excellent shape and a 3G, not the latest model because we're hearing there are issues with the 4G.


I was also under the mistaken illusion that you couldn't use an iPhone in Mexico... not so! My friends Ale and Ulissis have one, and one night last year at Bananas' Open Mic, Ulissis went online and found some song lyrics so Ale could go onstage and sing her favorite song. She stood up there, clutching that iPhone, reading the words as she sang! (A spunky lady, that one. )

Confessions of a Brown Thumb Gardener

Go ahead and laugh. This is the crop from my miniature garden this year: miniature tomatoes!

 
My garden is about the size of a hallway runner carpet, which is probably just about right for me. The more plants I try to nurture, the more plants will die. I'm not very knowledgeable,  I refuse to use chemicals and I never know when I may be crewing on the boat for a few weeks. 

And then there's the "out-of-sight, out-of-mind" factor: I'm inside, working at the computer or practicing music this time of year, and the garden is outside shriveling in the heat. I have a tendency toward tunnel vision, and I forget there IS an outside. Another routine I'm trying to cultivate is to get up at 5, go outside and water my plants, talk to them, fertilize and prune them and let them know I care.

Anyway, enough excuses... Here's the result of my five tomato plants this year. I put in grape tomatoes and jelly bean tomatoes. I wanted a lot of flavor for the size, and I didn't want to have to do the constant propping and staking required by big beefsteak tomatoes.


And intense they are! Everything I like in the taste of a tomato, reduced down to the size of a marble. But the purpose of this exercise wasn't so much to produce a bumper crop. I wanted to experiment with growing these varieties, and see what I could learn. An advanced gardener would find my efforts laughable, but I enjoyed every minute: counting out the seeds and popping them in their holes with the help of my little neighbor M, watching the tiny plants break through the soil, transplanting them into bigger pots, watching them bloom, and then the surprise when the first little green tomatoes magically appeared. 

That was about when I had to leave to go sailing, so I recruited Javier, the head gardener, to keep an eye on them. He not only kept them watered, but did some tying-up when they outgrew their stakes. When we got back to land, the first thing I did (after a shower) was go out to the garden and count ripe tomatoes. Every plant survived, though one has refused to yield a single tomato. Like the failed fig tree in the Bible, its days are numbered.


What I learned: Where I lived before, in Northern California, it was useless to plant outdoors until April. But this is Mexico. Next year, I should plant in January or February, this far south. The skins would be thinner and more delicate if it weren't so hot. Then maybe I could get baby lettuce and herbs too. And if I had it to do over again, I'd plant only grape tomatoes, forget the jelly beans. 


My more permanent plantings are looking pretty good, considering I'm a brown thumb gardener. My tapachine (aka poinciana) tree is actually starting to cast some shade, about the size of an umbrella. Everybody tells me tapachines are a mess to clean up after, but I can't wait to see the big red flowers and the long brown seedpods.

The garden was made even more fun when I invited my little friend M. to help with the seeds. Which reminds me: I need to take her a few of these tomatoes. She hasn't even tasted them yet!

Don't read this post...

...unless you're prepared to have your feathers ruffled.

Without getting into the whole issue of whether offshore drilling is right or wrong, it's obvious that oil corporations aren't equal to the task of dealing with what happens when their wells blow, as we saw this year during British Petroleum's accidental oil spill disaster, now viewed as the worst in history. Now, 4.9 million gallons of oil later,  the well was finally capped last month, and stressed BP executives, having announced their victory to the press, are no doubt off on decompressing vacations, somewhere far from the Gulf of Mexico.


Cut to a scene on a beach, where dozens of pelicans and cormorants are frantically preening themselves, attempting to remove a black coating of oil from their feathers, meanwhile ingesting the gooey substance and poisoning themselves. 

Would you know how to rescue them? There are step-by-step instructions at WikiHow's  "How to Clean Oil Off Birds."

CultureMob

Prepare yourself for weeks of backbreaking effort and discouragement, should you accept this mission. You thought you could just shampoo, rinse and cut them loose? First, you have to undergo training in how to calm birds that are already stressed beyond belief, then you don layers of vinyl to prevent contaminating yourself, and begin a series of sudsings that could take each bird through ten or 15 tubs of 1% Dawn and water solution (Proctor & Gamble is donating the Dawn). You learn to use a WaterPik to clean his head and eyes. You use a spa nozzle to thoroughly rinse the bird and a veterinarian's blow-dryer to dry him. 

You monitor his recovery for days afterward,  tube-feeding him with a mixture of food, vitamins and medications. You check that the natural waterproofing of his feathers has been restored by placing him in a therapy pool and watch to see whether he's able to swim and float. Then put him in cool water so he can acclimate himself to natural surroundings again. Find a place where he can be released without exposing him to yet another coating of oil.

Water Encyclopedia

 

Multiply this procedure times a thousand. Or move on to sea otters, seals, turtles.

 

MarineBio.org

Trying on some new habits

Today I'm inspired and challenged by two fellow bloggers that I feel I know even though we've never met face-to-face. Leslie has just finished a full month of blogging (almost) every day and feels she gained a lot by the discipline and the effort of finding topics of interest every day. Claro! When we stop to examine and share our lives (and I'm not talking about belly-button-gazing) they take on so much color and beauty it makes us glad to get up in the morning. I've been posting, average, only a couple of times a week, but for August I'll try to post every day, with at least one photo to go with it.


Tancho also got my attention with his remarks on shopping for groceries at Mexican-style markets in the US. So when I hit the street market in Guaymas this morning at 6:30am with my friend Alejandra, I decided to photograph my haul and see how veggie prices here compare with other parts of Mexico and Tancho's store in the states. Of course, I didn't buy meat, tortillas or strawberries, which he did.

So here it is: two zucchini, three mangos, five bananas, a pineapple, broccoli, a papaya, two avocados, two beets, three red peppers, for 100 pesos, $7.96USD at today's exchange rate. I didn't get prices for individual items. My purchases came right off a truck parked every weekday on the street at 5am, next to several other trucks which only sell to restaurants. The vendor was helpful and courteous, pointing out what he had to offer (in ingles!) without getting pushy, always ready with a bag when I needed it. I don't expect to shop this way every time, but there were  advantages: parking was easy right next to the truck, it's refreshingly cool that time of the morning. Nothing had that tired "I've been sitting in this store all week" look.  And afterward Ale and I had time for coffee and a long chat. Life is sweet.

A healthy dose of humility

Sunrise this morning in my front yard

One of the things I love about blogging is taking photos. I'm no longer interested in keeping albums or shoeboxes full of prints, and I don't publish newspapers anymore so I'm not shooting for print, but I still love photography. This blog seems to be the most appropriate place to put my humble efforts.


So I had all sorts of hopes for the new camera club that started here in town... that I would make friends with other, more skilled photographers, that I'd learn new skills and master some of the more advanced bells and whistles on my Oympus. A lot of people in town had the same expectation, and the meeting room was so crowded I almost didn't find a chair.


Our hosts M and G, a couple of very advanced professional photographers, started off making it clear that successful shooting is more about expertise and artistry and not so much about gear. Ansel Adams, they pointed out, had nothing but a pinhole camera, with one f-stop.

We would be learning more about f-stops and apertures, color management and sweet spots, "tack sharp" clarity and  using manual settings for more control. PhotoShop is the new darkroom, they said, and we'd learn how to use it more successfully. We would graduate from doing "point and shoot snapshots" to taking awesome photographs that could be successfully enlarged to poster size without losing detail.


Then G did a show-and-tell of his gear and I began to wonder if I'd wandered into the wrong meeting. Tripods, lenses, filters, gadgets that calibrated color, automatic shutter releases, etc. filled one whole corner of the room. How would somebody get all that into a bag and lug it on a shooting hike? Then the discussion turned to printers, and I discovered that my Lexmark inkjet and Brother laser printers were not even worth discussing. And as for cameras: if I didn't have a Canon or a Nikon, I could never hope to delve into the costly array of lenses that would allow me to capture the eye of a fly at a thousand feet, or shoot a panarama of the entire bay in one click of the shutter.

Several of us had brought our little Japanese digitals, some of them no bigger than a cellphone and we winced at M's disparaging remarks about "point and shoot" cameras and "snapshots." I felt humiliated over my limited knowledge about the mechanical aspects of my camera and was glad nobody asked me about my lens, my zoom or my pixel capacity.


But we all have to start somewhere. So I'll keep going to meetings, take notes and absorb as much knowledge as possible. One of the things that keeps a person from growing is the reluctance to show her ignorance.