Still Going Strong

Another Side of Mexico

2011-10-05T15:56:00.000-07:00

When we told our friends that we were going to be spending a few weeks in Mexico, some of them asked, “Are you going to be staying at the beach?”

Most of them asked, “Is it safe?”

Well, we are not at a beach. There is actually more to Mexico than Cancun, Puerto Vallarta and Cabo.

And yes, we do feel very safe here.

In fact, this is our third visit to the same city within the past three years.

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, is located within the state of Guanajuato.

If you are like we were just a few years ago, you might not realize that Mexico is a large country—almost three times the size of Texas--composed of 31 states and one federal district. Guanajuato is located in central Mexico and its capital city has the same name.

The climate here is temperate, similar to the weather we are familiar with in northern California.

It seems that this area is still safe from the drug wars that have been plaguing the part of Mexico closer to the USA border.

As before, my husband and I are taking classes in the morning at Academia Hispano. If only we could remember what we learn here when we get home!!

Despite the fact that I seem to forget everything I learn when we are gone, something must remain. When I’m in class, I understand everything that Lupita, our teacher, says. I can also respond quite easily to her questions. They put both of us in the class for “Level IV” this time, a promotion from our last session. Altogether, there are only three students in the class. Yep, just us, and Ann, a retired journalist.

Saved by a Garden Hose

2011-09-03T17:56:00.000-07:00

The day didn’t start well. Orli had warned me that Gali, her toddler son, seemed be acting a bit “off” that morning. But I had promised that I would come again to help out today—despite the fact that I was still feeling depleted from helping out three days in a row at the beginning of the week while my son-in-law was sick.

“Why do you have to go?” my husband asked blithely as he made arrangements to meet with friends for Friday morning golf. “She should be able to manage with Gali and the baby. After all, we did.”

The truth is that he doesn’t remember what it was like when our own three children were that small. Not to mention the fact that, he had demonstrated the same cavalier attitude back then. But I do remember how exhausted I was. And the only reason that I managed on my own is that I had no one to call.

I slammed the door, gnashed my teeth, and rolled my eyes—wondering how I managed to stay married all these years. Then I headed out through freeway traffic once again for the hour drive to my daughter’s house. I had slept over for two nights at the beginning of the week and had brought an overnight bag with me today, too—just in case. But I was hoping that I would not have to use it.

The day was going to be hot, even in the East Bay. So I had brought along a bathing suit. Maybe we could all go to the pool, I thought optimistically. Orli could sit in the shade nursing Oz and I would play in the pool with Gali. That would allow Gali to expend his energy and then maybe he’d take a decent nap or go to sleep early.

But everything takes so much longer with a toddler and a newborn. Crying, nursing, spitting up. Packing up all the extra clothes and food. Diapers, wipes, suntan lotion, binkies, swim diaper and suit for Gali, snacks, food—he’s always hungry. It seems that both the boys are always hungry.

When all our gear was finally ready, Gali started to balk. Wanting to play with one toy and another. When our backs were turned, he started scattering play-dough all over the living room carpet.

“Time out!” my daughter declares. She’s been using more of these “time-outs” since Oz was born six weeks ago. Gali needs to help clean up.

He helps a little. And then volunteers excitedly, “I want to vacuum!”

“No,” my daughter explains, with an aside to me. “This is just a delaying tactic.”

The morning had been sifting away. It was getting close to noon by the time we strapped the kids into their carriers in the backseat of the car and set off for the pool. The baby is crying his head off, because he hates being put in the carseat. But he stops crying as soon as we reach the freeway. He likes the speed.

In the meantime, though, Gali has fallen asleep. Totally conked out. “He went to bed late last night,” Orli tells me, and got up early this morning.” She gets off at the nearest exit and we head back home. She’s not going to resist this opportunity for some downtime, even if it does mean a change in plans.

I carry Gali upstairs to his bed, making sure that his special doggie pillow and spare binkie are tucked right next to him.

Ozi is also still asleep in his carrier seat. So Orli and I get to eat lunch, both of us sitting down together at the table, in peace and quiet. Yay!!

But of course, the peace doesn’t last for long. Soon Ozi needs to eat again and then Gali wakes up. He hadn’t eaten lunch yet. So I heat up some pasta with cheese sauce that Orli had made previously and a veggie hotdog from Trader Joe. In a couple of minutes, I have a plate set for Gali with the sliced hotdog, pasta, mini carrots and edamame hummus dip. He likes everything on the plate, but insists of eating it as a picnic outside.

Why didn’t I just say yes immediately? That would have saved some trouble.

I must have been hoping that we could finish sooner if he sat at the kitchen table and then set off once again for our excursion to the pool.

In hindsight, I should have gone along immediately with his suggestion for eating it outside. That is what we ended up doing anyway.

I won’t go into all the other details that derailed our getting out of the house again in anything approaching a timely manner. But we finally did manage to leave and arrived at the park we had planned to go to in the morning only to find that the swimming pool was closed. Why? I don’t know. We didn’t get out of the car to read the details on the sign. Maybe the park just wanted to torture us.

Orli was not to be deterred. We had everything ready for the pool, so she headed off for a different pool—a longer distance away from her house. She had gone there with one of her sisters shortly before Oz was born and had pleasant memories of the day. It’s called “Stawberry Canyon Pool”. I conjured up images of a pool surrounded by grass and trees—maybe even wild strawberries.

When we got closer, I realized that it was one of Berkeley campus pools. There were no trees and very little grass in sight. The tiny lawn was closer to the lap pool section rather than the kiddie pool where I would have to go with Gali. For some reason, the weather was much cooler here than it had been in the Oakland Hills—even though it was just the next town over. We had dressed Oz for the heat and worried that he was cold. He started crying to be fed again, Orli couldn’t find a comfortable place to sit and nurse, and Gali was running around the concrete refusing to put on his bathing suit.

“This is not at all what I had in mind,” Orli bemoaned. It wasn’t what I had in mind either, I must admit.

“If you don’t cooperate,” Orli told Gali, “We are going to leave.” He didn’t cooperate and so leave we did. Back in the car with two crying kids. Our ten dollars admission fee (nonrefundable) and four dollars parking fee down the drain together with our spirits.

Oz continued to wail as Orli wended her way through slow traffic and Gali added to the cacophony by doing his own loud and increasingly louder imitation of baby talk.

Orli had planned to try one more option for an excursion—Lake Temescal. It was on our way back to her house and it had both a playground and a small beach area. But she warned Gali that we would go directly home unless he was willing to cease and desist from his ear-shattering , nerve-jangling mimicking of his baby brother.

Gali would not be persuaded to stop. He was on a roll. We stopped cajoling and headed straight back to the house, punishing both him and ourselves.

When Orli parked the car, Oz had stopped crying and was on the verge of sleep. I decided to snap his carrier seat into the baby carriage and take him for a walk to lull him fully to sleep. I also wanted this opportunity to get some distance from Gali.

Oz fell asleep and I took the opportunity to call a close girlfriend on my cellphone, “I’m losing it as a Grandma…”

She gave me a peptalk and I felt more relaxed as I headed back with Oz, who was just beginning to stir—probably ready to eat once again.

I found Orli and Gali having a snack in the shade of a tree in the front yard. Peace had been restored.

Soon, we transitioned to letting me help Gali water the garden with the hose. He loves to water the plants and we spent a long time doing that. He was reasonably content. His pants were soaked from the process, but that wasn’t a problem. In fact, his soaked pants were what gave me the idea that really salvaged the remainder of the day.

“Let’s take off all your clothes,” I said, “And then I’ll spray the water on you.” Gali liked the idea. I ran into the house for a big towel, then helped Gali off with his clothes. Soon he was prancing and running around in circles on the front lawn. He was laughing and declaring, “Look at me! I’m a butterfly!” It was already evening, but the sun was still strong as I looked through a rainbow at my beautiful red-headed grandson, his curls flying around his head, so happy to be alive.

Lost and Found

2011-07-20T22:07:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, I thought I had lost my favorite pair of sunglasses. They weren’t expensive sunglasses. I stopped buying expensive sunglasses after buying one pair several years ago and losing them almost immediately. These were drugstore sunglasses that cost less than $20. But the frames rested comfortably on my nose and ears without slipping off my head and the lenses were dark enough to provide good protection when I was hiking in bright sunlight.

Where had I last seen them? I thought it must have been the evening that I met my daughter in Berkeley. We had tickets to the Berkeley Repertory Theatre’s production of Let Me Down Easy. And I hadn’t noticed until that afternoon that the play started at 7 PM, which meant that I had to drive up there after work through the worst part of the rush hour. By the time I reached the theatre, I was flustered, tired, and very thirsty. Shelli hadn’t arrived yet. So I slipped into a small Thai restaurant across the street and bought myself a sweet and icy Thai coffee. When I couldn’t find my sunglasses the following morning, I was sure that I must have left my sunglasses at the restaurant.

But a couple of days later, I found the sunglasses on my kitchen counter at home.

Not long afterward, I lost my favorite eyeglass pouch. It’s the one that I usually use for my sunglasses. I like its convenient strap, so that I can hang it around my neck when I don’t have any pockets and don’t feel like carrying a bag. I like its hand-embroidered fanciful bird design. And I like that it was a souvenir gift that Shelli brought me from her travels in South America.

Where had I last seen it? It was last Thursday morning, when I was rushing to meet a friend for an early morning hike. I had put on my sunglasses when I was getting out of the car. Apparently, I hadn’t hooked the strap over my neck. Later, I looked on the floor of the car and couldn’t find the pouch. Dismayed, I assumed that it must have fallen into the street when I was getting out of the car.

But this morning, I opened the passenger door of the car to put something on the seat and saw my favorite eyeglass pouch nestled between the edge of seat and the door. It must have been hidden under the seats for the past week and finally gotten shaken to the side.

Such a little thing. And yet, it made me really happy to find it again.

These two incidents happening so close together make me wonder whether there is some sort of message.

This afternoon, my manager called me into a private office and told me that they are running short of funds. Since I am a contractor rather than staff—and especially since I am only a part-time contractor—it makes sense that the easiest way for them to save money is to do without my services. He didn’t ask me to leave immediately, which I appreciated. I hate when you have to sneak out like a criminal without telling anyone that you are leaving.

He simply notified me that they won’t need me anymore after the end of next week. Things might change in a couple of months. But then again, they might not.

On the one hand, this is really good timing for me to get a break from work. Excellent timing, in fact. My daughter, Orli, is about to give birth to her second son. I was planning to take off some time in any case to help out after the baby is born. Of course, I had been thinking of time as a matter of days. Not weeks and months.

But, at least this way I don’t have to worry that my time off will interfere with any deadlines at work. Those deadlines won’t be my responsibility.

I assured my manager that this decision was fine with me, agreed that I would finish things off neatly, turn in my badge and laptop, and be willing to come back and help again should they want me to return in a couple of months.

Considering that I am at an age when most of my friends have already retired AND considering that I really do want to be free to spend time with my family, I find it difficult to understand why I started to feel bad about this as soon as I got back to my cubicle.

Do you think that this too fits into my recent pattern of lost and found?

An Exploratory Evening Walk in Aruba

2011-01-20T17:11:00.000-08:00

Did a little more exploring on Wednesday evening. The timeshare resort where we are staying is in the section of the island, called Nord. I wanted to see the section with the “High Rise Hotels”. They even call the section by that name.

That section is just a mile away from our timeshare, close to where our timeshare shuttle drops us off at the beach. During the middle of the day it’s too hot to walk that distance – even with the breeze.

Once the sun goes down, it’s a lot more comfortable to walk. And I was feeling a bit less tired today, though I’m still suffering from a chest cold. I enjoyed walking with Micha and getting a better look at the strange assortment of Chinese mini-markets (it seems that all the groceries are run by Chinese), laundries (also run by Chinese), neighborhood bars, defunct and open restaurants serving Chinese, Japanese-Caribbean, Italian, Dutch, and other food.

We walked to the beach that was near the Westin and Rui hotels. It looked very nice, maybe a little nicer than the Moomba beach that we get taken to by our timeshare shuttle. But Moomba beach is nice, too. The water here is so calm that you can swim in it as if it were a swimming pool.

After walking on the beach, we headed back and stopped on the way at a surprisingly good Thai restaurant. Sawasdee didn’t look like much from the outside. But it was decorated very nicely inside. Looking at all the pictures and statues of Buddha and elephants reminded us of our own trip to Thailand last year.

We ordered two dishes to share. The steamed fish with ginger sauce was delicious. The second dish – stir-fried basil eggplant with chicken—was more mediocre. But I was satisfied with the meal and enjoyed the walk home, too. Full moon, strong breeze, but still pleasantly warm.

Welcome Party at the Caribbean Palm Village Resort and Bon Bini Festival at Fort Zoutman in Oranjestad, Aurba

2011-01-20T16:46:00.000-08:00

This is not one of our adventure vacations even though we are staying in a location that we’ve never visited before. The main advantage of being in Aruba right now rather than someplace else is the weather. It’s perfectly balmy every day. With a gentle breeze that ruffles our hair.

We are spending our days at Moomba beach or at the resort pools. Doing a little swimming and a lot of sitting in the shade, reading books and just relaxing.

On Tuesday evening, we attended two welcome parties. The first one was held at the resort. They had an “open bar” (for one hour), free appetizers, and some games. I didn’t volunteer for any of the games, but I didn’t make a fuss when the activity director put a hula hoop over my head and pulled me over for the hula hoop competition. I can usually keep a hula hoop going for a reasonable period of time. But not this hula hoop. The winner was a teenage girl – the only one of four of us who managed to get the hoop going at all.

Afterwards, Micha and I took a taxi into the main city of Oranjestad and went the island’s Bon Bini festival held weekly at Fort Zoutman, which also houses the National Historical Museum. “Bon Bini” means welcome in Papiamento, which is the local language. It’s a mixture of Spanish and Dutch, but it’s considered a language rather than a dialect because all classes of society speak it. They also speak English, Spanish, and Dutch. It’s a very multi-lingual society.

The entrance fee for the Bon Bini festival was nominal and I was able to buy a tasty Caribbean supper of chicken over rice with plantains and salad for just $6.50. There were different groups playing typical Aruban music and doing Aruban dances, including one group dressed up for Mardi Gras.

Still Possible to Make Changes?

2011-01-06T19:50:00.000-08:00

It’s the first week of the new year, 2011. Guess what? I didn’t set any resolutions for this year. Did you?

If not, why not?

Are we so content that there is nothing we want to change? Or have some of us decided that we’re too old to change?

I noticed that I had lost the aura of contentment that I felt earlier this year. It seems that I have been spending less time doing some of the things that are really important to me – like writing this blog.

But I felt a spurt of the old juices starting to run again when I was reading my monthly issue of Toastmaster Magazine this afternoon. The January issue, in particular, is full of inspiring articles about setting goals and overcoming obstacles.

Last June, I joined the Toastmasters club at the company where I work as a part-time tech writer three days a week. This is my third time being a member of a Toastmasters club and my goal for the immediate future is to finish the basic Competent Communicator manual before June 2011.

I didn’t manage to complete the basic manual in my two previous clubs, although I think that I must have got pretty close to finishing at least one of those times.

My improvement is tangible. I am now able to give speeches without memorizing every single word beforehand as though it was a script. But I am still not the confident speaker that I would like to be. During our last meeting, I was filling a functionary role that involved introducing other speakers and after the meeting I started feeling bad about some fumbling that I had done.

“Why am I doing this when it is no longer something that must do?” I am not trying to advance my career in high tech, which was the situation when I joined my first Toastmaster club many years ago. I didn’t really need to do this.

But did I really want to quit without reaching my goal of finishing that basic manual?

Today, when I was reading the Toastmaster magazine, I admitted to myself that there is another reason that I returned to Toastmasters beyond my desire to stand up and give toasts at the weddings of my daughters.

I still haven’t come to the end of my “bucket list” of things that I’d like to accomplish before I die. Even though I am approaching what was once considered the standard retirement age, I would actually like to do some sort of work – just not the kind of work that I’m doing now.

There are at least two things that I have always wanted to be able to do. One is to publish a story that people will read and the other—despite my innate shyness—is to be some sort of entertainer.

I read in the Toastmaster magazine about people whose active participation in the club enabled them to change their careers and become professional speakers. Some of these people write inspirational books encouraging other people to overcome their fears of public speaking or other issues. So I’m going to keep attending Toastmasters. When I fumble, I’ll try to do better next time. As long as we keep trying, we still have the ability to change.

Mitzi Woke Me Up

2010-12-09T09:48:00.000-08:00

Mitzi’s loud, repeated cries pulled me from a deep sleep. I stumbled out of bed and started to go to her. She was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down to the first floor, and continuing to cry.

“What’s the matter?” I mumbled. No answer. She didn’t even look at me. The crying continued. But I closed our bedroom door and snuggled back under the covers.

“Do you think that she is trying to tell us something?” I asked my still half-asleep husband. “Maybe there is an intruder downstairs.”

With that thought, I felt a pain in the middle of my chest as though my heart was being squeezed like a wet sponge. I was hoping that Micha would get up and go investigate. But he had fallen back to sleep.

I was hesitant to go downstairs myself, both because I was a bit frightened of what I might find and also because I was still very sleepy. Despite the pain in my chest.

The crying had stopped, and soon I was asleep again.

But I didn’t forget what had happened when I woke up two hours later. A residual ache in my chest still remained.

“Why do you think she was crying like that last night?” I asked Micha.

“There was no intruder,” he replied.

Usually, she wakes us up by knocking over the plastic cup that I keep by the bathroom sink. Or she tickles me in the face with her whiskers or kneads at me with her paws. And usually, she doesn’t wake me up until later. She seems to understand somehow what days I need to get up for work. On those days, she wakes me between 7 and 7:30 if I don’t get up first by myself. Other days, she lets me sleep an hour later.

Why was this morning different than all the other mornings? Why on this morning, did she feel compelled to wake me up so roughly at 6 AM?

I heard her scratching at the bedroom door and opened it. “Come, Mitzi, I’ll give you some water.” We follow our usual morning routine as she follows me into the bathroom.

Mitzi only likes to drink water flowing from the faucet.

Afterwards we go downstairs and I look around as I head to the kitchen. No signs of an intruder. And no “gifts” from Mitzi that I need to clean up. Micha and I need to patrol the rooms every day now to make sure that Mitzi has not pooped outside her litter box. She seems to avoid the rooms that are used the most—the kitchen, the family room, and the bedrooms. She picks the rooms that we use more rarely now—the living room, dining room, and the little den. It doesn’t matter how clean I keep her litter box. But it isn’t something that happens every day. Sometimes, several days will pass with no problems. We are always bound to find something waiting for us if we have spent a whole day or overnight away—even though a neighbor will come to feed and check on her. Seems that she do this on purpose to signal us when we aren’t paying sufficient attention to her.

Annoying as it is, I realize that her “poop problem” is one of the challenges of living with an elderly pet. She is eighteen years old, quite a senior. Still a beautiful, long haired calico cat, even though she is now very skinny. The vet ran a whole series of tests on her and assured me that Mitzi is a very healthy, old cat.

She has always been very sweet, very affectionate, and very patient. But now, she is even more docile. She used to run and hide when we had a lot of guests over the house. Now, she likes to hang around in the midst of the action. And she seems to have lost her sense of self-protection when it comes to little children. We have to be vigilant on her behalf and remind the children to be “very gentle”, because Mitzi will not protect herself.

Remembering a Peaceful Visit to Thailand

2010-05-13T14:12:00.000-07:00

Maybe it was all the news about stranded travelers due to the volcanic eruptions in Iceland that got me thinking about our last trip across an ocean—-to visit Thailand. Unfortunately, Thailand has also been in the news recently because of its political eruptions. But when Micha and I were there in November 2009, it seemed very peaceful. True, we were just there for a couple of weeks and we were only tourists. So we couldn’t tell what was going on beneath the surface.

Also, I did notice a couple of small articles in the Thai English language newspaper mentioning problems between the current Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva and the former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra. Nevertheless, I got the impression that the King, who seemed to be revered by everyone that we talked to, would be able to keep the peace. Obviously, I was wrong, but I hope that things will sort themselves out.

For those of you who are considering a trip to Thailand at some point in the future or who are curious about my impressions of the country, read on.

Bangkok
We started off in Bangkok. Our hotel, Navalai River Resort (www.navalai.com), was moderately priced and very comfortable with a pool on the roof, a good restaurant overlooking the river, and a dock where we could catch a water taxi. Water taxis are definitely the most comfortable way to move around in Bangkok, which has notoriously awful traffic.

Micha and I were both struggling with jet lag for the first couple of days of this trip, which made it a bit of a challenge to thoroughly enjoy the sites in Bangkok. My favorite activity was a dinner cruise that we took one evening--it was such a relaxing way to see the city at night. The classical Thai music and dancing added to the ambience. My favorite site in Bangkok was the Reclining Buddha. Of all the Buddhas that we saw in Thailand, the Reclining Buddha was the one that gave me the greatest feeling of peacefulness.

Phuket
After the hustle and bustle of Bangkok, we were happy that the next part of our trip was a leisurely week at the luxurious Marriott resort in Phuket (http://www.phuket.com/marriott/). We exchanged a week of our one-bedroom timeshare in Kauai for a two bedroom at the resort in Phuket and invited a couple of friends to join us. We walked on the beach, spent lots of time in the pools, took yoga classes, got massaged, and watched several of the sunset dance performances at the hotel’s reflecting pool.

One day, we hired a taxi and explored the island, stopping for a short hike to see a waterfall in one of the parks and spending a couple of hours swimming at Kata beach. This beach is particularly popular with families, because of its long shallow, sheltered bay.

Another day, we took a speedboat ride from the city of Phuket for a full afternoon of snorkeling and swimming around the smaller Phi Phi islands.

Knowing that I have a tendency to sea-sickness, I was pleased when the charter hostess handed out sea sickness pills for us to take prior to boarding. The boat accommodated about 20 passengers and crew. I had read that the seats in the back of the boat offered an easier ride. But they were already occupied. So I took a seat across the aisle from the driver and hoped for the best. Another member of the crew distributed bottles of water and soda before we got started and I selected a bottle of cola, because of its purported stomach settling qualities. I managed to take only one sip before realizing that it was impossible to drink anything while the boat was bumping over the waves like a bronco in a rodeo show.

I gripped the side of the boat and concentrated my gaze at the horizon—another purported technique to avoid seasickness. The water was dark grey and choppy. Would I be able to snorkel in water like this? Was the boat about to get hit by a sudden storm?

The Phi Phi islands are miles away from Phuket harbor and it took us about an hour to reach our first stop. What a relief it was to arrive in a sheltered bay. The sun had broken through the clouds. The water was calm and perfectly turquoise, the surrounding cliffs draped in tropical foliage, the beach an enticing carpet of soft, soft sand. Our guide told us that this spot was featured in the film “The Beach” with Leonardo DiCaprio. I hadn’t seen the film. Seems that the film didn’t get the best reviews. But we added watched it eagerly on Netflix when we returned home—thirsting for another look at that gem of a beach where we had immersed ourselves in the deliciously warm, turquoise water.

We had only a short ride to our next stop, Monkey Island. Our skipper pulled in very close to the island, but we didn’t actually disembark. Instead, we watched as our guide tossed bananas to the monkeys clambering down the cliffs to greet us. It was the first time that I’d ever seen a monkey swim. Apparently, they sometimes jump into the boat. But not during our visit.

Afterwards, the boat took us to a sheltered reef. It wasn’t within a bay, but they managed to select an area where the currents were amazingly gentle. Nevertheless, the guide suggested that we might want to wear life jackets while snorkeling, so that we could feel fully relaxed. I figured that it would also keep my warmer. So I took him up on his suggestion. It didn’t interfere with my moving around at all. And it probably did add to my feeling of relaxation as I watched various kinds of colorful tropical fish swimming around and below me.

ChaingMai
We had hired a guide for several days that we were spending up north. I felt like we could have used more time in this area of the country, and I would have liked to do more hiking than we did.

Maetang Elephant Park
My favorite day up North was the day we visited Maetang Elephant Park (www.elephantchiangmai.com ) north of Chiangmai. I loved the elephant ride, though I hadn’t known what to expect when Micha and I got on board. Don’t worry. They don’t let the tourists ride an elephant all my themselves. Our mahout sat bareback toward the front of the elephant and directed the elephant by moving his legs against the elephant’s ears. I had a feeling that the mahout might have been distracted by talking on his cellphone as Micha and I struggled not to slip completely off of our metal seat while the elephant descended down a surprisingly steep and narrow trail into the river. We didn’t fall off, but I did get a colorful array of bruises on the back of my arm from hanging on to the back of my seat during the bumpy ride. No matter. I would be happy to do it again! It was so much fun bouncing along on top of the elephant as we rode through the river and along the river bank from the Elephant Camp to a nearby tribal village.

Another highlight of the Elephant Park that didn’t involve a bumpy ride was watching Suda, the painting elephant. There were two elephants that painted for us. The older elephant threw a lot of bright colors onto canvas, in a style reminiscent of Jackson Pollock. But Suda is not an abstract artist. She started by drawing a black curvy line, and kept adding more lines to create an elephant body, legs, tail, ear and eye—all in the right places. She even added a flower, putting in the details of a green stem with leaves and a yellow blossom. And finally, she signed her own name in clear block letters at the top of the painting. Very impressive.

Too Late for Conversation with My Mother

2010-05-06T18:59:00.000-07:00

It’s too late to have the type of conversation that I would have liked to have with my mother. And who knows if that would have possible anyway.

I have seen photos of my mother as a wistful little girl, as a laughing teenager posing with her girlfriends, and as a young mother overflowing with love for the two small children in her arms.

Maybe I could have used those photos as a basis for talking to her person to person. Or maybe not.

When prompted, Mom would agree to tell me some stories about her childhood. I got the impression that she grew up in a happy family. Not so well off financially. But not living in a tenement like my father’s family. Her parents owned their own house and for a while, before the Depression, owned some additional rental property.

Mom had a lot of respect for her father, whom we all called Papa. Like Tevya, in Fiddler on the Roof, Papa had fled with his family from a Russian shtetl because of the pogroms. His two older children, my Uncle Harry and Aunt Esther, were born in Russia, while Mom and her younger brother Sol were born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. For some reason, maybe because of the paranoia of the McCarthy era, no one ever mentioned the fact that two of the children were born prior to the family’s immigration. In any case, I think that Harry and Esther probably arrived in the United States when they were still very small children.

I thought my mother was lucky to have not one but two brothers AND a sister. I had only my brother Paul. He would play with me sometimes. But not when his buddies were around. I had the impression that more siblings would have meant that I would always have playmates available.

Papa had also brought over his own father, who lived with the family and looked a lot like Count Tolstoy. Papa’s brothers came, too. One brother settled down in the nearby town of Roxbury. Another moved to New Hampshire. My mother grew up surrounded by lots of family.

Mom told me that she would have liked to teach kindergarten, but Papa didn’t believe that girls should study beyond high school. “You don’t need to be a nanny for someone else’s children,” he said. “You’ll have your own.”

Mom and her sister acquiesced to his decision, although both their brothers managed to work their way through Harvard and Harvard Law School. “We weren’t as smart as Sol and Harry,” Mom told me.

In later years, Mom did manage to get a job teaching Sunday School and worked as a teaching assistant in a Jewish Day School and seemed to enjoy the work a lot. Mostly, she was a housewife, although she didn’t particularly like to cook, bake, or clean.

It was nice to have her home waiting for me and my brother with glasses of milk and cookies when we came home from school. I’m sure she liked the fact that she could be there and listen to the news of our day. But I think she might have been happier if she had been able to combine motherhood with a part-time job.

When I was in high school, Mom did take a clerical job to help with the additional expenses of my brother’s college tuition. She exchanged her frumpy looking house-dresses for business clothes and started getting her hair done more often. She became friends with her co-workers and would tell me funny stories about her day at work. It seemed to broaden her horizons, made her more interested in what was going on in the world around her, and gave her a sense of pride that she could earn money, too.

It’s almost 8 years since Mom passed away. I miss talking to her. Sometimes, I feel an urge to pick up the phone and call her. It was mostly on the phone that we talked, after all, since she lived in Florida and I live in California.

I think of Mom especially on Friday nights when I light the candles, remembering all the Friday nights when we lit candles together while I was growing up.

I thought of Mom when my daughter Orli got married and when my grandson was born. She’d be pleased to see what a wonderful mother Orli is.

I’m glad that Mom did get the nachus, the pleasure and satisfaction, of seeing her children grow up to get married and become parents, themselves.

Who knows, maybe she can still see what is going on in our lives today. If so, I think she must be pleased to see that all five of her grandchildren (my three daughters, and my brother's son and daughter) have grown up to become independent and productive—traits that Mom valued highly.

Day Trip to Monterey and Carmel

2010-04-27T21:01:00.000-07:00

Some of the nicest trips are close to home – particularly when you live someplace as beautiful as northern California. Last weekend, we drove down to Monterey and Carmel with Uzi and Hava.

The morning started out sunny in Palo Alto, but we knew there was no guarantee that it would be sunny along the coast. So we felt lucky that the sun remained with us all day.

Rather than visiting Cannery Row or the Aquarium in Monterey, we chose to spend our time in the less crowded area around Lover’s Point. We explored the tide pools, walked along the shoreline trail strewn with wildflowers, and ate lunch on patio of Latitudes. The best thing about the restaurant is the location, which is directly across from Lover’s Point and offers a spectacular view of Monterey Bay. Unfortunately, the view seems to be the only thing that this restaurant has in its favor. The service was incredibly slow despite the fact that the restaurant was not full at all and the waitress was not even apologetic. And the food wasn’t worth waiting for.

But it was a beautiful day and I enjoyed sitting around talking with our friends.

Still, we were relieved when we could finally pay the bill and continue on our way to Carmel via the 17 Mile Drive. I was looking forward to seeing the harbor seals on the beach at Cypress Point. So I was disappointed to find fences up blocking entry to that area. Turns out that the harbor seals need privacy during pupping season. Guess I’ll have to come back again in early June.

We stopped for another highlight along 17 Mile Drive at the Lodge at Pebble Beach. We visited the posh lobby and meandered out to the balcony overlooking the tantalizing—especially for my husband—golf green. As we were admiring the view and drinking in the classiness of the place, we could see them setting up for an outdoor wedding. Some of the female guests began to arrive. They were so well coifed, so elegantly dressed, and so stunning that they could have been starlets walking down the red carpet to the Oscar Award ceremony.

But I am sure that I was much more comfortable in my jeans, t-shirt, and flats than they were in their dazzling, skin-tight dresses and stiletto heels.

Waiting for Rumpestilskin

2010-04-26T17:25:00.000-07:00

This morning, I was sitting in my windowless cubicle, surrounded by fluorescent lights and feeling a bit like the princess that was locked in a tower room with bales of straw, trying to figure out some way to turn the straw into gold within three days. My network connection had gone down and I was unable to connect to any of the tools that I needed to do my job. I had called the Help Desk and done everything that asked me to try to no avail.

My case was supposedly marked as “high priority” and I was expecting a local IT person to show up at any moment and resolve the problem. But no one came.

True, I was not locked in a tower. I could have walked out of the building into the fresh air and sunlight without risk of life or limb. But I was being paid to produce technical documentation and I wanted to produce it.

Frustrated by the slow response from IT, I kept thinking about other analogies. I felt like someone who was asked to dig a ditch without being given a shovel or someone asked to cook a meal without being given any ingredients. The refrigerator and all the cabinets were locked shut and the guests were expected in a few hours.

Finally, it occurred to me to try something that the Help Desk had not suggested. I unplugged the coral-colored Ethernet cable from the coral-colored outlet that it had been plugged into and tried plugging it into an unused outlet that was colored green. Lo and behold, my connection worked.

Apparently, the color was insignificant. So I told the Help Desk that I no longer needed them and got back to work, feeling a bit abashed that I had not thought earlier of trying the other option. Another example of the need for thinking outside the box.

What about you? Have you found yourself stuck waiting for someone to help and then realized you could resolve the problem yourself by dealing with it another way?

Happy Thoughts

2010-04-18T23:23:00.000-07:00

As I was steeping in my lavender bubble bath tonight and reflecting on my weekend, I recalled the words of Robert Lewis Stevenson from one of my favorite childhood books, A Child's Garden of Verses:

The world is so full of a number of things,
I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.

That’s precisely how I feel right now as I try to decide which particular happy thing to focus on in my blog.

Owl’s Clover and Yona’s Birthday Hike and Picnic in Foothill Park
Should I talk about today’s hike and picnic with friends in Foothill Park? It was in honor of Yona’s birthday – the second time that we had a get together like this for her birthday. And I hope that we continue to do in for many years to come. Most of the participants are mutual friends, but were a few people that I didn’t know. A young couple that I hadn’t met before was walking along the trail with us and the woman, Rachel, seemed to know the names of all the flowers. She pointed out a flower that I hadn’t paid close attention to before, Owl’s Clover. Bending down for a closer look, I noticed for the first time that interspersed among the purple spikes were small white blossoms with tiny black markings that looked like the faces of miniature white owls.

After the hike we sat at a table in the shade for a potluck picnic lunch with lots of yummy salads, wine, cake, and easy-going conversation. We even got a perk of some free massage from a friend of Yona’s who specializes in acupressure.

Saturday with Torah Study and Babysitting for Gali
Yesterday was another good day. In the morning, we attended Torah study at Beth Am and discussed the biblical theme of the "barren woman", the repeated story about a woman who has difficulty conceiving a child and then gives birth to a son with special abilities. The rabbi referred to a book, The Art of Biblical Narrative, by Robert Alter, who says that it is intentional rather than a case of poor editing when certain stories are repeated in the bible with slight variations.

Later in the afternoon, I drove up to Oakland. I had agreed to babysit for Gali on Saturday night. This was a solo assignment, because Micha had heard about a concert of classical music at Stanford that night and didn’t want to miss it. I still prefer folk music over classical, so it was no sacrifice on my part to miss the concert and babysit for Gali instead. In fact, seeing Gali fills me up with so many happy thoughts that I find myself overflowing with them for hours and days after I see him. My 1 ½ year old grandson is a ball of energy and powerhouse of affection. He loves to run around and around—in the playground, in the yard, and in the house. Round and round he goes, pushing trucks, opening and closing doors, laughing at his own antics and hugging me and his mommy, his daddy, and his stuffed animals. If a campaigning politician could manage to say “hi” with as much enthusiasm and sincere warmth as Gali does, I bet he would win the election in a landslide.

Work is Therapeutic

2010-04-12T13:30:00.001-07:00

It’s slightly over a month since the surgical pin was removed from my right hand and it’s still not “back to normal”. My physical therapist told me this morning that it make take up to a year for the hand to look and feel like a normal hand. But like the acupuncturist, my therapist encouraged me to use it as much as possible. “When are you starting work?” she asked.

I explained that I’m expecting to start working again this week. Any day now. Just waiting to hear that the company has completed processing my paperwork and finished their preparation for getting me back into their system.

“Good,” she said. “The work will help your hand to get stronger.”

That was useful for me to hear, because I had worried a bit that multiple hours of typing might be problematic.

“It will probably hurt,” she predicted, “But the exercise is actually beneficial.”

As you know from reading my blog, I have already been typing at home—not as part of my job. But since it’s voluntary, I tend to quit as soon as my hand begins to hurt. Typing as part of my job will encourage me to work through the pain.

She added more exercises to the list of recommended stuff that I’m supposed to do for my rehabilitation. Yes, some of that hurts, too. And yet, it’s good for me.

When I came home and found a sink full of dirty dishes, I was not upset. Prior to breaking my hand, I used to feel grouchy and resentful that my husband didn’t feel the same need for a tidy sink as I do. But at this point, I am still taking pleasure from the fact that I can hold a dish. As I scrub the sink and squeeze out the sponge, I am conscious of the fact that these movements are helping my hand to heal. It gives me a totally different attitude about household chores.

Remembering My Father at Passover

2010-04-09T11:38:00.000-07:00

On the last day of Passover this year, I attended synagogue and participated in the Yizkor service, the special memorial prayer that is recited on Yom Kippur, Shemini Atzeret, Shavuot, and Passover.

Rabbi Sarah Graf (Congregation Kol Emeth) suggested that the fact that the Yizkor prayers are recited on four different holidays invites us to use the themes of the holiday as tools for remembering the loves one that we are commemorating.

So she selected some themes from the Haggadah, the book that we use to tell the Passover story during the Seder, to use as prompts for our reflections.

Kadesh – Sanctifying the day: When was your loved one born? When did they die? How long has it been? What kinds of days did they live through? What periods of history? What personal periods of time?

I always think of my father at Passover, because he died the second night of the 8 day Passover holiday. While buying supplies for the Passover Seder, I also buy a yarzeit candle, the special memorial candle in a glass that they sell in the kosher section of many grocery stores. It burns for 24 hours. On Shabbat morning, my synagogue announces his name together with others in the list of people that members of the congregation are commemorating as we recite the Mourners Kaddish after the torah service. My father was also born during Passover, yet another reason to think of him at this time. It’s been ten years since my father passed away. He was just a few days short of his 90th birthday. We had planned to fly across the coast to Florida to celebrate his birthday and had to attend his funeral instead.

My father lived through the period of the two world wars. But his life was probably most impacted by the Depression. He was also very influenced by the establishment of the State of Israel. An ardent Zionist. Almost all the books that he read were about Israel. He sent letters of support to multiple Israeli leaders and prime ministers and wrote fervent letters to the editor of local American papers in defense of Israel.

Shehechiyanu over the first cup of wine: What shehechiyanus did you share – in their life, and in yours?

One of my favorite prayers is the shehechiyanu blessing that is said to celebrate special occasions and in thanks for new or unusual experiences. Happily, I mulled over dancing with my father after my wedding and at the bat-mitzvahs of my three daughters. One of my favorite pictures shows me dancing with my father at the bat-mitzvah of my youngest daughter, Keren. He was 84 years old and still seemed to be in his prime. Another shehechiyanu that I didn’t think of during the service but that comes to me now is that thanks to my living in Israel, my father finally got to go there. It was in 1973, shortly after the Yom Kippur War, that my parents came to Israel for the first time in their lives. I was teaching at Haifa University and they came on one of the first organized tours – maybe through the Jewish Federation—that was allowed into the country. Many of the soldiers were still mobilized and I took some time off to travel around the country a bit with them. My parents were able to come back two times after that to visit while I was living in Haifa with my husband and small children.

The Four Questions: What were the questions of this person’s life? Their worries? Their doubts? Their curiosities? Their passions?

Throughout his childhood and most of his adulthood, my father worried about supporting his family. He loved foreign languages and enjoyed practicing the smatterings of other languages that he knew – a few words of Chinese that he picked up in his neighborhood growing up, his high school French. He never forgot the Yiddish that he spoke to his own parents. He loved to sketch and paint. He loved Israel. He loved children. He loved my mother.

Avadim Hayinu: We were slaves in Egypt. What were their struggles? Their slaveries? Their oppressors? Their narrow places?

My father grew up in a tenement in Boston’s West End. He started working at a young age doing whatever he could to help his family. I think he would have loved to study literature, history, and foreign languages, but he never had a chance to go to college. He worked two jobs for much of the time when my brother and I were children. He was rarely at home during family mealtimes. My grandfather, Papa, was at our Friday night dinners more often than Dad was. Papa also led the Passover Seders in our house until he passed away when I was a teenager. After that, my mother’s brother, Uncle Sol took over as leader and the Seders moved to his house. Did my father feel bad, I wonder now, that he did not lead the Seder, himself?

Yad Chazaka and a Zroa Netuya: Were their times that they experienced a strong hand and an outstretched arm?

There were times that my parents got some help from family. Perhaps the best change in their lives came from circumstances that at first glance seemed bad, but had some beneficial consequences. My mother had developed a heart condition in her fifties and both my parents worried about her delicate health. When a couple of friends decided to leave the Boston area and move to retirement village in Deerfield Beach, Florida, they encouraged by parents to join them. My father might have preferred to keep working longer, but he also wanted to spend more time with my mother. They managed to buy an inexpensive one-bedroom condo in Century Village. My mother was thrilled to have their own place with a modern electric kitchen and 1 ½ baths after multiple years of renting an apartment in an old fashioned building. Without the stress of his jobs, my father was so much more relaxed. The next twenty years (before my father’s health began to deteriorate) were probably the best years of their marriage.

Dayenu: What were the blessings of your loved one’s life? Their talents, their accomplishments, their moments of fulfillment? What are the blessings that they gave to you? – the gifts, the teachings, the life lessons?

When my father in his seventies and eighties, the blessing that he spoke of the most was being married to my mother. He was very affectionate and liked to give my mother a kiss or hug as he passed by where she was sitting. He would say, “I’m so lucky that your mother married me.” He loved his five grandchildren and was wonderful grandfather. He was a real people person. It used to embarrass me when I was little that he talked to everyone – waitresses, salesclerks, people standing near us in a line. Now, I find myself doing the same thing.

He didn’t hold grudges. He grew more mellow and open-minded with the years. I’d like to emulate that.

Shulchan Orech: the Meal. What were the foods they loved? Holiday foods. Everyday foods. Are there perhaps foods that you eat that remind you of them?

My father had simple tastes in food and thought anything and everything that my mother made was wonderful whether it was beef brisket, stuffed cabbage, or a simple tuna salad. He loved ice cream. So do I.

Songs: What songs did they like to sing? Or to listen to?

My father did like to sing. The song that I most associate with him is the one he sang to all the grandchildren when they were little, “A frog went walking in the park one day...”.

Thank you to Rabbi Graf for inspiring these memories.

Trying Acupuncture for the Final Stretch

2010-04-02T15:28:00.000-07:00

It’s been three weeks since I had the surgical pin removed from my right hand. At first, it looked more like a lobster claw than a hand. And the only finger that I could move at all was my thumb.

My daughter Shelli, who is a licensed medical doctor, is also a supporter of alternative therapies. She suggested that acupuncture might help reduce the swelling sooner, which would allow me to regain more flexibility more quickly. I asked my hand doctor about it, but he wasn’t convinced that acupuncture can make a difference so he wouldn’t prescribe it.

That meant that I would have to go outside of my HMO and pay completely out-of-pocket if I decided to pursue that type of treatment.

So I waited. The prescribed once-a-week physical therapy and my diligent daily finger exercises helped. But I continued to have a lot of swelling.

After the Passover Seder, Shelli slept over the house and as she was massaging my hand the following day, she encouraged me to call Frank He, a sports medicine specialist and acupuncturist (http://www.hecares.net) that had treated her for a knee injury a few years ago.

I decided to give it a try.

My first appointment was last Wednesday and I could see an immediate improvement. I was able to move my fourth finger more easily and my knuckles were becoming more visible. I had an appointment with the physical therapist the same day and I told her about the acupuncture. Unlike the doctor, she actually did believe in the efficacy of acupuncture and had considered training for it, herself.

I felt even better about making the decision to pay for acupuncture on my own when the physical therapist told me that I wouldn’t have another appointment until two weeks later and later that same day I got an offer to return to my contract tech writing job on April 12. I need to have my hand fully functioning by that date.

I was able to start typing for the first time with all my fingers—touch typing—for the first time after one visit with Frank. I have told Frank about my deadline and he feels confident that I will be ready.

Passovers Past and Present

2010-04-01T12:06:00.000-07:00

Passover is one of my favorite holidays. Not that I’m a big fan of matzoh. And admittedly, it’s a lot if work to prepare for Passover. But I love having the family gather together for the Seder. I love the story telling and singing the songs together,

When I was growing up on the East Coast, the Seder was always held at our house. We didn’t have the biggest house. In fact, we lived in a rented apartment, whereas my cousins lived in large suburban homes with multiple bathrooms and guestrooms that could have more easily accommodated both the Seder and overnight guests. But we had the honor of hosting, because we lived in the same town as Papa, the patriarch of my mother’s family. Papa sat at the head of the table and led the Seders until he passed away when I was a teenager.

After I got married, I never lived in the same area as my parents or my brother. My husband and I lived either in Israel or in California. They moved to Florida. Once or twice, when my parents were still alive, we managed to fly across the country to spend Passover with them and my brother's family. But for most of my married life, we have hosted the Seder at our house.

Often we have twenty-five people or more at the Seder, a combination of family and friends. This year, I had a special challenge, since I’m still recovering from my broken right hand.

It’s hard to cook or serve without a fully functioning right hand. So I pared down the guest list and made it clear that I would need a lot of help. Our three daughters are all grown. Shelli was going to be away traveling on vacation. Orli is married with a 1 ½ year old son and I knew she wouldn’t be able to help much, because my adorable grandson would be needing attention. So I was counting primarily on my husband and my daughter, Keren, to set up the table and serve our somewhat smaller, but still not tiny group of thirteen adults and three small children.

It turned out that we got a nice surprise. Shelli cut her travel short and returned home the day before the Seder. Thus, I had two daughters pitching with the final cooking and setting up. Guests also brought food to share. As usual, we had more than enough to eat and plenty of left-overs.

We didn’t get to go through as much of the Haggadah as we usually do—that’s really a challenge with a toddler at the table!—but we did get through almost all the songs and everybody had a good time.

UPDATE ON MY HAND

I’m also feeling optimistic that my hand will return to normal sometime soon. It's getting more functional in multiple areas. In the kitchen, I can now cut an onion and use scissors. In the car, I can turn the key in the ignition and shift gears with my right hand. And finally, I am beginning to type with all my fingers! Just need to work some more on the strength, so that I can type for longer periods of time. I have started supplementing the once a week physical therapy from Kaiser with private visits to a sports medicine doctor who does acupuncture and therapeutic massage. It's expensive, but I could feel a difference after my first session yesterday. Still have pins in my right arm and have three more follow up sessions to go. Planning to return to work in the middle of the month.

P.S. I am hoping to get a couple of photos of the Seder from the family. Will update the posting when I get them.

Walking in Half Moon Bay

2010-03-18T22:17:00.000-07:00

Taking a walk almost always makes me feel better. Particularly when the sun is shining and the weather is temperate – not too hot and not too cold. And I’m fortunate to live in beautiful northern California, an area blessed with lots of days just like that. One advantage of not being able to work just yet is that I get to spend a lot of time outdoors.

Yesterday, Micha got an urge to go to the seashore, so we headed over to Half Moon Bay. It was a lot cooler and breezier over there than it had been in Palo Alto, but we were prepared with sweaters and jackets. Luckily, it wasn’t foggy.

We lived in this area for twenty years before my friend Hanna introduced me to this ridge. Now, it’s one of my favorite spots--with the surf pounding against the rocks below, the fog horns blowing in the distance, and the wildflowers surrounding the trail. Different flowers pop up at different times of year. I don't know their names. One of the many things I could add to the list of things that I should take the time to learn. Yesterday, the most abundant flowers were yellow. I'll post some pictures and maybe one of you can tell me their name.

Trees

2010-03-16T18:35:00.001-07:00

I have always loved trees. I love to look at them and to draw them. I can still remember the weeping willow tree that stood across the street from my favorite childhood home and the primitive water color paintings that I created, featuring that very tree.

So it pleases me that the other members of my immediate family feel the same way that I do. None of us has been ardent enough to camp on a tree branch in order to prevent someone from cutting it down. But we do not easily accept the cutting down of trees.

One of our neighbors was angry with us for years, because we refused to cut down a redwood tree on our property at a time that we were making other changes to our house. Our neighbor claimed that the tree belonged in a forest, rather than in someone’s yard. The tree was there when we bought the house, and was probably there long before our neighborhood was built (sometime in the 1960s). Maybe at some time in the more distant past, there had been a small patch of forest here and that tree is one of the few remaining survivors. Our refusal to remove the tree transformed our formerly friendly neighbors into a hostile border.

Last year, our city, which has long had a reputation for respecting and preserving trees, seemed to get caught up in a frenzy of removing mature shade trees and replacing them with little saplings. Some of the trees were lining a major thoroughfare near our neighborhood and I’m proud that my husband initiated a petition to stop the city from proceeding. He was unsuccessful. The city arborists had convinced the majority of people that it was necessary to remove the mature trees in order to resolve a problem with the roots causing the road to buckle.

Most people didn’t get upset until later in the year when the city in one fell swoop removed all the trees on another street, popular for its small sidewalk cafes. It happened during a heat wave. Suddenly, there was no shade. A major outcry ensued.

Still, it seems that more and more trees are meeting an untimely demise.

Some trees are being cut down out of fear. There was a very sad story that made headline news in our area, where a tree on a street in a neighboring city fell down on a car, crushing and killing its occupants. This didn’t happen during a storm. In this case, the tree really was sick and should have been cut down. So now people are feeling hyper vigilant.

Thus, I could understand why the neighbors on the other side of our home might decide that it was prudent for them to remove the tall Douglas fir that stood for so many years in that backyard and graced the view from ours. One of the workers rang our doorbell to apologize for the debris that would be falling in our yard and explained that our neighbors felt the tree was showing signs of leaning.

We hadn’t noticed any leaning, but I would consider it presumptuous to object to removing a tree that my neighbors considered potentially hazardous to their family.

Nevertheless, we could not help but feel sad to see it go – a task that took an entire day.

Our daughter, Shelli, had slept over the night before and woke up to the sounds of the crew sawing off the tree limbs. Her anguish at losing the tree made her feel a desire to be in the midst of trees.

So she decided to delay running errands and suggested taking a hike instead. I was more than happy to comply.

Appreciating Feeling Better

2010-03-14T22:39:00.000-07:00

Do you know the feeling that you get when you get well after being sick?

I feel much more appreciative of being able to breathe freely after suffering from a bad head cold, or being able to enjoy a good meal after recovering from a bout of stomach flu.

Since breaking my right hand in early February, I have had to cope for the first time in my life with a longer term impairment. This gives me a renewed appreciation of simple things as I am starting to regain functionality.

I'm even enjoying doing some tasks that I previously considered bothersome chores.

This morning, I actually enjoyed washing the breakfast dishes, feeling the warm, soapy water running over both hands.

Even managed to help prepare dinner tonight. Mostly using my left hand, but with a little help from my right. And I enjoyed doing it.

Not to mention the fact that it is so much easier to eat now that I can hold a fork in my right hand.

Still have a lot of work to do to get the hand fully operational. But it helps to see some progress.

What about you? Have you ever felt this way yourself?

One Day at a Time

2010-03-09T20:19:00.000-08:00

Today I reached a milestone. The doctor removed the pin from my broken right hand. I had some anxiety that it would be painful to have the pin pulled out. But that part didn’t really hurt much at all. Just a tugging sensation.

What hurts is the part that comes afterwards, when the doctor says, “Now, try to move your fingers.”

I want to cooperate. I want to get better. But I can’t push past the pain to bend my fingers as he suggests. When he offers to put the splint back on for additional support and protection, I eagerly agree—despite the fact that I was so eager to get the splint off.

I am meeting friends for lunch and I’m not yet ready for my hand to go unprotected into a possibly busy restaurant.

Later, though, in the privacy of my home, I unwrap the elastic bandage and remove the splint myself. Now, my hand is bare except for the bandage covering the spot where the pin was removed. Tentatively, I try again to move my fingers and stretch my hand.

It doesn’t hurt to move my thumb. That finger was furthest from the point of injury and was never in a splint. I can move my index finger a lot. It doesn’t bend on its own, but I can bend it using my other hand. And it doesn’t hurt to do so. I can move my middle finger a little. It is stiffer than my index finger, because it’s closer to the injured area. But, I can bend its knuckles using my other hand. This is better than I could do earlier today, so I feel like patting myself on the back for making progress. I check my pinkie and find it behaves the same. It won’t bend on its own, but it is pliable enough for me to bend it using my other hand.

I’m afraid to try the fourth finger. The fracture was in the fourth metacarpal and my still blue and swollen fourth finger was immobilized for an entire month with a surgical pin inserted from my lowest knuckle down to my wrist. But I try and manage to bend it just a smidgen.

I will try to keep doing this a little at a time. Tomorrow, I can get my hand wet. Thursday I have my first physical therapy appointment.

I don't have any new pictures, so I am going to include a photo of me and Stephanie Bennett Vogt (http://www.spaceclear.com) taken during one of the parties from the Writer's Conference in San Miguel de Allende. Stephanie is the person who inspired me to start writing my blog and I continue to get inspiration and comfort from reading hers. Thanks, Stephanie.

Family and Flowers on My Birthday

2010-03-04T12:18:00.000-08:00

I really wanted only one thing for my birthday this year – to be surrounded by my family. It’s somewhat ironic, because if my hand hadn’t been broken the only family that would have been with me for my birthday was my husband, Micha. That had been my original choice when we decided to spend my time off from work on an extended visit to San Miguel de Allende.

But we modified our plans at least a little bit and returned immediately after the Writer’s Conference, arriving home a few days before my birthday. I told both Micha and the girls that I didn’t want to do anything elaborate. I didn’t have any desire to go to a fancy restaurant, didn’t even have any yen for any particular kind of food—other than ice cream cake with chocolate for dessert.

We had someone staying in our house while we were away, so that our 17 ½ year old cat, Mitzi would not be lonely. Mateja, took excellent care of Mitzi and has several more days before she finishes her medical rotation at Stanford and returns to her family. We invited her to join our birthday party and she blended right in. She even gave me a bouquet of flowers. So my house is still full of flowers from my birthday – the mixed bouquet from Mateja, bright yellow and orange long-stemmed tulips from Keren, and an arrangement of orchids from my friend and neighbor, Miri.

The weather was sunny and warm, so we spent a lot of time outdoors, in our backyard and also in the playground with Gali. It was a perfect day.

Barbara Kingsolver and the Writer’s Conference in San Miguel de Allende

2010-02-28T10:42:00.000-08:00

Glad that I decided to stay for the Writer’s Conference. What a privilege to hear Barbara Kingsolver in person – first as the keynote speaker and then in two additional panel discussions, discussing her most recent novel, Lacuna and her approach to writing.

Lacuna is a piece of historical fiction, set both in Mexico and in the United States. It brings to life such figures as Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo, and Trotsky. During one of the Conference’s evening fiestas (see photo of me leaning over Barbara), I had an opportunity to say a few words to Barbara. I was still in the midst of reading the novel, so couldn’t say anything yet about the overall impression. In fact, I hadn’t yet reached the portion of the book that portrays what it may have felt like to live in the States during World War II and during the rise of McCarthyism. However, I was thoroughly enjoying the depiction of Frida and thanked Barbara for allowing me to see Frida Kahlo as a vibrant, sexy, and mischievous woman – a magnetic personality who was overflowing with powerful vitality despite her physical and emotional adversities.

I like to think that my comments pleased Barbara, because I think that she worked hard to being Frida to life in that way.

B.K. told us that she always starts her writing with a theme that she wants to depict. She thinks about the questions that the novel will pose and what needs to happen in the story to raise these questions, and then creates the characters who will tell the story. She generally invents her characters. They are not based on her own life. She said that she doesn’t really like to write about herself. She is more interested in writing stories about ideas.

In Lacuna, she has also woven in some real, historic figures and she tried to be as accurate as possible, doing lots of research, using the actual dates that Frida was hospitalized, etc.

A major impetus for writing this novel was the flak that Barbara received when she dared to suggest that the attack on Afghanistan was not a logical or appropriate reaction to 9/11. Thus, the theme of the howlers is the predominant theme in the novel.

Some people seem to feel that any criticism of one’s country—particularly during a time of danger—is a sign of disloyalty. This is an issue that continues to be relevant.

My sympathies are aligned with Kingsolver’s. Even if we love our country, we should be able to criticize some of its actions. It’s a basic tenet of democracy. I can relate to this both as an American and as an Israeli, as I happen to have dual citizenship. I love both the USA and Israel. Nevertheless, I do not feel that these countries can do no wrong. I believe that the ability to tolerate criticism is an essential component of a healthy democracy.

But Lacuna is a novel, not a political essay. And I thought it was a very good read. Felt sorry when it was over.

The other photos in this posting are from the same fiesta - at a resort in the hills above San Miguel. One photo shows me standing with Elizabeth Powell, who taught one of the first mini-workshops that I attended at the Conference. She is an Assistant Professor in the BFA program at Johnson State College in Vermont, teaching poetry, fiction, and literature. The mini-workshop was just one hour. That's not much time, but she did a good exercise with us on recognizing and using either implicit dialogue or explicit dialogue. She did a really good job on the workshop and she was also a very warm, likable woman.

My Right Hand Man

2010-02-27T15:53:00.000-08:00

Back in California. Spent my first afternoon getting my hand checked by a hand specialist/plastic surgeon at Kaiser. The good news is that the pin appears to have been inserted correctly. Yay! But the doctor here was a bit surprised to say the least that our Mexican doctor, the rather philosophical Dr. Murillo, had deemed an elastic bandage to be sufficient protection. Dr. Murillo encouraged me to try to return to normal—to continue writing with the non-injured fingers of my right hand and most important of all, not to worry.

I think Dr. Murillo would have been pleased to see me dancing happily with Micha at the Lacuna theme party on the second night of the Conference. I'm including a couple of photos from that party. The fellow sitting behind us is supposed to be Trotsky. My California doctor would have been horrified, particularly when the dance floor got more crowded. But I had a great time.

I left Kaiser with my hand well protected and twice as heavy, encased in a nicely padded, carefully sculpted cast. The cast further limits my capacity to do some simple tasks that I could previously do with the thumb and index finger of my right hand. Now the cast gets in the way. : (

But I can sleep better at night – without worrying that I will inadvertently bump my fourth finger. Sigh. Just two more weeks and then I can be rid of both the cast and pin. Looking forward to March 11.

In the meantime, I have gained a new understanding and appreciation of the term, my right hand man – in this case, my husband, Micha. Also, enjoying seeing family and friends. Here's a shot of me and Micha playing with Gali yesterday. HAPPY PURIM to all my Jewish friends and family! Planning to go to a Purim party tonight -- but haven't decided on a costume. Might just wear my old Mexican poncho. It's at least 35 years old and I don't know where I got it. But it's one of the few things that fits easily over my cast.

In the City of Fallen Women

2010-02-17T14:20:00.000-08:00

Actually, it isn't just women who fall here. Since breaking my hand, I've also met a few men who want to swap injury stories with me. But the locals like to joke about it being the city of fallen women.

We happened to hear the well known song on that theme "The Rising Sun" earlier this week at a Mardi Gras celebration in Harry's Bar. It was more modest than a Mardi Gras celebration in New Orleans and definitely more modest than Carnival in Brazil, but pushing the line a bit for San Miguel. The more typical way to celebrate Mardi Gras is for the boys and young men to throw confetti-filled eggs at one another or perhaps at girls that they are interested in. Our teacher, Aide, said that the boys used to be much more polite and they would ask permission before breaking a confetti egg over a girl's head. But recently, they have become more rowdy so that families and most young women try to avoid going to the Jardin (the main plaza) during this time. It's over now. Today is Ash Wednesday and some people--particularly some of the older Mexican men and women--have ash crosses drawn on their foreheads.

Feeling better about my hand today after another visit to Dr. Murrilo. I phoned him yesterday to ask him a couple of questions, and he suggested that I come to see him at the clinic. I thought he said "a las diez" (at 10 A.M.), but he actually said "a las doce" (at 12 P.M.). Next time, I'll make sure to confirm the hour by asking whether the time is "media dia" (noon).

So we left class at 9:30, took a taxi to the now familiar Hospital de la Fey, and discovered our mistake. We wanted to go back to class and stay for the remainder of our session. The latest time we could change to was 12:30, which allowed us to partipate in another 1 1/2 hrs of classes.

We took the local bus to get back to the center of town, because the bus came before a taxi and it was beginning to rain. The bus took a bit longer than the taxi, but we enjoyed reading the signs on the stores along the way.

I'm glad that we did go in for the checkup, because Dr.Murillo did manage to reassure me that my hand is doing well and he showed Micha exactly how to change the bandages. He also encouraged me to move my hand and my other fingers as much as possible. So now I am typing with the index finger on my right hand in addition to the fingers of my left hand.

I had already started writing a little bit with my right hand when classes resumed on Monday, because I wanted to take the weekly evaluation test. I can't bear down very hard and I do tire easily, but I did manage to take the test, and I have also started writing some brief notes in class. That feels like some progress.

Went out to two new restaurants this week and liked both of them--El Pegaso for lunch yesterday, and Burrito Bistro for lunch today.

Last night, we went to a play reading at St.Paul's Church. The actors were very good and the selection of plays was interesting. We met a couple there that invited us back to their place for drinks and ice cream after the show. The woman is originally from Israel, like Micha. And they are friends with another couple that we met on our previous visit.

Turns out that their house in San Miguel is just one block away from our apartment.

Feeling Better After a Couple of Margaritas

2010-02-15T19:30:00.000-08:00

My cold is improving, my hand is mas or menos the same as it has been, but I got hit by a wave of depression this afternoon. Started worrying whether my hand will heal correctly. The fourth finger, which is immobilized due to the fracture below its knuckle, is an ugly thing to behold. Swollen and blue, it is stuck in a curved position. And sometimes, I find myself worrying that it will stay that way forever. And it is so hard for me to do simple tasks that I am very dependent on Micha. I don't think that I can lock or unlock the front door of our apartment without him. And I cannot write with my right hand. So I began to wonder if I should cancel my plans to attend the Writer's Conference and go back to California as soon as possible.

But I will probably feel depressed in California, too, because I won't be able to do my usual activities--no yoga and probably no Israeli folk dancing or serious hiking. When I am in Spanish class, I still enjoy it even though I can't take notes or do homework. And I suppose that I would find the Writer's Conference very stimulating even if I won't be able to write during the workshops.

Anyway, Micha managed to cajole me to stop crying and go out with him to a happy hour, mardi gras celebration at Harry's Bar and I started feeling better as soon as we began our walk into town, and better yet after drinking two margaritas (I ordered only one, not realizing that it was 2 for 1.)

My hand makes it hard to get in a comfortable position to sleep, but it doesn't hurt as long as I am careful to protect it from any pressure, that is, as long as it doesn't touch anything and nothing touches it. One problem is that the only jacket I brought with me has somewhat fitted sleeves. It's actually my REI hiking jacket and the sleeve does allow for some expansion. But it isn't quite enough.

Yesterday was the warmest day that we had so far, and I didn't need to wear my jacket at all. Micha and I took a bus to Queretaro and spent the entire day there, which was a bit too long a day for me. That's why I didn't post anything when we came home. I went to bed instead.

But we both liked Queretaro a lot. We had heard that it was a big city, with lots of traffic, etc. That's true, but it also has a very large historic center and a lot of those streets are closed to traffic on Sundays. We visited two museums -- the regional museum and an art museum. Both museums are housed in former convents and the architecture is beautiful. In the regional museum, Micha took a lot of photos of an exhibit of miniature scenes showing the type of activities and artesans in different areas of Mexico. The exhibit is intended to be educational for the whole family, so the descriptions were written in easy Spanish, which also made them easier for us to read. Another visitor noticed us and also spent some time talking to us in slow Spanish. She was a retired teacher and told us that this was a popular exhibit for the schoolchildren.

There were also some beautiful, active churches in the same area and parks, and lots of people. We enjoyed people watching as much or more than anything else. Unlike San Miguel, we hardly saw any gringos. And there seemed to be more yong people. We ate lunch at a pleasant restaurant with a tranquil patio, La Llave. The food was good and inexpensive, and no one tried to talk to us in English. In fact, one of the other things we liked about our excursion to Queretaro was the practice we got in using Spanish. We even watched Spanish movies during the bus ride -- without subtitles.

Really Not Crying -- It's just my head cold

2010-02-13T17:47:00.000-08:00

Micha and I went back to the hospital today so that Dr. Murillo could check my hand. My hand really doesn't hurt much at all. Haven't even been taking the pain pills. But I have caught the cold that Micha had earlier in the week. It's mostly a problem of a stuffy, ruuny nose. But my eyes are also sensitive and running a bit. I had to assure Dr. Murillo that my tears had nothing whatsoever to do with him or my hand.

He took off the bandages to look at my hand. It was my first look at it post-surgery. Looks a bit gross to me with the pin showing at the knuckle and some swelling. But he was very pleased with it. Wrapped it up again in new bandages. Told me that I should start icing it again through the bandages, keep it elevated, and try to do some movements with my arm and shoulder to keep the rest of the arm as limber as possible.

He spent a long time talking to us, patiently answering our questions in a combination of slow Spanish and a little English. We talked about other things, including more anout his work at hospitals in San Miguel in the nearby city of Querretero, and the upcoming Writers Conference with Barbara Kingsolver.

He asked if we plan to return to San Miguel--maybe he would have liked to get a look at the results when my hand is all healed. Micha loves it here. But I answered that I'm not so sure, because I have fallen down during both our visits here. The first time I just got bruised. But this time, the fall was more serious.

Before we left, he said to me that maybe somehow this was all part of God's plan so that we would meet. Who knows...

I had been hoping to do a lot more writing and maybe some drawing during our time in San Miguel. You know that familiar saying, "Man makes plans and God laughs."

I need to consider myself lucky that it's just a fracture. With time, it will heal and I will have a greater appreciation of my right hand. Maybe in the meantime I'll develop some more facility with my left hand. Might be good for the brain.

After the hospital, we went for lunch at a Sri Lankan restaurant called Dela's. Interesting. Wide range of dishes available. The food was good, but my dish was a bit too rich for me. Couldn't finish. It was such a nice day that we meandered through Parque Juarez and the Jardin before coming home to rest. As we walked along Sollano street, which is one of the nice residential streets between the Parque and the Jardin, we saw one house that stood out from all the others. Probably someone is preparing to tear it down and decided to discourage inquiries from potential buyers by covering the walls with grafitti in both Spanish and English--see the photo in this posting.

Went to classes today

2010-02-12T18:04:00.000-08:00

Micha and I returned to classes today. Actually, don't feel that bad. Micha has to help me with zippers, buttons, snaps and shoe laces. He also had to make the oatmeal and coffee. I skipped makeup except for lipstick, which I can put on with my left hand. We stayed for the cooking class. But, of course, I couldn't do any of the cooking. So I sat in the sun, relaxing and chatting with my new fried, Jane, an artist from Oklahoma. We joined the others at the table when the food was ready. Chiles Relleno. Delicious, but this time I can't even begin to describe how they made it. Only that it was very complicated and very rich.

WOOPS!

2010-02-11T18:00:00.000-08:00

Beware of the 3 Ds--Drowsy, Distracted, or Disgruntled when driving, operating machinery or walking anywhere in San Miguel. I will try to keep this short, because I am typing with just my left hand. On Wednesday day morning, as I was descending the 5 stone stairs within the apartment, I stumbled and fell. It's a a stone floor and I must have tried to catch myself with my right hand. It definitely hurt a lot and I sat there dazed for a little while. Micha was taking a shower at the time and didn't hear anything. I continued to prepare our breakfast, but started feeling worse instead of better. I decided to try to get to the school a bit early, so that I could ask Carmen, the office administrator (who also functions as the cooking teacher on Fridays) for a recommendation for a doctor. At the school entrance, I saw one of the other students in my class and told her that I was hurting. She gave me 2 Ibuprofen. By this time, I was beginning to suspect that the knuckle cf the finger closest to my pinkie was not in the right place.

I was lucky up until now never to have broken any bones. But I had a sinking feeling that my luck had run out. Carmen was a wonderful combination of efficiency and solicitude. She thought it might be just a sprain, because I could still move my fingers. But she proceeded to set up an appointment for me to get an x-ray at a place across the street from our school at 10 AM and to meet with a doctor at noon. She also gave me a bag of ice to put on my hand.

We were having a small test in my class and I didn't want to miss it. I found that I was able to write the answers using a pencil and not bearing down to hard. That was the last writing that I was able to do.

Micha came with me to the xray place, the doctor, and then to see the orthopedic surgeon at Hospital de la Fey. He recommended a surgical procedure, using a pin to stabilize the bone.

Sent me home but told me to come back Thursday morning. That's pretty much how Micha and I spent our day, yesterday--at the hospital from 10 - 3.

Feeling a bit better this morning. Have a pin in my hand and it will need to stay there for one month. But tomorrow they will unwrap the hand -- I think. And then I may be able to type with a couple of more fingers on my right hand. Going to class with Micha this morning. Can't take notes, but can talk and listen.

These photos were taken before, during, and after surgery. I am on pain pills in all of them.

Choosing To Be Less Than Totally Free

2010-02-08T18:48:00.000-08:00

Many of the expatriates from the USA and Canada who come to retire in San Miguel de Allende seem to experience a renewal of spirit and creativity. They are so excited about this rejuvenation or sometimes reinvention of self that they have a tendency to encourage others to come join them and experience the same thing. In some ways, San Miguel really does seem to be like the elusive fountain of youth--particularly so for people who love the creative arts as I do. I would be happy to spend more time writing, painting, and socializing with the art community.

But much as I love the creative arts, I would not choose to spend multiple months away from my daughters and grandson. I made a similar choice many years ago when I decided to get married. I knew that it meant I would no longer be totally free. But I wanted a family. For me getting married and having children was the right choice even though it meant giving up that sense of freedom.

It's still a challenge for me to find the right balance of priorities. Sometimes, I don't take good enough care of myself. I'm getting better at this, but it's a work in progress. I'll have to keep looking at http://www.spaceclear.com for additional inspiration and support.

I definitely do feel a sense of renewal from being here. I'm glad that I chose to come despite the imperfect weather. But I have no doubt that I'll be just as happy to go home again to see my family and friends in the San Francisco Bay area.

Micha and I both took a number of photos today with my Android phone. Now that I've gotten used to it, I don't think I'll bother trying to get a USB cable for my regular digital camera. I can wirelessly upload photos from the Android to Picassa and then add them easily to my blog.

FYI: I wrote captions, but unfortunately you won't be able to see them in the blog. I wasn't able to import them directly from Picassa to the blog (too complicated to explain), and the captions got lost in the transitions.

Now that it's not raining, we managed to take more photos as we are walking back and forth from school. Wanted to give you a better idea of why I think it's okay that I'm not going to exercise classes while I'm here.

Relaxing Sunday in San Miguel

2010-02-07T18:56:00.000-08:00

Today was the sunniest, warmest day that we've had since we arrived in San Miguel. In the late morning, we took a leisurely walk over to Parque Juarez, stopping on the way to buy coffee for each of us and a croissant at Cafe Ventana on Calle Sollano. This place--literally just a hole/window in the wall--is rumored to sell the very best coffee in San Miguel. And we agreed that it really was very good and enjoyed drinking it as we strolled down this lovely street on our way to the park, which was full of vendors selling plants and flowers for the Candelaria Plant Fair. The poor vendors had also been there during all the days of pouring rain with no customers and very little shelter. But today the park was full of familes happily buying plants and pots for their gardens. There was also free live music and dancing. The music was supposed to start at 1 PM. But it started late even by Mexican standards. The announcer apologized for the delay, explaining that there were problems with traffic and some of the roads were still undergoing repairs due to all the rain. It finally started around 2 PM. They had a 3 piece miramba band and other musicians, too. There was lots of room to dance, but at first only a few couples were getting up and dancing. I finally got Micha to do some salsa with me, which was fun. But I have no pictures of that unfortunately. And Micha was getting really hungry by then, because we had eaten only a light breakfast. So we left and headed over to Hecho for lunch. It was already 3 o'clock,which is a normal time to eat lunch in San Miguel.

Afterwards, we went to the Biblioteca to see if we could get in to see the last night of their current theatre production, My Old Lady by Israel Horovitz. They were sold out, but they managed to fit us into a couple of seats that they keep for the staff. The actors are really good. The play was a combination of comedy and drama, a bit strange, but it definitely held our interest.

Art, Live Music, and Free Wine

2010-02-07T07:46:00.000-08:00

Started off our Saturday night by attending the Anniversary Celebration at Fabrica Aurora, a former textile mile that has been converted into multiple artist studios and galleries. Micha and I visited Fabrica Aurora a couple of times on our previous visit here, and it's one of our favorite places in San Miguel. But last night was a particularly special, festive occasion with lots of live music--I felt like dancing down the corridors, particularly after my first or second glass of free wine. They also had lots of hors d'oeuvres--brie and other cheeses with crackers, empanadas, pane dulce and more. Most of the artists from the galleries were there--including Peter Leventhal (www.peterleventhal.com), who is probably one of better known artists in San Miguel. He doesn't keep his gallery open for public view on a regular basis. During our last visit, I peeked through windows of the closed gallery and then went to see the pieces that he had hanging at Cafe Berlin. But he was celebrating the opening of a new gallery at La Fabrica last night. Didn't have a chance to say much to him other than tell him how much I like his work.

We were able to stay at the celebration for a little more than an hour before catching a cab to meet friends at Bella Italia. We had made reservations for dinner and music, which was supposed to be Doc Severinsen's band (Remember seeing him on the Tonight show in the days of Johnny Carson?). We had already paid 300 pesos per couple for the reservation, which is a good way for getting people to keep their reservations. But Doc Severinsen did not make an appearance. The jazz band that played was reasonably good, but not all that wonderful. We heard the violinist earlier in the week at Ma Vida and enjoyed the musical selection more there. And the food wasn't as good as the food we had at Ma Vida. It was nice to spend time again with our new friends, but the best part of the night was definitely the celebration at Fabrica Aurora.

Some solo time on the sunny streets of San Miguel

2010-02-06T13:24:00.000-08:00

It is such an incredibly beautiful day today that I feel like spending as much time outdoors as possible. Started off the day with an early Zumba class in Parque Juarez. Apparently, Micha tried to meet up with me there. But he came after the class had ended and we missed seeing each other.

I walked back to our apartment after class and we did eventually meet up there, at which point, I was anxious to go back outside as quickly as possible. Inside the apartment, it is still cold. But outside in the sun, it is delightfully warm.

Unfortunately, Micha is not feeling that good today. Maybe all those days of wet, cold feet got to him. So he chose to remain in the apartment, and I went back out on my own to enjoy the sun. I bumped into Stephanie (http://www.spaceclear.com/) as I was walking down the hill to toward the Jardin (the main plaza)and we talked briefly about how happy we were to bask in the sunshine. Then I continued on my own. I took some photos with my regular camera, which I still cannot upload since I don't have the right USB cable. But I also took a couple of shots with my android phone. The Jardin area is always full of life and I find the balloon sellers particuarly cheerful. So I will upload a couple of shots with the balloons. I sat for a while at La Parroquia Cafe (on Jesus St.)eating a light lunch and reading my book. We are going out tonight for dinner and a show with Kent and Jane, our new friends from Oklahoma. So I didn't want to eat a big meal for lunch, too. I ordered soup azteca. I think it's a vegetarian tomato based soup and it is served with cut up pieces of avocoda, white cheese, and tortilla strips, which I added to the soup. They also brought me a fresh baguette with butter. I enjoyed sitting on the patio, reading a little of my new book (Barbara Kingsolver's latest novel, Lacuna)and also doing a little bit of people-watching. I was surprised that most of the people sitting nearby were Spanish speakers. They might have been tourists from Mexico City, but they weren't gringos.

Afterwards, I went back to the Jardin area and bought a small cup of chocolate icecream at the icecream store on the corner of Correo and Reloj. I forget the name of the store, but not the address. It's supposed to be the best ice cream in San Miguel. I ate it while sitting on a bench in the park and doing some more people watching.

Then I figured that I'd better buy some groceries and head back to the apartment in case Micha was hungry. So I went to Bonanza grocery store on Mesones, which is where we did on previous shopping, got a few things there, bought a fresh baguette and the panaderia nearby, and then took a taxi home.

I heated up some soup for Micha, but he's still sleeping. So I'm using this time to write instead. Looking forward to going out later tonight -- the entertainment is Doc Severinsen's (famous from his days leading the NBC Orchestra on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show) jazz band. I've heard that it is quite likely that Doc Severinsen may not appear himself. He is over 82 and rarely comes. But the band is supposed to be good anyway.

Yay!! - Gorgeous Sun and Carmen's Chicken Mole

2010-02-05T14:57:00.000-08:00

It is so, so wonderful to see the sun again after all these days of pouring rain. I asked Micha to take a picture of me on the way to school this morning. You can see that I am wearing sunglasses in the picture, and the driveway is almost totally dry. We no longer have to pass through a waterfall going down the stairs to get out to the street. And the streets were also dry--at least in our area.

In class, our teacher told us that a lot of people in the lower lying areas of the town had to be evacuated from their homes and schools were closed because the main thoroughfare was flooded. The highway from San Miguel de Allende to Queretaro was also blocked and under repair.

The forecast predicts that there will be a few days of sun, followed by more rain. The hope is that the water levels in the rivers and ravines will subside sufficiently during these sunny days that there won't be major flooding when the rains start again. They are particularly worried about some of the lower lying villages on the outskirts of San Miguel.

Today the weather is still a bit cool in the shade, but blissfully warm in the sun. After class, Micha and I stayed for an optional cooking class. The menu for the day was chicken mole and Mexican rice.

There were 9 students--and we hadn't met most of them, because they are in different levels at the school. If it hadn't been raining all week, we would have met each other during the breaks between classes. But it was so terrible outside, that no one wanted to stand in the open patio area during break time. We all remained in our classrooms.

Carmen, a lovely woman who runs the office in the Academia, is also a wonderful cook and teaches the class. She had bought the ingredients and started to cook the chicken while we were still in class today. Otherwise, we would have all been too hungry to wait until the chicken was done. She handed out two sheets of paper to each of us. One sheet has the list of ingredients and a summary description of the cooking steps (in Spanish of course). The other sheet has the names and pictures of the four different types of dry chiles that she uses to make the mole.

Carmen boils the chicken in a soup pot with onion and stalks of celery and mint--similar to the way that I make chicken soup at home, except that I've never used mint. That's the easy part. The rest of it involves multiple steps and multiple ingredients (including almonds, peanuts, pecans,raisins, pitted prunes, dark chocolate, an apple and a banana!) and a lot of frying. In other circumstances, Micha is horrified by anything fried. But he seemed totally transfixed by Carmen's cooking today. We all were. And we did help a little--some more than others. The cooking area is located in a shaded area of the patio and some of us were too cold to do much of anything except watch. Micha seeded a couple of the chiles. And my sole contribution was washing the apple and later stirring the pot of mole sauce while it was simmering.

The mole was absolutely delicious. The best that I've ever had. But I'm not sure that I want to tackle trying to make it at home. Carmen suggested that I could try a shortcut--buy some mole sauce in a Mexican grocery and then add some more ingredients. That's an idea. But maybe I will try to make the whole things from scratch at least once.

In case you want to try it yourselves, here is the recipe--I'm using English, but haven't tried to convert the measurements:

Ingredients (for 10 people)

10 pieces of chicken [I recommend more. We had enough sauce for more chicken!]
200 grams of peanuts
100 grams of almonds
50 grams of pecans
100 grams of raisins
50 grams of prunes (without pits)
50 grams of pumpkins seeds
1 small roll of soft bread(optional)
1 tablespoon of sesame seeds
1 package/90 grams of dark chocolate(optional)
1 cinnamon stick
5 chiles anchos
4 chiles mulatos
3 chiles pasilla
3 spoons of sugar [You decide whether to use teaspoons or tablespoons. It depends...]
a couple of black peppercorns
2 cloves
1 onion
head of garlic
mint (one or two stalks with leaf)[Looks different than what I see in USA...]
1 or 2 stalks of celery with leaves
salt to taste
oil for cooking
a pinch of cumin seeds

1. Put the chicken in enough water to cover and season with garlic, onion, mint, celery, and salt to taste.
2. Wipe off the chiles with a clean cloth.
3. Remove seeds and veins from chiles and saute in oil until golden.
4. In the same oil, saute all of the remaining ingredients separately and in turn(nuts, raisins, prunes,pumpkin seeds, cumin seeds) until golden.
5. Put the ingredients that you have lightly fried (which may include one banana and one apple if you like the sauce to be a bit sweeter), plus the cloves and the peppercorns into a blender or food processor.
6. Put the blended ingredients into a pot and simmer on low heat until the flavors blend for about 15 minutes. Taste and add additional ingredients as desired. Keep stirring.

For the rice:
1. Saute white rice in oil until golden.
2. Add a sauce made of a blend of tomatoes (2 - 3 roma tomatoes), onion, and some water.
3. Add some of the broth from the chicken soup.
4. Cook on low flame until liquid is absorbed -- approximately 30 minutes.

To put on top of the chicken mole:
1. Lightly saute the sesame seeds.
2. Prepare a little bit of chopped onion by putting it in a dish with a little water and some lime (or lemon juice). This supposedly makes the onion easier to digest. It is an optional topping for the chicken mole.

It's good to accompany this with warm tortillas. You will want to sop up the delicious sauce.

Don't forget the cerveza!

: )

Waiting for the Gasman

2010-02-04T15:50:00.000-08:00

There are several things about San Miguel that remind me of life in Israel back in the 70s. The lack of central heating is one of them. Waiting to have gas delivered is another. In the USA, we take it for granted that the gas is piped--as if by magic-- into our houses. As long as we keep paying the bills, we don't have to worry about it running out. But here the gas is delivered in cannisters (we used to call them "balonim" in Israel). The cannisters are outside, so theoretically we should not have to be home when they are delivered. But we have to pay for the gas that we are using while we are here. So we had to be here to pay the gasman.

We were told that the delivery was going to be around 2 PM. Our classes ended at 1:45 and we rushed home. That meant that we couldn't go out to eat for lunch today and we didn't have time to even buy any additional groceries. Luckily, I still had half a bag of uncooked pasta and some vegetables left over from our previous grocery shopping. So I made lunch, assuming that we might be interrupted at any minute but too hungry to wait until after they came. It's a good thing that I didn't wait. They didn't arrive until after 4 PM.

So--even though the rain stopped in the late morning--we spent a quiet afternoon at home. Micha took a nap while I tried to review the differences between preterite indefinido and imperfecto. For some reason, I'm also having a lot of trouble memorizing the conjugations. And it's beginning to look like I might need to increase the strength of my reading glasses. There isn't a strong light in the living room and I'm having a really hard time seeing whether words are supposed to have an accent mark or not. You should see me taking the textbook into the kitchen area and trying to hold the list of verbs under the stronger light to determine whether there is an accent mark or not. I would do my studying in the kitchen, but there is not enough room to sit down and set up a table.

It's a bit frustrating that I still forget and get confused with the conjugations. The truth is that I should have been studying at least a little bit while I was in the States.

Anyway, I got so wrapped up in my studying that I didn't pay attention to the time. So I missed going to the Spanish movie about Panco Villa at the Biblioteca, which I thought would be another good way to practice and improve my Spanish skills.

Micha says that this is probably a good day for us to go visit the exercise room at the apartment complex and I guess that will have to substitute for the movie. We've been doing so much walking (including climbing lots of stairs and walking up some pretty steep streets) that I haven't really felt much need to exercise. But I'll give it a try.

Rivers and Lakes

2010-02-03T13:44:00.000-08:00

No, we haven't gone sightseeing in the area. But after multiple days of rain, there are rivers of water flowing down the streets. And puddles that seem large as lakes. Luckily, I did bring a sturdy pair of shoes unlike one of the other hapless students at our school who thought she could make do with two pairs of sandals. But I would have preferred to wear a pair of old fashioned rubber galoshes like I used to have when I was a kid. And a slicker and big rubber hat -- like fishermen wear. Yes, that would have been the perfect style for this weather.

After class, we stopped at a little bakery close to the school to buy a fresh loaf of bread and then headed home. We were indecisive about whether it would be better to try to catch a taxi to get out of the rain or walk by a store that we thought might have a cable for my camera to upload pictures. We decided to walk, since the store is on the way to our home. But it turned out they didn't have a cable. So we got soaked for nothing.

Not willing to give up, I asked Micha to take a couple of photos with my android phone when I came in. I'll upload those to give you some idea of what's going on. You can also see a little bit of our cheerfully decorated apartment in the background.

I don't think you will be able to tell from the photo, but my jeans were soaked all the way to my knees. So I slipped into my pajama bottoms and threw the jeans back in the dryer.

Made a good vegetarian pasta for lunch--with a little onion, some local peppers and tomatoes from our grocery shopping the other day. The apartment has a well stocked spice shelf that we are welcome to use. So we had a nice lunch with the pasta, the fresh bread and cheese.

Now it's time to do some homework.

Freezing Feet But Feeling All Aglow

2010-02-02T13:31:00.000-08:00

Today was our first day of classes at Academia Hispano. The day started off cloudy, but not too cold. So I didn't layer up as completely as I did yesterday. After our traditional home breakfast of hot oatmeal, we headed off merrily to school. Took us less than 10 minutes to get there from our apartment--less time than it used to take us to reach the school from our homestay last August.

We were suprised to see a lot more students enrolled. People must have stopped worrying about swine flu, which was actually never a problem in San Miguel in any case. Instead of having 3 students in the class, we now have 11 students. But the students at our level are pretty good. Several of them speak better than we do. That means that we can also learn from them. And they are an interesting group of people. The majority of people are retirees, but there are some people who are still working full time and studying Spanish for their vacation. And there are a few younger people, too. Everyone in our class is from the United States, but from different parts of the country. One of the students is coincidentally from Palo Alto, but we never saw him before today.

Didn't exactly ace the placement exam. Not much of a surprise. I haven't take any additional Spanish classes since last summer and hadn't made any attempt to review my Spanish before coming back. Oh well. Maybe this time, I'll manage to keep it up.

It started raining right after we reached the school and hasn't stopped. Our teachers tell us that this rain is very unusual. It's not the rainy season. Unfortunately, San Miguel is not well prepared for rain. There is no central heating in the homes or in the other buildings. Our classrooms were so cold that everyone (teachers and students) kept their coats on throughout the morning. There were small kerosene space heaters in one corner of the classrooms and we tried to sit as close to the heaters as possible.

After grabbing a quick lunch at a tortilleria near the school, Micha and I took a taxi back to our apartment, lit the space heaters (ours are better/more modern than the ones as the school)and boiled the kettle to make tea. I threw my jeans in the small dryer for a while, because my cuffs were soaked. It feels so nice to have these extra little "luxuries"--the good space heaters and the dryer--that we wouldn't have had in a homestay. The trade-off is that we'll have to make more of an effort to find other opportunities outside of class to practice our Spanish.

We ate some pieces of the delicious Mexican cholate bar that I bought yesterday with our tea and lit some of the candles in the living room. So we feel very snug and comfortable even though it's raining outdoors. And we have renewed our excitement about learning Spanish. I think that we'll even brave the rain once again today to go to the Spanish literature class at 5 PM.

Got a surprise Skype call from my close friend, Jeanie, who wanted the latest update and asked about pictures. I did take a few pictures yesterday of the apartment grounds, but I forgot the cable to upload them from the camera to the computer. We didn't feel like wandering around in the rain to find a shop that sells cables. So I apologize to all of you for the delay. Maybe tomorrow.

Managed to Walk Uphill to Santo Domingo

2010-02-01T20:08:00.000-08:00

Wasn't sure that I could do it. But was pleased to discover that I actually could make it all the way up hill from centro to our apartment in the Santo Domingo area. It's quite a climb, and we had already done a lot of walking before that. But it was a pleasant evening, not too cold, not rainy and we weren't in a rush. Makes me feel better about the huge platter of enchilladas that I ate for dinner.

This is the end of our first full day in San Miguel de Allende. It's our second visit and it feels good to know our way around.

It rained all last night and this morning. So we spent our first morning in our small but efficiently designed rental apartment. Micha and I both have laptops and the apartment has wifi. Nice that we don't have to fight over the computer. We don't have a view from the apartment, but it's decorated with Mexican folk art and the rental management company also filled it with huge bouquets of fresh flowers. There is a really impressive view when we leave the apartment and walk up to the main level of the complex. Feels a bit like I'm working out on a stairmaster every time we do it. That's probably good, because I don't know if I'll manage to fit in time to go to the gym here (they actually do have an exercise room within the apartment complex!).

We walked down to centro for lunch, bought some groceries, and took a taxi back to the apartment. It would have been impossible to carry those bundles uphill.

For dinner we had tentatively arranged to meet up with a couple that had shared the shuttle with us last night. We suggested Hecho restaurant--one of the favorites with the local expats and a place we'd eaten a couple of times on a previous visit--and said that we'd all try to be there at 7 PM. I wasn't sure that I'd remember how to walk there. But Micha did. And we were pleasantly surprised to find our new friends waiting at a table for us.

Had a really nice evening together. And arranged to meet for dinner at another restaurant later in the week. I should probably go to sleep now. Tomorrow morning, we have to get up early for Spanish classes.

Time For Me

2010-02-01T14:45:00.000-08:00

I've got a whole month ahead of me with hardly any obligations to anyone but myself. No job. Not even any babysitting for my adorable grandson, Gali. It's just me and Micha here in San Miguel de Allende.

Lots of people have asked me to write about what I'm doing and seeing here. I did update my status in Facebook, but the word limit didn't allow me to write very much. I also sent email to my immediate family. But that leaves a whole lot of family members and friends that I'm not communicating with at all. And I promised I would.

So I figure that it's about time I started a blog. I've published a number of travel stories on www.tangodiva.com. But never set up a blog of my own. Let's see how this goes.

We arrived in San Miguel last night after a long day of travel. I had reserved a shuttle with the same service (info@viajessanmiguel.com) that I used during our first visit to San Miguel last August. It's about 1 1/2 hours from the Leon airport to San Miguel. One of our fellow passengers is going to be presenting a mini-workshop at the Writers Conference that I'll be attending later this month. Her name is Stephanie Bennett Vogt and I've started reading about her on the web, fist on the conference website and then in her blog (http://www.spaceclear.com/index.html). I'm definitely intrigued by what she has to say. I'd like to try some her techniques for clearing space in my home and in my life. Actually, I think that's another reason that I decided the time has come to start a blog.

OK. So this is just about the genesis of my blog. Next time I'll write something about San Miguel.