A Week on Another Planet

Bartlesville Community Center, designed in the 70s by Frank Lloyd Wright's son-in-law

It's been a week since I landed in Oklahoma to help with my mother at the nursing home, and I've got a week to go. It feels like another planet...everything is so tidy here in Bartlesville.

Mother has changed drastically since I was here in August. She doesn't recognize me, though she's friendly in her way and doesn't treat me like a stranger. I've noticed she isn't very familiar with my sister, who's been there just about every day, either.

I've been showing up around lunchtime to feed her each day, get her back to her room, brush her teeth and get her tucked in for a nap. She has physical therapy designed to help her use a walker when her broken hip has healed enough, but I have serious doubts she'll be able to walk again. She has forgotten what her hands and feet are for.

Today as I fed her bites of beef with gravy (which looked identical to the canned stuff you buy for dogs), she kept her eyes closed and babbled, only occasionally making sense, then breaking into a little song. Finally I demanded that she open her eyes and look at me, and she did! A little frightened at first, but then we both had a good laugh, and she shut them again. Oh, well... When I offered her a bite of cake with chocolate frosting and she had the whole table chuckling when she said, "That's doggone good."

The nursing home is short-staffed and my sister and I are always finding small problems, but what staff is there seems to be doing their best. We are warned by other people whose parents have been in this situation that some duties are done by staff just for show, and aren't done when the parent is alone.

To stave off depression, I went with my sister and brother-in-law to their choral rehearsals, preparing for their big annual fall concert Saturday, and was invited to join the chorus. It's wonderful, challenging music, including a piece in Italian and one in French. Judy will outfit me so I blend with the other choristers in their all-black, $100 outfits, and we'll sing in the Community Center, which was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright's son-in-law, and has fantastic acoustics including a unique telescoping band-shell. I know about the acoustics because last night I went by myself to see a touring company perform "Chicago" there. These are things I don't get to do in Mexico.

Every morning my sister and I walk their German Shepherd Fritz around the neighborhood, and it's been a bonus, getting to know her better. We have spent very little time together since we grew up. We've lived very different lives thousands of miles apart, and I always felt she disapproved of me so I didn't seek out opportunities to spend time with her. It's not easy having a saint for a sister. But we've found plenty of things in common to talk about; I take care not to say anything inflammatory and she takes care not to say anything judgmental. When I spend time with Mother, Judy gets a chance to go play golf, at which she excels, naturally.

When I can, I'll share more shots of Bartlesville, the town that Phillips 66 built.

Gas, by the way, is $1.99 today in Bartlesville.

Fresh Off the Redeye

My horoscope today:

You're trying to take care of the small details of your life today and it's the best time to do so! ...your eye for the tiny stuff has never been clearer.

OK, I know I'm being self-indulgent with the horoscopes lately, but they're eery! On the road to the Guaymas bus station last night I noticed I hadn't brought the cell phone! We turned around and went home to get it, I caught a later bus. Sitting in the Tufesa station I realized I had a little pocket knife in my backpack. Oops! I left it in the ladies' room, hoping somebody can use it. I really wouldn't want it to turn up under the x-ray at the airport, and get mistaken for a terrorist.

Diddly little stuff, but crucial.

Here I sit at an excellent airport coffee bar with wifi in Tucson, reading the online New York Times and working out my strategy. Part of the ponderous weight of my bag is a eight-pound package of labels I need to fast-mail to the printer in Sonoma to stick on boxes of newly-printed Collector's Guides so FedEx can deliver them. I decided to catch a cab back to the post office about a mile from here and get the box off, lightening my load and my anxiety level. (I had planned to mail them tomorrow from OK.) Then I'll zip back here to the airport, check in and fly away.

Another coffee, I think.

I know I was being vindictive about American Airlines in yesterday's post, but when did it start being the passengers' problem if the plane was overbooked? When I say I hate flying, it's not flight that bothers me, it's all the entanglements and fumbles brought about by so-called security measures. The plane is never at the indicated gate, it's always been moved somewhere else, requiring a frantic last-minute scramble of a half-mile or more. Check your bag, it's $15 or more just for the first one, $25 for additional ones. Every few minutes the loudspeaker goes on about Orange Alert and how you're expected to keep a death grip on your luggage and report "suspicious behavior," however you define that.

Flying itself, I still enjoy. That little jump when the plane leaves the ground and we're airborne...there are few thrills to compare.

There are a couple of men wearing airport employee badges having coffee at the next table, comparing recipes for biscuits and gravy and swapping barbecue tips. Everybody's wearing coats and boots, and speaking English. I feel like a stranger in a strange land.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

My Horoscope today:

The next few weeks could bring you opportunities for pleasure, but it's going to be up to you to make things happen... Enjoy the present moment fully without worrying about the past or the future for now.

I'm catching a bus at 10pm tonight to Tucson (a six or seven-hour trip) to catch a plane tomorrow morning to Oklahoma. Not a pleasure trip. My mom, now moved into a nursing home, is so helpless she must be hand-fed like a baby bird that hasn't opened its eyes yet. I'll be there for two weeks, so my sister can take some time off.


Last time I flew American Airlines to OK, I was bumped off my overbooked flight twice and had to spend the night in a discounted motel room I paid for. They wouldn't even cover a taxi to the motel, so some employees smuggled me onto their shuttle. I emailed AA to complain and was told they were working on it. Let's hope so.

There Goes My Social Life in November

Here I go again. This is the third time I've joined NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in hopes of inducing my Mac to magically produce a 50,000 word novel, with a little help from my fingers and brain, and material mined from three years of blogging. If any of my fellow bloggers see themselves in my story, well, sorry about that. All grist for the mill, you know.

I might even have a plot this time, which is way ahead of where I was last year. Soooo, wish me luck or huevos or whatever it is I need to carry it off this time.

So far, curiously enough, I am the only English-speaking resident of Sonora to sign up.

And here's my steenkin' badge.

My New Grand-Dog

Just got pictures of my son's new dog! Since I've already been informed I'm not in line for any grandchildren, this is as good as it gets. His name is Petey, he's a boxer mix and a rescue dog. That is, the neighbors owned him and his sibling and were letting them run loose, weren't feeding them or taking care of them, so Jay asked for one of them and the other one was given a home somewhere else. Jay promises to do a post on Petey soon.

Call Me Ms. Makenice

Somewhere in our peaceful-looking anchorage, short fuses are smoldering

There are a lot more occupied boats in our two marinas, the workyard and the anchorage, and the burgeoning population has resulted in a lively morning VHF radio net. In midsummer after the snowbirds went home, it was hard to find anchors for the net, and only a handful of us checked in.

But the drawback to having more folks on the Net is that it takes longer to get through everything, from Ham and Emergency Traffic to Weather, Announcements, Local Assistance, Bay Watch, Swaps and Trades, and wrapping up with Jokes and Trivia. And some of us, I guess, get a little antsy if it starts to sound like chitchat. Today it came to a head, and bad feelings are hanging over the boating community like a small gray cloud on a sunny day.

A newly-arrived cruising couple started a daily Trivia Contest, with the prize a hot-from-the-oven treat: recently it was brownies, today it was ginger cookies. I'm not great with trivia so I haven't paid a lot of attention, but I admired them for baking confections every day for the winners--especially considering that baking on a boat is not as easy as in a home kitchen.

Today it was the Trivia couple's turn to moderate the Net, and after the weather they presented their question du jour. Fred the weatherman, a fixture in San Carlos, asked that the Trivia Contest be reserved for the last item before closing down the Net. The Trivia guy replied tartly that they would just drop the contest. Fred tried to placate, explaining that some of us have a lot to do, but by now the Trivia folks were feeling insulted, and they turned off their radio, leaving the rest of the Net for somebody else to moderate and committing a breach of radio etiquette.

I was reminded of an article I read yesterday about short fuses in Slate magazine. I personally must have an exceptionally long fuse because I don't even think of an angry retort, usually, until after the insulter has moved on. An offensive remark usually just leaves me mute with astonishment. Why would they pick on me, Ms. Makenice? Sometimes in the wee hours I'll wake up with the perfect rejoinder, far too late. Maybe I should write them down anyway, just for fun.

But I've always been aware of -- and carefully avoided -- people who seem to have an eye out for a potential slur, a possible besmirching of their character, appearance or social skills. Road rage. Disgruntled employees who stalk into their former workplaces in camos and blow away everyone who ever looked at them funny. Guys in bars who don't like other guys ogling their wives. Other guys who stab their girlfriends over issues like bus schedules. Neighbors who slaughter one another in conflicts over barking dogs, messy trees and errant fencelines...well, it's a jungle out there, after all.

Nothing like the aforementioned news items is likely to occur here in this boating community (I fervently hope), but this morning's flap is evidence that short fuses are everywhere. Even Rodney "Can we all get along?" King has been arrested several times for assault and spousal abuse.

A large percentage of the US population is now advocating that next month we elect a man with a notoriously short fuse to our highest office, while his opponent is portrayed as being too cool and laid-back, i.e. unpresidential. Issues and party partisanship aside, since when is a volatile, profoundly angry man more appropriate to lead the country than one who stops to think?

...such angry individuals can be the product of their faulty education. Parents tolerating their child's aggressiveness, or acting angrily around the child can imply that being angry and aggressive is ok, and turn him or her into an angry adult.

In such a situation however the adult is not powerless, the education of a child is not like the programming of a robot that just does what it was designed to do. In the end, one chooses what to be, and one is responsible not only for what one does but also for what one is. This is a scary thought for many people - the fact that they cannot get away by saying "that's just how I am, what can I do about it?"

"What Is Anger Good For?"
Vlad Tarko, Senior Editor, Sci-Tech News

My observations today could ignite a few short fuses in the blogosphere. But that's not what bothering me. I just wish I'd had a shot at those ginger cookies.

My Sister, the Pragmatic Angel

This week my sister called me with dire news about my mom. It was as though I saw it coming, could almost say the words before she did.

"She fell and broke her hip. She's in the hospital."

I've heard of so many similar cases, I'm beginning to wonder if the majority of women who live to the age of ninety (Mom's 90th birthday is six weeks away) are fated to fall and break a hip, rendering them bedridden and soon thereafter dead. Should we be bundling them all in hip padding?

Imagine, if you will, what it would be like for an advanced Alzheimers patient, about at the level of a 16-month-old child, enduring two days of intense pain while the doctors determine that, yes, her hip is broken, another day while they decide whether and how to repair it, undergoing major surgery without general anesthesia (because anesthesia would make her disease permanently worse), followed by weeks of being confined to her bed. Unable to understand any of it, no matter how often her daughter tries to explain.

The surgery involved placing three screws in the femur just below the hip socket through a small incision rather than a hip replacement which would be far too invasive for someone her age. This is as much as I know, or want to know, about it. My sister has informed herself to the point that she probably could have assisted in the operating room, but then my sister is a saint. Or maybe a pragmatic angel.

At the facility where Mother lives, staff is forbidden to tie patients to their chairs or beds, so it could be just a matter of time before she tries to get up, and falls again. What do we do now, hire someone to sit by her bed and keep her from getting up? Put her in yet another facility (this would make her fourth move this year) where restraints are permitted?

Should I make the two-day journey to Oklahoma again, to stay with her until it's safe for her to walk? If ever?

Photos: my mom, in her sixties, and my sister the angel

Good Thing I Learned to Type

Doonesbury is ringing my bells lately, as I follow the story of Rick, the muckraking journalist who has suddenly been made redundant at his publication, and is now attempting to make a living blogging. Today he tells his son, "It's tough to leverage a byline in a media environment where anyone who can type gets a byline!"

Poor misguided Rick. He's still writing exposés about politicians, when he should be investigating fluff, which can also involve politicians but is much more likely to draw the big hits. Like Oddly Enough, which appears on the Reuters website.

John McCain, in an unguarded moment (Oddly Enough, Reuters website, Oct. 14)

He'll have to be ready to get the funny snapshots and come up with witty captions for them, not really his thing. But hey, it puts the chateaubriand on the table.

Dreams, Plans, a Gleam in the Eye

Our friend Bugs sold his boat, S/V "Euphoria" this week, despite the fact that a surveyor found a damaged through-hull (that's one of the necessary holes in the hull that we never stop worrying about), and a weak chain-plate (the device that anchors to the hull the shrouds that help hold the mast in place). Both are crucial issues demanding repair, but the through-hull is already being fixed. The chain-plate is for a mizzen shroud and the boat can be sailed without the mizzen, at least for now. It's an old boat, built in 1977, and yet in amazingly good shape.

The new owner, Dan, is a gentle Nordic giant from Denver out of Minnesota, an engineer stoically resolved to deal with whatever tasks come up in readying "Euphoria" for sailing to faraway destinations. Although an inexperienced mariner, he's put in quite a lot of time in dreaming, studying sailing books and planning his adventures, and he's got that determined gleam in his eyes, now that he has acquired The Boat. Bugs has recommended that Dan look to the Capt as a mentor, so we'll probably see quite a lot of him in the future.

And now that he's "swallowed the anchor" (a sailor term for permanently returning to land), Bugs is back at home in Santa Fe, cramming for an exam tomorrow on physiology. One of the hardest things about going back to school is learning for the first time at age 50 to study. He was one of those who should never have been graduated from high school, he confessed. If he can hang in there for four years, he'll earn a nursing certificate and be able to put all his experience as an emergency medical technician into service in a geriatric hospital. Not a future I'd ever dream of, but I recognize the gleam in his eyes. This is what he really wants, and he's going for it.

Meanwhile, our friend Mark on "Sol Mate" who has been in a slip at the marina for the past few weeks, is eager to leave for Baja today, if his wife in Canada agrees to fly down and join him. Marina life gets old after a while, a bit like living in an RV park, and Mark's got a yen for wide open seas. He's hoping we'll be able to transport his Toyota on the ferry and spend a couple of days with them in Santa Rosalia.

My first ferry ride, a visit to one of my favorite Mexican pueblos, a little time with my friend Wendy (one of my favorite people), a little getaway for us. Now, that puts a gleam in my eyes.

And Then There's SUDDEN Poverty

I posted on the situation in Alamos, Sonora right after Norbert passed through, but it's much worse than I was able to discover at the time. Now it's reported that the death toll is between 20 and 50 depending on which report is most current, and the devastation is horrendous: missing people, flattened houses, smashed cars...

Although my Spanish wasn't good enough to comprehend all of this news segment I found on YouTube, it would be hard to miss the gist of it, particularly the interview with the tearful man who was surveying the remains of his home. Here's a report from a boating couple who have their vessel here in San Carlos, their home in Alamos:

The situation in Alamos is dire. 20 people are dead and more missing. Many homes have been destroyed. Many are relying on soup kitchens run by the main hotels. Relief IS pouring into Alamos through Mexican aid agencies and USA based efforts.

And this from Teresita, the owner of the Red Door B&B in Alamos:

our neighbors in the chalaton suffered terrribly. upwards of 50 dead and god only knows how many houses were taken by the mud slide and waters.

Teresita is coming to San Carlos tomorrow to pick up donations at Rescate, the local rescue/emergency clinic. I have my two bags of clothing, plus quite a lot of food our friend Bugs passed on to us off the boat he's preparing to sell tomorrow. I'm not fond of SUVs, but I hope Teresita will be driving a big vehicle.

Emergency food and clothing will help many of the hurricane victims, but it's going to take a long time for the citizens of Alamos to recover, from the looks of the damage in the YouTube videos. What happens next, when the public attention span has been diverted to some other matter and the people are still barely surviving?

I have never lived in a community that was suddenly impoverished by a cataclysmic event. Once my office was flooded, another time my home, but my losses were minimal because it was a creeping flood rather than a wall of water so I had time to remove anything I cared about. Guess I've just been lucky.

Not to belabor the obvious, but it could happen anywhere, to anyone, at least anyone in the middle or low-income classes. I suppose the very wealthy will always have their refuges. But the rest of us are vulnerable, no matter how prepared we are. People used to a certain standard of living can be reduced within hours to the most basic level of survival, looking for clean water to drink, food, dry clothes and a place to get out of the rain. Even the ATMs wouldn't be there for us, and cash might not be of any use anyway. That would certainly have an effect on our perception of poverty, wouldn't it?

P.S. Linda, who blogs atGood2Go2Mexico posted about working in the emergency food kitchen, called DIF, plus more reports on the extent of the damage and what efforts are being made to assist the people of Alamos. Bravo!

Thoughts in the Last Minutes of Blog Action Day

Let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.

It's almost midnight and I've already blogged today, whimpering about my IRA savings of the past 25 years now dwindled down to half. I don't have another 25 years to save it up again. But then, the truth is that I took the easy way and didn't pay attention, I was haphazard and fatalistic and ignored my own better judgment.

Much of my life, I considered myself at best as suffering from scarcity, at worst impoverished. I spent a portion of my life, when my son was small and his father was contributing nothing, living on the dole. I didn't avail myself of enough education to become professional, and probably didn't deserve it, but I got a break and managed to own two newspapers, which allowed me to do for the most part the kind of work I enjoyed: writing, photographing, interviewing. I never had to wait tables, clean houses or live on rice and beans. I can probably attribute that stroke of luck to my stubborn childhood habit of reading everything I could get my hands on.

Now I live in Mexico, a country that is just beginning to take decent care of its poor. I see here among the middle class the same attitude I've seen in the states: a fear of the impoverished, and a distrust of those who have nothing. The belief that the indigent ask for their condition has been handed down for generations, and the popular notion that we create our own breaks is nothing new. As long as we think that way, we can look the other way when we see someone who needs help. We can despise the kid trying too aggressively to wash our windshield at the stoplight, and shake our heads in disgust at the teenage girl with a baby, and walk right by the Indian woman sitting on the sidewalk begging. This belief is the barrier that keeps us from lapsing into bleeding heart liberalism. At Christmas we can come up with some canned goods and a toy for the tots, and feel we've done our part for another year. The problem is too overwhelming anyway, we tell ourselves.

Not all of us want to understand poverty or attempt to do anything about it. Many will find their passions in fashion and beauty, in sports and celebrities. But for those who have found these pursuits unfulfilling, I recommend an extended period in a Third World country getting to know people who have concerns other than what's hot and what's not. More than a year, because it will take most of us at least a year to get up the courage to venture past our safe American enclaves. I'm just beginning to do that, and I've been here almost three years. I don't like this cowardly aspect of myself, and my greatest hope is that I can overcome it. After all, the way things are going, I may die penniless myself.

Living in the Promised Land, Willie Nelson

It's Blog Action Day and the subject is poverty. Here's a list of resources for anyone who'd like to learn more about what's being done, and how we can get past that feeling of being overwhelmed, grasp some part of this unwieldy problem and help fix it.

A Little Less Euphoria in Our Lives

Today I'm going to pull on my grubbiest clothes, grab some rubber gloves and go down to the boatyard to help our friend Bugs ready his boat, S/V "Euphoria" for a sea trial Friday. He's got a buyer, and though the terms of the purchase are "as is, as found," she'll at least be as clean and orderly as we can make her.

Those were the days..."Euphoria" and "Bliss" rafted up together in the Nuevo Vallarta marina two years ago

Over the past few years we've encountered "Euphoria" here and there in our travels a number of times along the mainland coast of Mexico. Bugs came from the same town in Northern California that we did, and we have a number of mutual friends. But now he's studying to become a professional nurse, entailing four years of college, and he needs cash to pay his tuition and cost of living. So now there will be euphoria in someone else's life.

This town is like a crossroad, and everyone passes through eventually. We get to know them, maybe even make some music together, but many are bound far away and whenever we say goodbye we know it might be for the last time.

When he gets the money for the boat, he says, "I'll stash it in a pillowcase." Banks, investments and such are not looking like a good idea right now.

Having seen my IRA dwindle by 50% so far, I'm wishing I had done the same, say maybe about six weeks ago.

Alamos Wasn't So Lucky

While San Carlos was unscathed by the passing of hurricane Norbert, people in Alamos, southern Sonora state were not so fortunate. Eight people died and more are missing in the aftermath. Our fellow bloggers Good2Go2Mexico, who live in Alamos and were experiencing their first hurricane, provide a much better report than even the newspapers. The word they used in describing the devastation was "tragic." I'm still looking for reports about Baja.

Alamos map shows the town (pink marker) is not so near the coast, but huge boulders from the nearby hills and ruptured water reservoirs caused considerable damage

Norbert Missed a Spot...Our Spot!

A quick report before we head off for Empalme tianguis--

We went to bed last night convinced we were going to be wakened by a screaming hurricane, but woke this morning to a balmy 72 degrees, clear skies and an unusual and very welcome 38% humidity.

Norbert made landfall just south of Topolobampo at a Category 1 last night. Someone, somewhere took a beating, but we haven't heard the reports yet.We've heard of one fatality in Baja, a man who was washed away in a stream. Nothing more. CNN isn't exactly on it. Tune in at 11.

Murphy, Meet Norbert

The Captain's Club will hold a two-day Hurricane Party for all the liveaboards and anyone else needing a safe place to wait out Norbert

The Capt has decided Hurricane Norbert is enough of a threat to move our boat "Bliss" from her mooring in the anchorage to a slip the marina, for at least a couple of nights. So this morning we tucked her into "F" Dock.

Norbert, at last report, touched land at Magdalena Bay on the Pacific side of Baja, a large, pleasant bay I remember from our trip south in 1997 when we sailed with a flotilla of 120 sailboats out of San Diego to Cabo San Lucas. I'm wondering what Mag Bay look like when Norbert (now a Category 2 or 3 depending on whose report you believe) has passed through.

Magdalena Bay (light green marker at left), largest bay and one of the most populated areas on Baja's west coast, is directly beneath Norbert at this moment. Let's all put in a good word with our higher authorities for the safety of everyone living there

The best guesses place Norbert's landing on the mainland coast, sometime this evening, at Topolobampo, a major shipping and fishing port for northwestern Mexico.

Google hybrid map of Topolobampo (blue marker) and surrounding towns, where Norbert is expected to make landfall on the mainland. The city is several miles up a shipping channel and surrounded by wetlands, which should offer some protection from the worst of the storm.

Down at the Captain's Club they're getting ready for a two-day Hurricane Party. This may sound frivolous, but many people who are living on their boats will want to come ashore to wait out the storm, and the CC is a good, sturdy, centrally-located building on higher ground only a block from the marina. And then there are all of us housebound people who might get cabin fever.

At our house, I'm removing books and pictures from the walls where we had leakage in the last storm, even though the Capt was on the roof patching cracks with a recommended white cement substance yesterday. If I put everything away safe, we'll have no leaks, in accordance with Murphy's Law. We'll set up our little Honda generator in case the power fails, check our water supplies, gather up our candles and battery-powered lanterns, clear off the front and back patios of small objects that might take off in a blow, and make sure we have enough minutes on our cell phones to check in with our friends. Have we thought of everything, Murphy? I guess we'll know soon enough.

Fred on S/V "Sojourn," our weather guru, says we're in line for the effects of full-blown hurricane, with winds up to 50 knots and a gully-washer of a rainstorm. Meanwhile it's breezy outside but very humid, and we're all a little tense with anticipation. I'd rather Norbert came visiting in the daytime, as nighttime storms add a measure of fear of the unknown, but so be it.

Time to practice some songs. How about:
"Here's That Rainy Day"
"Who'll Stop the Rain?"
"Shelter From the Storm"
"A Hard Rain's A'Gonna Fall"
"Riders of the Storm"
"Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain"

Any more suggestions?

Out of the Clear Blue

Guest post with fantastic photos from our amigo Garth:


I was lucky enough to be invited on a three day trip to Isla Tortuga with my friend Ken on his beautiful 48-foot Pacifica Sportfisher out of San Carlos, Sonora. The island, 56 nautical miles from our home port, is relatively isolated in the Sea of Cortez. As a result sea life abounds. We trolled all the way at about ten knots and caught two dorado. A great lunch. Arriving at Tortuga and setting anchor in 30 feet of water, Ken dove and his guest and I snorkeled. Visibility was greater than 60 feet and the water temperatures were in the 80s with no thermocline at depth.

Early to bed and we fished the next day with no luck. Back early where I unlimbered my Airline hookah rig and ken donned his tank and we went for an absolutely wonderful dive. My new Olympus camera performed beautifully underwater up to 70 feet without a housing. I saw a wide variety of fish but no octopus, scallops or lobster. I believe these have all been decimated by hookah divers from the Baja. Cortez damsel, angel, cabrilla, and even leopard grouper were seen.

A cochito with a winning smile, ready for his closeup

Captain Alejandro (Alex) did all the cooking. This was a first for me and he was an excellent chef. He also cleaned all the fish, refusing my help, also a first.

Damselfish

For our third day I again dove with the hookah (I am a dealer for these fine units in Mexico) and then trolled back to San Carlos landing one medium male dorado. A great trip for all. Good friends and great times in the Sea.

OK, that's it. Next trip to the pool I'm taking my snorkel and getting over my fear of breathing through a tube. Then I'm going to price underwater cameras. This is too much fun to be missed!

This Tale is No Bull

Having a soft spot for Oklahoma (my mom and sis live there), and a fondness for Brahmas, I couldn't resist this little tale about a cowboy who bought a Brahma bull in Kansas and transported him to his ranch in Tulsa, OK. No trailer, but he did have a convertible. So he drove the big guy home himself. The bull was apparently on Valium, or its veterinary equivalent; he was attached to the car with only a nose ring tied to a rope. Or maybe the cowboy is a genuine bull-whisperer. The suspension, shocks and the car seats will never be the same, but they made it! Thanks, Ron, for the great pix.

My Own Personal Independence Day

You can have your Christmas, birthday, whatever your favorite day of the year is. I'll take the little-known but enormously significant Day After Deadline for my personal top-ranked holiday. For the first time in almost three months, I'm free to spend a whole day away from the computer...a whole week, for that matter. I can get down my guitar and play for hours, go off to the new ice cream shop and treat myself, take a bike ride, go to the beach. The mind spins at the possibilities. First maybe a nap...

Not that life is entirely carefree. The Capt is keeping a close eye on computer models (better that than models of the pulchritudinous kind), reporting now and then on the antics of Norbert, the latest oncoming hurricane. Ol' Norbert sounds like he was named after a mild-mannered accountant, but we're not taking him lightly. One hundred sixty mph winds! Here's a NOAA map of Norbert looming over Baja. Although most models are predicting he'll hit Topolobampo on the mainland coast, that's close enough to get us some heavy weather here. We have two boats at risk, one on land and the other moored in the anchorage, so the Capt has plenty on his mind.

The heavy economic weather NOB (that's gringo talk for North of the Border) hasn't escaped our attention either. I finally looked up this bailout they're talking about and found out what it's designed to do: "the government would pay 'hold to maturity' prices -- meaning a price based on some estimate of what the asset would be worth once the crisis of confidence had passed, not on what the asset holder could get by selling it today." Now how in the world can they predict what something will be worth once the crisis of confidence blows over? Who's to say it will blow over? And besides, the assets they're talking about, thanks to the real estate bubble, are vastly overvalued to begin with. As Doonesbury puts it, this is a game that privatizes profit but socializes risk.

Can I put my IRA in with all those other assets, and get paid what it would be worth if we didn't have a crisis of confidence? Naaah, I didn't think so...

The chart shown here is not a playground slide, but a week's overview of my IRA.

I get a case of tunnel-vision this time of year and though I may hear bits of news they don't seem to sink in while I'm involved in deadline. But I've heard the peso recently drifted into 14-to-one territory against the dollar and though it's back down to 12.06 at the moment, we're used to about a 10-to-one ratio. Prices are already going up to compensate.

I'll have to give all of this more thought. After my nap.

Step Away From the Car, Ma'am

Now they can seize your laptop at the border, and under the flimsiest of pretenses. And not just the US/Mexico border.

Jerilea Zempel, a college professor who's also an artist, was detained at the New Brunswick, Canada border crossing because of a drawing in her notebook of an SUV...not even a very detailed drawing, either, more like a cartoon. "We think you may be guilty of copyright infringement," they informed her. On that basis they searched her, removed and went through her laptop, digital camera and cellphone, papers in her car (NOT an SUV, but a Toyota Prius) and kept her sitting on a bench for a couple of hours.

It was her credentials as a college professor that got her off the bench and on her way.

The drawing was for an art project, involving a hand-crocheted "cozy" for an SUV, which she had submitted at the Cultural Capital Festival in New Brunswick. Her experience at the border inspired her to name the shroud, "The Homeland Security Blanket."

Consider this a warning: take care what you doodle, especially if you're traveling. Stick to birdies and kitties and little fishies if you want to stay out of trouble.

Booting Up My Morning

Alma La Doctora, a fellow music-lover, tipped me to another deservedly famous cantante last night: Eugenia León, so I looked her up on YouTube this morning, and here she is, in "La Paloma," (the dove) a song you'll probably recognize.


And something a little less traditional, "Los Pajaros Perdidos" (the lost birds) with a little taste of tango.


One last song, "Arrancame La Vida" which seems to translate to "start up my life." (Arrancar can also mean "boot up" when applied to computers: a little Spanish lesson bonus.)

Going With the Flow

Hooking up the new tinaco, which will definitely improve the quality of life around here

Today we took our sporadic water issues in hand and got our friend Charlie from the Ranchitos to hook up the extra-large tinaco we bought weeks ago. While his dogs Max and Lola (both ol' pals of mine since they were pups) wandered around with Chica, Charlie moved the new tinaco into place, cut into our water line (a tricky moment), and plumbed in a new pipe. Even without a pump, we had immediate water pressure and the tinaco was full in a matter of minutes. Bravo!

We plan to buy and install a pump which will be automatic, with a bladder tank that regulates the water flow and a pressure switch that will help even out the water pressure. The Capt promises it won't be noisy, but we'll probably build some sort of housing around it.

"Your water problems are over," promised Charlie. I'm happy, after having lived for weeks dreading any ambitious cleaning projects like bathing the dogs or shampooing my hair or doing laundry because the water could shut off at any moment. The Capt is happy, having solved a problem that was making the 1st Mate one grumpy woman. Chica's happy, after a morning's romp with one of her best friends, Lola.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel is Not an Oncoming Train

Deadline is in sight! I printed out the first draft last night and began looking for "stupids" today. Interesting how they show up in print when I never saw them on the screen...but better now than when the book is in my hand!

On one of my well-deserved breaks yesterday I clicked over to Slate Magazine and found this article on How Bloggers Make Money, which is based on a report from Technorati on the "state of the Blogosphere. We're not talking about dribs and drabs here, but the big bucks! Some of the blogs are thoughtful, such as the productivity-boosting 43 Folders, but others are nothing more than gossip, like Perez Hilton's -- oh, noooooo, not another Hilton! or amusements, like LOL Cats, which rakes in $5,600 a month by running an ongoing competition of silly-captioned cat photos, in among their copious collection of ads. And then there are the Fug Girls, who are cleaning up by being catty about celebrities. And don't all we girls just dream of doing that for a living?


And you know those ubiquitous Google ads you see on so many blogs? Well, some people actually do make money on them. Some guy who calls himself Shoemoney got a check for $132,994.97 one month from AdSense. He looks all of sixteen! He says, "100% of this income was earned with organic seo. I had not heard of search engine arbitrage at the time and did not buy traffic from MSN Yahoo or Google itself." Uh, what? Ni modo, don't try to explain what it is, I probably wouldn't understand.

Do I have pathetic fantasies of turning my little blog into some sort of powerhouse moneymaker? Not really, it's just that our small publishing business has been threatened of late by the US Post Awful which did away with the mode of shipping we'd been using for years on 24 hours' notice, followed by the printer who, two weeks from presstime, informed me he will no longer warehouse the overrun so I have to distribute all my books in one swell foop at staggering co$t. And a gloomy premonition like a dark cloud looms over my weary head, about how the economy is going to affect my clients, many of whom are of the mom-and-pop variety.

Call me a skeptic, but I suspect the evilly-conceived Bailout will fund a lot of golden parachutes and golden handshakes. Nobody is going to get his foreclosed home back, nobody is going to see his devastated IRA replenished or get his job back.

I don't even want to look at my IRA, though I'm aware that's the attitude that keeps me from prospering. I should be keeping a beady on it at all times, I suppose.

P.S. The Capt says organic seo is a type of "search engine optimization." And I Googled "search engine arbitrage" to find it's a means of buying ads from search engines and re-selling them at a higher price.