I haven't posted here for a while. It's been my custom to lay low during the holidays, reflecting on the past and contemplating the future. This year, the present lurched into focus with a shock, another reminder that life is what happens while we are making other plans or stewing uselessly about history.

Dear Aunt Alice died on December 23rd, following a rapid two-week decline.

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Alice Hilda Hart
1908-2005

Before you continue here, please read Pat's reminiscence about Alice.


Pat and Alice before a flight in Hayward - Alice enjoyed flying with us.

I first met Alice around twenty years ago, when she was only in her mid-seventies. She used to visit us once or twice a year, and at first I wasn't very close to her. I wasn't very close to anyone, for that matter, and one of the things I am grateful to Alice for is that through my time with her I learned to appreciate people more, and to have compassion for others. Over time, we became very close, and genuinely enjoyed and appreciated each other.



She was a gentle soul, and had a lovely sense of humor that allowed us to tease her mercilessly. She never took offense at our crude jokes, as she didn't take herself very seriously. She enjoyed the attention, and her little chagrined chuckle when she saw that she was once again the victim of our outlandish teasing was girlish and endearing.


We set Alice up for this photo - she gave up smoking forty years earlier, and never drank while I knew her.

Alice eventually began spending several months a year living with us at the house in Hayward that she helped us buy through her years of savings for Patrick. She loved to spend time with the two dogs, Lucky and Mummadog, and they loved being around her.



Until the last few years, she cooked occasional meals for us, and baked birthday cakes.



She did our laundry, and mended things that needed it. Usually she insisted on doing dinner dishes. These things made us feel really cared for. No button has been replaced here since her last visit.



The last time Alice was here, we had to get a wheelchair for the trip from the airline gate to the parking garage for the drive home. Then, several years ago, Alice declined physically and mentally to the point where it was no longer practical for her to come out and visit us any more. Pat went to Florida and found her a wonderful assisted living facility where she could enjoy independence and her own apartment, but additional services and care when it became needed. He moved her there from her old isolated apartment. At that time, he also sold her car - an event that she almost never failed to lament during our calls. Although it was inconceivable to us that Alice could still safely operate a car, for her it was a place to aggregate all her disappointments about loss of independence. In her mind, the only reason she was immobile and limited was the lack of an automobile.

We chatted with her on the phone regularly, and Pat found opportunities to visit her in Florida. I visited her once there several years ago, and was alarmed at her weakness and ill health. After my visit, she regained some strength, and the close call reminded us to make the most of our calls and time with her.

Alice's confusion was minor, mostly a result of her deteriorating short-term memory. As she moved things around her rooms and then promptly forgot about her actions, she would come up with elaborate alternate explanations for the changes in her environment that seemed quite dotty to others. None of this diminished her pleasure at hearing from us though, or her ability to laugh gently at our continued teasing.

With Alice's decline these past weeks, we were grateful for the kindness, competency, and compassion of various people in Florida who knew what to do and when and how to do it. She had pretty good care, and while it was painful not to be there, I think she had the best of what anyone could offer as she decided it was time to drift away, and finally left us. I do regret not encouraging Alice more to just find peace with her decision to consider leaving us - I could not stop talking about hope for a different outcome. I hope if I am ever again there for someone who is near the time of dying, I will have the wisdom to help them accept with peace and without doubt or fear this event that we must all face. I know the hospice nurses did do this for Alice though, and am doubly grateful for that.

I ran across a Buddhist discussion a few days ago which made me realize that once again Alice has contributed to my understanding of life, even as her own time in this life came to an end...

When we finally know we are dying, and all other sentient beings are dying with us, we start to have a burning, almost heartbreaking sense of the fragility and preciousness of each moment and each being, and from this can grow a deep, clear, limitless compassion for all beings.

Thank you Alice, for being such a precious part of our lives. I hope we brought you some comfort and joy, and I thank you for helping me wake up to what is good in this life. The extra kindness and attention I will try to give to others will be a living testament to your gentle goodness.

Goodbye Auntie Alice.

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I found a few more photos of Cocula online. Looking forward to my own opportunity to photograph things around town during the next visit...



The central plaza.



A portico along one side of the plaza.



The Parroquia, or parish church, of Cocula.

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It's great to be focused back on Mexico and the promise of some kind of life there eventually. I was starting to feel like all my efforts to learn Spanish and Mexican culture were going to end up being past hobbies with no practical value. As I grew discouraged with what Guadalajara had to offer, I was just ready to return home and defer any judgement about anything related to things SOB (South of the border) for a while.


Then, almost as an afterthought, I went to visit Cocula - about an hour and a half Southwest of GDL. My main reason for visiting was to pay my respects to the parents of my one close Mexcican friend in the U.S., Mañuel. His mother Doña Margarita met me at the bus station, and we walked the several blocks to their house. There we were joined by her husband, el Profesor, and Elena, a girl who is novia of one of the younger sons. Elena and I climbed into the back of the family pickup, and off we wenrt for a night-time tour of the city, under an velvety black sky filled with brilliant stars. Even in the center of town, the ambient light was low enought to see a faint satellite trace a path across the sky, and the broad wash of the Milky Way - something I hadn't seen since a night at the Wyoming ranch.

We passed through neighborhoods filled with colonial homes and storefronts. Up cobblestone streets we went following the contour of hills surrounding the center of town. The homes warmly illuminated from within offered many glimpses of life behind open front doors - kitchens and salons, and interior courtyards framed by ornate ironwork. Over the streets were strung row after row of silver and white paper decorations called papel picado remaining from a religious fiesta but seeming to foretell the coming of nocha buena and the other end of year celebrations.

When we returned from our drive, we had dinner and talked for a while before turning in for the night. See the previous post for the unfortunate outcome of the evening - I had been looking forward to seeing more of the little city, but due to my illness and circumstances that required me to be elsewhere, I caught only tantalizing glimpses of the place in the morning.

On reflection, I began to realize that what Cocula seemed to offer was a realization of the vision that set us on this course some five years earlier, when I read On Mexico Time, about a writer and artist couple who fled their stressed-out deadening lives in Los Angeles for the beauty and wonder of a new life in San Miguel de Allende.

That was before San Miguel was overwhelmed with wealthy socialites and other well-off gringos who gentrified the place and snapped up all the fine old colonial homes, dolling them up suitably for publication in Architectural Digest, and displacing Mexicans in the process as the original residents were increasingly relegated to the roles of service people in their own community. I always felt sort of passed by, deprived of the opportunity to participate in the discovery of such a special place, and certainly priced out now that people are paying near-California bubble amounts for the few occasionally available nice casas antiguas.

But here was Cocula, with not a single gringo resident known to be lurking, and only a handful of day tourists from time to time. Yet the town had the wonderful buildings, the friendly and safe population, the Parochia (church) equal to San Miguel's, the hills surrounding the town, the near-perfect climate...



This place I almost passed up the opportunity to visit brought me jarringly back to the original vision that started our journey. While Merida was charming and fascinating, and Guadalajara probably worth a weekend visit, they felt like mere distractions and a diversion that always left me unsettled and uncommited.

At the first opportunity, I'll be back in Cocula to explore and learn more about what this tranquil city of 40,000 has to offer. Mañuel's parents have graciously invited me back to stay with them whenever and for as long as I like, and have even suggested renting out the rooms newly constructed on the second floor of their home. From the back terrace, you can see the horse and cow in the neighboring back yard.

The dream is still alive.

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The Thanksgiving That Didn't Happen


Let us rise up and be thankful,
for if we didn’t learn a lot today,
at least we learned a little,
and if we didn’t learn a little,
at least we didn’t get sick,
and if we got sick,
at least we didn’t die;
so, let us be thankful.

-The Buddha

Well, that turned out to be a timely message for today (and my entire trip) when it showed up in my mailbox. Last night I was in Cocula, Jalisco - an hour and a half from Guadalajara (more on Cocula in a later blog entry). I was visiting the parents of my friend Mañuel, and we went out to dinner at a little family-run corner place. Guess I shouldn't have had the lady put all the raw onion and lettuce and radishes in my pozole, because starting about midnigh and going all night, I was - well - going all night. It was so bad I started to panic about how I could get back to GDL on a bus for a planned trip to Ajijic the next day. In the morning, I wandered out to find Doña Marguerita, Mañuel's mom, and told her about my predicament. Off she went to the farmacìa, and returned a short time later with some yellow capsuls and pepto bismal tablets. She also gave me some apple juice and some Sprite with about two-thirds of a cup of corn flour mixed in it.

Miraculously, all the action stopped, and I felt well enought to shower and figure out what to do next. El Professor (how I address Mañuel's retired school teacher father) offered to take me to Ajijic directly, a one hour ride he said. I accepted on the condition that I pay for the gas.

Well, the three of us rode in the little pickup front seat, an hour and a half ride. If there are nicer people on the face of the earth, I don't knowhere one would find them. They dropped me off at the place I was supposed to be to walk down to the neighborhood where a party of 30 gringos were gathering in a nicer Ajijic home for Dia de Gracias.

After I bought El professor and his esposa a refresco and slice of cake from the pasteleria where they left me and we exchanged parting wishes, I first walked a few blocks to find a yogurt (my Thanksgiving dinner). As I walked through the area of highway above the lake where all the businesses are clustered, I was struck by how much it looked like Pleasant Hill, or some other California strip-mall area. The usual minivans, SUV's, and luxury cars, full of casual-dressed white people. Shorts, golf shirts, little ankle-biter dogs on leashes...it didn't have any Mexican vibe at all. In the store, there was a stupefying Stepford effect, with sort of dazed looking white shoppers cruising aisles full of US-standards commodities. In one odd area there was an aisle of glassed-in locked cases full of various fancy Canadian and US condiments, safe from pilfering like expensive liquor in a ghetto supermarket.

Then I continued on the find the house with the gathering. I imagine Beverly Hills looks a lot like this neighborhood. Very luxurious and well-primped, with many lush arrays of flowering vines and trees. When I arrive at the home, I was stunned by the sumptuous layout, construction, and decor. I had just spent the night in a typical Mexican house, with the ten years of handprints on the walls, the giant vases full of gaudy artifical flowers, the oddly displaced plumbing and light fixtures, and quaint provincial sala furniture (but sweet and as inviting as you can imagine). In the three small bedrooms, little sala, and cocina El Professor Encarnaciòn amd Doña Marguerita Lopez had raised four boys and a girl. Here now I was in this gleaming oversize sprawling home where I single guy lived. In place of the Lopez milk cow, sheep, and goat, his back yard was full of manicured lawn. His gardener was tending a full bar, and his regular maid and a friend stood ready in the kitchen to finish preparation of the meal while sending out trays of hors doeuvres.

I was introduced to a number of the prosperous-looking mostly older white guests. I used a common Mexican expression of greeting on being introduced to one - the friend who had introduced us shook her head and commented "Oh, don't use any Spanish in him, he doesn't understand a word". "Not a word!" he confirmed enthusiastically, then mouthed an exagerated "No hab-lo es-pan-yole".

A number of people wanted to know if I was looking for a place in Ajijic or Chapala down the road. I tried to mask my revulsion at the impressions I was forming about this un-Mexican enclave, and respect the choice these folks had made to create an insular island for themselves, where Mexicans only existed to mow grass, walk dogs, cook, clean, and man the local cash registers. Learn the language? Why bother. Dish TV brings in all the latest swill in pristine English...there was some football game on the giant screen TV nested in custom cabinets. No one was watching, but it was on just to show it was available I guess.

One fellow had on an oversize Guyabera shirt, like the ones popular in Yucatan for a century. I asked him if that's where he got it. "Mail order them from Pennsylvania", he said. "Look, uses a zipper instead of buttons.". My friend sitting next to him turned the label out to see if it originated from Yucatan. "China", she said, and everyone had a laugh over that.

I found myself in the kitchen, chatting with the Mexican maids - the only people present I felt I could relate to. At first they were shy, but when I said "La verdad es, prefiero Cocula donde no hay tantos gringos." they giggled and warmed up. We had some pleasant conversation, then I feared I would get them in trouble so I went back into the party area, excused myself to the host and friend who got me invited, grabbed my stuff, and walked back up to the highway to catch a bus to the city.

I felt bad that I had caused Sr and Sra Lopez a three hour drive for this, with me staying but a few minutes. I had been afraid of a digestive emergency on the bus - should have had faith in Dra Lopez' miracle cure. But they approached the trip to deliver me like everything else in their lives - as something to be enjoyed and experienced to the fullest, and all the more if it was helpful to someone who was connected to their family.

How I wished I had brought all my bags down with me the night before instead of leaving stuff at the hotel in GDL. I would have enjoyed the extra time with them in Cocula for an extra day and night, and would certainly not have given that up for this horrifying venture into gringolandia that I had so planned on. As they say, life is what passes you by while you're making other plans.

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Here are today's random sightings.



Who needs razor wire or smashed bottle shards in the top of the wall to keep out the bad guys, when you can ELECTROCUTE them.



Yes, we love our pets, but they DON'T WEAR DIAPERS! So pick it up.



This is the oldest car I saw here. Not even 2% of the POS wrecks I saw in Yucatan. Many BMWs, high-end SUVs, all manner of shiny new wheels. The real fun starts at night, when there is a dazzling stream of intense blue LEDs that adorn various places on many vehicles. Who knows why this is a studly thing to do? If some flash, that is extra studly.



Walked a neighborhood to check out livability and see what the style was. These two above and below are representative of the nicer ones. Neighborhood quality of life super.

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This is a special entry for Mona in Wyoming, where the last of the flowers are fading into a summer memory...

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Not really enough energy to recount all the day´s activities, so here are a few photos with comments from the past twelve hours...



Here´s something you don´t see in Merida...a whole stand full of woolie warming things.



There are a lot of long-time unfinished buildings around the city. Who knows why?



Dirty shopping carts? Not where there is cheap labor. This lady and her partner doing the same would polish the chrome after the sidewalk wash job.



I walked into the giant Mercado Libertad, and thought I'd find something to eat among the food stands...OMG, there were HUNDREDS of them (this picture is of ONE such stall). I am not a person who likes to make choices among even a few options, so I was numbed by the whole thing.



Well now, this should have made my choice easy...chivo (goat) anyone?



I walked through the area of money changer storefronts, and saw this little guy. Again, as with the food stalls - HUNDREDS of cambio places, all in the same area... In the US there would be one or two large corporate predators, and they would use their massive and sophisticated resources to drive all but a few of the individual proprietors out of business.

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Here´s a good sign - this trip my customary initial depression relented after only one day. Too much this depends on external circumstances, but I like to think there is some result from effort and determination too.

Yesterday it was a bleak vista approaching the city from the airport, after no sleep for 24hrs. Then a walk through a dreary part of town walking from the bus stop to centro, during which the WalMart was the most prosperous business seen. In centro, a starving dog and bad experience trying to find a nice but affordable place to stay. I was ready to turn around and get on the next flight...my usual first day.

Then, last night I went to a pary at a beautifully retored colonial house, where a dozen very friendly local guys and one ex-pat from San Jose offered a friendly connection. The San Jose guy cashed out his Bay area place and traded in his huge equity for a new life here. It was his birthday, and his Mexican partner hired about twelve mariachis to show up. They made their presence known by showing up at the front door and launching into song. We were on the roof terrace three flights up, and someone let them in the front door, and they came up the three flights of stairs, playing the whole time. They played on the open terrace, with the fresh evening breeze blowing and a huge gothic cathedral looming in the background for about an hour and a half. They seemed to find nothing unusual about men dancing traditional mexican steps together, and the absence of chicas, and their smiles were of warmth with no trace of mockery.

The sound of horns and violins and guitars drew the attention of a crowd on the international hostel roof across the street. Before I rang the bell for the party house, I noticed the hostel across the street and checked the place out. They were having an impromptu barbeque on the roof, and I wandered around and marveled at the warm and pleasant amenities. It was nicer than any hotel I have ever stayed at, with full use of a big communal kitchen and dining room, private rooms, laundry facility, free internet, big screen TV, comfy public areas with big screen TV, TV in the rooms, a neat mix of French and Czech and America guests, and low prices. I got my stuff out of the nasty overpriced hotel room this morning, and after a day running around and exploring with a new writer friend Cristina (more on her later) I checked in here tonight.

This morning I had decided to stay one more night in the tourist dump, because I needed to run off and meet Cristina at her house West of centro past the big Minerva fountain and glorietta. I was going to take a bus rather than a cab, but today is a big patriotic holiday and there were desfiles (parades) forming in all quadrants.

When I realized I would need to take a taxi, I decided to go back to the hotel, grab my stuff and check out - I hoped the hostel would have a room for me and I lucked out later in the afternoon when Cristina ran me over there to check.

So I took a cab, and we dodged parade adtivity all over the place on the way. Cristina has a wonderful home in a great neighborhood that she rents for only $600 a month. There I left my gear and we set off to a very goo antique and collectible flea market a few miles away on Avenida Mexico.



There were a lot of treasures there, and it was easy to imagine how much fun it would be to acquire things for a new home there. After we browsed and schmoozed with all the dealers Cristina knows for an hour or so, we went back to her house for a while, then headed out look over attractive neighborhoods where one might want to find a sweet casa to rent or buy. Beautiful neighborhoods with shady tree-lined streets, and interesting unique homes. Eventually we headed out on the Chapala highway to meet a friend from Ajijic, who was driving down from the lake to meet us halfway.

We met for lunch at a huge roadside retaurant owned by Vicente Fernandez 'El Rey de los Rancheros' - one of Mexico's most famous musicians and a Guadalajara resident. We passed by his huge estate on the way there. While we had lunch, there was fine Mexican traditional dancing and music in the style of Ballet Folclòrico It was a very pleasant way to pass the afternoon, enjoying the perfect weather in the open-on-all-sides dining room.

On our way out of the parking lot, there was a little cart with a wizened old campesino selling something liquid out of a huge gourd. His hand-drawn sign said simply "Tuba". Crisitina stopped and asked if I wanted to try it - without knowing what I was getting into I said "sure", and the old guy ladeled out two milky looking glasses of what turned out to be fermented coconut milk, spiced with apple and with a little froth of apple chunks and chopped peanuts. It was a little sour, and I nursed it a while on the drive back, but left about 3/4, which Cristina happily traded me her empty glass for and sipped contentedly away through her straw.

We stopped on the way into GDL in the crafts village of Tlaquepeque to walk for an hour or so through a big holiday show of locally produced and imported Central and South American arts and crafts. There was a also a large assortment of candies and other sweets and drinks. We sampled generously - Jamaica liquor, candied nuts, apple wine, things freshly baked on a griddle, moles... I learned a lot from Cristina, who is smething of a foodie, and also knows here crafts well. There was beautiful locally produced glassware, with all the colors fused into rustic and heavy beverage glasses I have always found irresistable - especially that cobalt blue color.

Finally, we headed back into town, and Cristina delivered me to the hostel, where I guess I'll be happy to stay through the end of the week.

Thursday, The friend Darrell we met for lunch is hosting Thanksgiving dinner for thirty friends at his Ajijic house, and I am invited. It will be a chance to meet some people who have been there a long time, so more opportunity to see how all this can work out for those who dare to try, and struggle through their fear of the uncertain and unfamiliar.

I arrived on the redeye Mexicana flight this morning at around 5:30am local time. It was not a restful trip. On departure, the cabin lights were dimmed, and soon were totally darkened - for sleep I supposed. Even the readin lights were disabled.

Then, about 20 minutes into the flight - ZAP...all cabin lights to bright! Time for cocktails and meal service - at 1am. Free cocktails! Flight attendants came down from both ends of the cabin pouring stiff drinks from big vodka, rum, and tequilla bottles. Full meal service was delivered. Another round of drinks for everybody, then ZAP...dark cabin and loud snoring from the row in front of me.

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I caught the bus from the airport instead of the customary taxi - 5 pesos instead of 160. Then I walked about looking for a nice hotel. Instead I found an overpriced dump, where I was too tired to undo my misfortune. Tomorrow. Not a good start, and I was/am already mightily depressed and wishing not to be here.

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While walking into centro from where the airport bus stops, I walked through a small church plaza, and was approached by a starving little female dog. I wished I had placed some dog biscuits in my camera bag before leaving home, but had nothing to offer her.



I walked a couple of blocks, found a torta stand, and had part of a sandwich and some juice. I wrapped the rest of my sandwich, bought a multigrain bar to go, and walked back to the plaza. She was still there, lying in some grass. She approached
me right away, and I got out her treats. She came back to lick and nose me, and we talked a bit then I had to leave. She wanted to follow me but I had to tell her no and walk quickly.

The church was of Saint Francis - protector of animals. I hope hanging out there helps the little brown dog.

Tonight I am booked on the Mexicana ojo-rojo (red-eye) to Guadalajara. I hope to post regularly from there. I'm going with no particular expectation about the area as a potential place to relocate, but looking forward to seeing some different neighborhoods in the city, and maybe getting out of town to look at some outlying areas.

The climate in Guadalajara is certainly superior to Merida - or even Northern California for that matter, with highs between the mid-seventies and mid-eighties and lows between mid-forties and mid-sixties throughought the year. There's a hot dry season, and a rainy season, and that's about it. Rarely is a place equipped with either central heat or a/c. Chimneas, or fireplaces, are common.

Before I go I wanted to post a few pictures from a visit a couple of weeks ago from my brother Phil. Mona's blog featured a post on Oct 6th (for his birthday) with some old photos, but I hadn't seen him in person for more than twenty years. Needless to say, he looked different - but good. The Coast Guard seems to have been a good way to pass the years for him, and from what I could discern from our conversation the country is lucky to have him there, doing what he does. He is based at the D.C. central command location, a few blocks from the Capitol and White House, where he is engaged in programs to help Coast Guard folks find their way to good long-term careers in service to the U.S.



We hadn't talked much over the years, with some undefined awkwardness seeming to justify the lack of communication, but we had a great visit, and I think we both were very pleased to spend the time together over a drink then dinner another night.

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It hardly seems possible that a full year has gone by since we arrived here in Alameda. I didn't expect to see the Bay Area for a number of years, if ever, after we left the state in July last year.

I arrived here on October 31st. Pat found this place with only two days to hunt for a house rental, while he was out a month before confirming that he had work here that justified our return to get our bearings. Those bearings have proved to be elusive, but the less I try to fathom what is supposed to happen the easier it will probably be to arrive somewhere eventually.

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Mexico came to us last weekend. To celebrate Day of the Dead, Oakland put on a big five-block long fiesta, with several sound stages and many dozens of traditional craft and food booths. There were quite a few altars too, with family members on hand to remember departed loved ones.

The crowd was estimated to be nearly 100,000 at its peak - it was jammed when we arrived late in the afternoon. I'd say we were among less than 1% non latinos who showed up. Probably more like 1/2%. It really was indistinguishable from a big street event in Mexico. Of course, in Mexico it doesn't take a special occasion for such an assembly to happen - many places do this every weekend.



And now it's time for me to go to Mexico. We booked my air travel for the week of Nov 18 - 25. This puts me in Guadalajara for Thanksgiving. I considered returning on Thanksgiving day, but I asked a lady in Guadalajara I am planning to visit for her opinion, and this was her reply:

"Oh yes, by all means stay through Thanksgiving. The nine days of Nov 22-30 are Ajijic's fiestas patronales and it's a total blast. Larry and Joseph are going with me one or more evenings to party on the plaza: it's a mix of religious observance, carnival, food, fireworks and live music. It's really wonderful fun.

I won't tell you more right now, but do get your tickets and plan to stay at least till the 25th, or the 26th if you can. There is so much to do here and at the lake that week...including Thanksgiving...some friends and I are having Thanksgiving dinner there and you are welcome".

How could I turn that down?

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It's sister Mona's birthday today! Sometimes as I timidly explore Mexico, safely bunked in a nice guest house, with ample funds available from any nearby ATM machine, I think of a younger Mona hitch-hiking the entire length of Mexico down to Chiapas with an infant, probably with barely enough money for food and shelter along the way. The gift of being able to bravely experience and appreciate life is one that no birthday well-wisher can give.


The oldest among the four of us, Mona was the one who went off to college, then experienced the rich and eye-opening life of a young person in the 60's - a worthy alternative to a liberal-arts degree and whatever conventional life might have followed.

A long and interesting 1st marriage, two exceptional children, and eventually life on a ranch with a gentle and wonderful man of the West in a beautiful corner of Wyoming followed. There, under the awesome high range sky, Mona continues gaining insights into the true nature of the good heart we all yearn to connect with, and learning to let go of the constraints of ignorance and delusion. She is generous enough to share these gifts with me and others.




Happy Birthda Mona!

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Tomorrow I was going to start the ferry/BART/airplane journey to Guadalajara, to arrive there just after sunrise Sunday morning for a six-day visit. I had been planning this trip since Pat was out of town a week ago, but when the break-in occured and my wallet and other stuff disappeared, it set me back practically and psychologically so it didn't look like I could make the available travel window before Pat's next work project trip to the East coast.

But my new credit and debit cards arrived, along with a new driver's license, and the other stuff was replaced and organized as well. By this morning Pat and Mona had convinced me that there really was no good reason to delay, and that other than a couple of days' late start, going made more sense than waiting a couple of weeks for the next opportunity.



Just as I sat down this morning to bring up the Mexicana site and book the OAK-GDL flight, the phone rang, and it was la jefa from the company where Pat works (and I have been contracting on and off for a year) asking what I was doing next week. She had a week's work for me - not something I am inclined to turn down as this make the piggy bank squeal with delight. I also can use the proficiency exercise in wrangling the network there, and it makes my resume situation more healthy by eliminating a big gap between gigs.



So, now I have a good reason to postone my Mexican travel. Fear and anxiety weren't holding up very well as good reasons, but a work opportunity is. A few weeks' delay won't diminish the GDL experience, although I was looking forward to an interesting Dia de los Muertos experience at a Lake Chapala village in Jalisco.

Fortune from a cookie a couple of weeks ago...

The hard times will begin to fade, joy will take their place.

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A few days ago, I was really upset by the way a number of things were going. My frustration in managing finances in the face of a frightening economy, our living situation, work and career - all seemed unmanageable. It seemed I couldn't handle any more disarray in my life. Friend Arlene came over and offered sympathy and advice to get over these concerns and move forward.

The next morning I awoke determined to have a more positive and optimistic attitude. Went downstairs, put on the coffee, fed the dog, and went to wake up the computer.



Where my notebook computer usually sat, there was an empty space. I knew instantly that someone had been in the house, while M-dog and I slept upstairs, and taken it. My next thought was of my wallet, which I often leave laying nearby on the desk. Gone. And the $100 grocery money in the cigar box. And my cheap watch.

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For the past year and a half, I have been engaged in a monumental struggle, trying to find the means to achieve peace of mind and construct some sort of structure for the future. The desire to start over in Mexico several years ago was really the early kick-off for this journey, as innumerable small annoyances and dissatisfaction mislead me to discount the value of what we already had. But things really kicked into scary overdrive once we cut loose from our house and jobs, and hit the road seeking something that just seemed to become ever more elusive. Ending up here in Alameda for the past year, it seemed a port in the storm, but recently the pressure to select a next step has seemed to increase. More annoyances and dissatisfaction with more stuff. Continued insecurity.

And now, this.

Here's why this was a good thing. I've needed for a long time to stop looking for security and satisfaction from external sources. I've been afraid of so many things that really don't have much substance, and feared my relative position in the world because of these mostly insubstantial threats.

I found a resource with potential to work for me in resolving these problems, and improve my life and the way I relate to the world. For me, this is the Buddhist belief system and all its rich and varied teachings. I look at Buddhism not so much as a religion as an intricate codified body of wisdom and indisputable common sense. Psychology without the fees and couch and pharmaceuticals. Spirituality without the corruption of church hierarchy and doctrine.

But I wasn't really convinced in a meaningful way that redemption or resolution were attainable for me. I stubbornly clung to my old familiar ways. Now, in the context of this direct and shocking assault on my sense of security, I think I'm more motivated to quit grasping with the mind set that inevitably results in unhappiness and an anxious mind, and really try to adopt the philosophy that offers more peace of mind and joy in life.

I'm going to embrace the idea that when this person came into my house and made off with these important symbols of identity and effort to control the circumstances of life, I was brought to that low point that so many must face in order to confront their failure to cope with life on the wrong terms. I'm going to use this experience to make the rest of my life work better, and learn to follow the path to wisdom and contentment more confidently.

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This blog started out as a journal of our efforts to make a new life in Mexico. The events of this week may actually be an important step in making that all work out eventually. Without some sort of better way of dealing with the world, even the inherent potential joy of life in Mexico doesn't offer any real assurance of success there.

I'm not sure that it was really necessary to have this dream of life in Mexico in the first place, but it is still a worthy intention on its own merits, and I hope we will pursue it to fruition. Coming soon - a visit to Guadalajara to get a feel for what life there might be like. Stay tuned.

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Another two weeks without an entry. I promise at least one every few days for while - I can't believe how fast the days go by...

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We're considering a three-week road trip from here to Michoacan and back over the Christmas and New Year holidays. With the M-dog. It would be some combination of tent/campground and motel (seems maybe 50% of motels might allow a dog in the room). We figure about twelve days of driving are required, leaving twelve days of hanging around wherever. Still haven't decided if this is a really good idea or not, but I'm inclined to say yes, knowing that it will be a long and not always comfy experience.



We've always needed to have some sort of shared experience down there, and after putting so much time into the Yucatan/Merida investigation, we are badly in need of broadening our exposure to (some of) the rest of Mexico. This trip would give us a look at long stretches of the Pacific coast, Guadalajara/Ajijic/Chapala, Morelia, Patzcuaro, Uruapan, and possibly Aguascalientes and Zacatecas.

If we do it, the trip is certain to be memorable. The question is - what kind of memories will be created?

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