Back to Reality

It's a sad and crappy fact that all good things come to an end. Then again, that universal law also means that bad things are finite, too.

The fact that the good times end means we have to recognize and relish them while they are happening. These are some of the memories that will sustain me in my dotage in the nursing home (should I be so unlucky as to wind up in such a place...as opposed to living a full-tilt life well into my late 70's, and just dying in my sleep one night - in my own bed, in my own home).

Mexico this winter was grand! We had the best time. Highlights included:

Finally finding "Philo's Bar" in the town of La Cruz, Nayarit. Great live music and a nightly crowd ready to dance and party. Apparently they stream music live over the internet on Wednesday nights, so we must try to tune in for some vicarious enjoyment.



We made in-roads into the Puerto Vallarta social "hoi-poloi" by winning a Valentine's Day contest sponsored by the chef/restaurant/hotel mogul Thierry Blouet, who has several restaurants in the Bay of Banderas area, plus the Hotel des Artistes in Punta de Mita. Being on their e-mail distribution list paid off with an invitation to the 3rd anniversary private wine and cheese party at the Cafe del Mar - a lovely and memorable evening.



Having friends visit from home is always a highlight, and we spent a fun evening at "The Cheeky Monkey" on the PV malecon with a gang from Mudge Island. This place has killer $1.00 margaritas and a fun-loving, attentive staff who make every visit one to remember (if you can!).



But, all good things come to an end. Just as you can't stop the world from endlessly turning, and the sun from rising and setting, it's important to simply savour the fleeting moments we are granted - moments of beauty, serenity, fun and comraderie...we need to capture and cherish them.

The threat of the nursing home looms large, because none of us knows what our future holds. It's SO important to enjoy the here and now, and whatever health, youth and vitality we have. Memories may have to sustain us through a lot in the future, and I am well armed!



Todo bien. (It's all good.)

Remembering Japan

I have a solar-powered calculator in my wallet that isn't much bigger than a credit card. It was given to me as a souvenir gift in the spring of 1988, when I visited Japan on a six-week Rotary International exchange trip.

Twenty-three years ago, this little wafer of a calculator was really something - so small, so light, so useful. I've relied on it countless times over the years and, every time I pull it out of the special section of my wallet where I keep it, I remember when I got it and where I was.

That month and a half in Japan was a whirlwind. First, our team of 6 had a week of Berlitz language training in Tokyo where I learned enough Japanese to function and survive a number of interesting situations. These situations included politely fending off the occasional drunk Rotarian "homestay" host...to this day, the sound of ice cubes being swirled in a scotch glass and the music of Whitney Houston remind me of an evening spent dodging unwanted attentions, all of which were being communicated to me verbatim via a witless translator, right in front of the host's wife!

And I succeeded in diplomatically declining to eat certain culinary delicacies that were way beyond even my adventurous palate. I love most Japanese food, and during the junket I did manage to eat non-mainstream offerings such as raw shark's heart, raw chicken (I failed in my effort to communicate salmonella concerns, so swallowed it down and hoped for the best), and calf thyroid. But I drew the line at some really weird and unappetizing stuff that I have long since forgotten the names of.

After language immersion, it was on to one of the famous Bullet trains going northeast on the main island of Honshu; we spent the next five weeks in the exact geographic area now devastated by the earthquake and tsunami - including many towns in Miyagi Prefecture and the lovely city of Sendai.

It was a beautiful part of the country, filled with charming and hospitable people. I fondly remember how kind and gracious everyone was to us. In one town, I was invited to sit in the Mayor's chair in their municipal council chambers. It caused quite a stir when I complied, and many photos were taken of a smiling 28 year old me...after which it was explained to me that I was the first woman to EVER sit in that chair!

We toured many seaside towns, and took note of the harbours heavily fortified with huge concrete barriers intended to ward off/break up tsunami waves. We visited a tsunami research centre, and learned about the multitude of precautions and warning systems in place - these people were very aware and very prepared.

It's beyond terrible to see the unimaginable devastation that has now struck that area and all the people who live there. Because I actually spent some time there, I feel even more than the usual human connection and empathy for their losses and extreme suffering. I remember walking on their waterfronts, and along the streets of towns that have now been swept away.

But it's my teeny-tiny little calculator that keeps popping into my mind. It was a souvenir gift given to me when I visited and toured one of the Fukushima nuclear power plants in the region...one of the three nuclear energy stations now reported to be at severe risk of meltdown. I can't begin to imagine the heroic struggles going on at those power plants - really, a suicide mission...what they are likely being exposed to in their desperate efforts to keep the rest of the populace safe from radiation.

Even watching the tsunami disaster captured on amateur video, now being shown over and over on CNN, I can't fathom what's happened to them and the aftermath they are dealing with...and all the unknowns yet to come. It is heartbreaking.

And, it reminds me that I also live in an earthquake zone considered overdue for a "big one", and that I am really not prepared for the unthinkable (beyond having a few "earthquake kits" on hand). Although, and this is not an excuse for inaction, is there really any way to prepare for a natural disaster of a magnitude that's far, far, far beyond your worst imaginings or most horrific nightmare?

What's worse or harder - dying in the actual disaster...or living through all the devastation and utter destruction, facing/grieving the losses, and then somehow mustering the courage to move forward?

One thing I know from my time in that part of Japan - these are definitely people who will survive and overcome what has befallen them. My heart goes out to them as they face what has happened and what comes next.

"Dai jo bu". (I can't quite remember the correct spelling but, in Japanese, this phrase conveys a reassuring "It's okay.")

Progress plus Mess Equals "Progmess"

We had to tear ourselves away from the Mexican sun, sand, and sea a week ago and return to the "Wet Coast" of BC. It hasn't been too bad, but given my 'druthers, I would still prefer being well south of here.

South, for us, means simple. Simple abode, simple lifestyle, fairly minimal and simple belongings...T-shirts, shorts, Crocs flip-flops, and bathings suits make up the majority of our clothing. Easy, breezy living - in 85 degree Fahrenheit temperatures with an endless blue sky, the invincible sun, exotic palm trees, and riotous, technicolour bouganvillia cascading over walls and sprouting out of every conceivable nook and cranny.

And the ocean - with an ever changing surf breaking on the soft, sandy shore. We tried to soak in and truly appreciate every moment of our time down south this winter, but the time just speeds by and it becomes a single blur of one, big, hot and sunny day-at-the-beach. One memory of a long, fabulous sunny day. It's fading as fast as my suntan.

Before we knew it, departure day was upon us. We had to come north because I was required to testify in a criminal trial, as a witness for the prosecution. We also needed to check in personally on 3 months of work on our cottage addition/renovation. A ton of work has been done in our absence and it's quite a transformation. We're really pleased, but there is still SO much to be done.



The interior finishing is about 50% complete, and it was the really m-e-s-s-y phase of dry walling. Oh my goodness, the coating of dry wall dust that's on everything...and the guys working on our place had done a lot of cleaning in anticipation of our arrival. But it's still a dirty, dusty mess and will be for quite a while. I spent the day washing down as much as I could and barely made a dent. There has been substantial progress, but it's still a mess, so I call that "prog-mess"!



I am happy with our wall paint colours - which range from a pale grey to a blue-tinged grey. I wanted a very neutral palette that I am calling "driftwood" - something that is restful and that reflects the natural surroundings. But I won't find this place at all restful until the renovation job is complete and the place is thoroughly clean!

Todo bien. (It's all good.)

Winding Down and Winding Up

I can't believe we're "suckers" in less than three days. That's what tourists on the departing jetliners we see out over the Bay of Banderas were dubbed a while back. It's smugly funny, when you're NOT soon-to-be-a-sucker yourself!

Today will still be quite normal but, tomorrow, we start packing and storing things away for the rainy summer season that is coming.

We're still managing to see and do new things here. Yesterday we lunched in the countryside at "Rancho Grande Los Pinas" (The Pine Big Ranch) and enjoyed a sweeping inland vista framed by the Sierra Madre mountains looming up behind Puerto Vallarta. And last night, we ventured out to the nearby town of La Cruz and finally found the famous "Philo's Bar" - one of the live music hot spots on the Riviera Nayarit.

The place was pretty full - turns out one of the regulars was celebrating a birthday and many had gathered in his honour. The mood was great, the music was R&B with hints of creole ("zydeco") sound, and we were even included when the huge, quadruple layer, chocolate decadence cake was cut and served! It was the first dessert I have tasted in at least 2 months, and I ate the whole slice. So, okay, I will lift a few more weights at the gym today.

One of the original songs by Philo sung last night was "Adios Mexico" and it was poignant for us.

Time just marches on, and change is continuous no matter where you are. The ownership/management at the country club (where we go to the gym) has just changed. By the time we come back next year, they will have displaced the gym (with the fabulous views of the pools, palms and grounds) and turned it into a 2 level restaurant. That will be nice, but our beloved gym is going to be relocated inside one of their other buildings and will have no windows or views. That makes me very sad and pre-nostalgic (i.e., I am already missing something that is still around at this time!).



I am going to miss the gorgeous warm weather, with the sun that caresses your skin like a solar embrace. I am going to miss wearing sundresses, shorts, T-shirts and flip-flop sandals. I am really going to miss having a tan. I am going to miss being l-a-z-y, because I have to get back to work and re-build a business decimated by the continued economic crunch.

While winding life down in Mexico, I have to wind up for a lot awaiting our return. The first thing I have to do when I get back is testify as a witness for the prosecution in a criminal trial (long story covered in another blog post awhile back). Talk about a rude shock to my system, especially in combination with the weather that awaits us (continued freezing cold and some snow).

This is getting me pre-depressed! I may just have to open that bottle of tequila we picked up at the Jaguar Ranch on our ATV tour and drown my pending "sucker" sorrows!



Todo bien. (It's all good.)