The reassuring sounds of an old home

Michael and I moved back into our family's lakeside cottage last week after missing last year's summer season. The weather was pretty punk last year and besides, we were in the middle of launching his first book, The Fracking War.

This year the weather is still a little punk. A ton of rain, cool temperatures, a ton of floating junk in the lake to keep us from boating.

But I don't care. It feels great to be "home".

Getting that extra year away from a summer at the lake has given me more perspective on this old – literally, old – place that was built at the turn of the century as a hunting and fishing camp. Sometime around 1900, someone dug out the rocky soil to put in a full-size basement. Over 100 years later, we have the same musty dirt floor. The wood beams that hold up the house are whole trees with the bark still on them, scarily drying out over too many years of service.

Historic signs mark this stretch of land overlooking Seneca Lake as a site of the original long houses and corn fields of the Iroquois before General Sullivan came through in 1779 and burned out the village for siding with the British in the Revolutionary War.

My mother bought the place around 1960, the third owner in 60 years. There has been a fair amount of patchwork changes over the years –– closing in part of the porch to put in a second bathroom, moving the kitchen from one side of the house to add an extra bedroom. Trying to ground some of the outlets. A picture window facing the lake.

But other than that, it's pretty much the same.

My unexpected treasure this season is becoming aware of the wonderful sounds this house still makes.

The same creaks on the staircase as I try to creep downstairs early in the morning without waking Michael. The sound of the pump as it fills the cistern under the kitchen floor with sparkling fresh well water. The sound of the rain as it hits the roof while we're sleeping upstairs.

Right after my mother died – already 10 years ago – 30 relatives and multiple generations gathered at the picnic tables in the side yard one sunny afternoon. Someone came out the back kitchen door and the screen door slammed shut – a big slam that turned everyone's head.

A nephew kindly offered to fix it, put in a new spring or a mechanism to have it slowly, softly close.

"Nooooooo!" cried the older cousins, just about in unison. That screen door has been slamming that way for decades, providing a memory through sound to remind us of all the times over the past decades we were heading in for dinner or bed, or heading out for swimming, berry picking, or escaping the chore list.

I don't know how many more years this old place will hold up. But as long as she stands, she holds the memories of my lifetime in every creak, squeak and thump  as when I was a child, a long, long, long time ago.







Here's the sound of the rain outside our cottage. A sweet, familiar Upstate New York sound.

The Accidental Vegan

I didn't set out to become a vegan. It just happened.

I had been playing around at being a vegetarian over the years, then went a few decades of eating meat as a path of least resistance in my home. I had married a carnivore (a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy) and eventually I got tired of cooking separate meals. So I caved.

So imagine my surprise when, after two decades of serving up a whole lot of chicken and beef, my husband came to me with a copy of The China Study and suggested I read it, then tell him what I thought.

So I did. And what I thought was, "How do I un-know this?" I wanted to continue being ignorant about how I was harming my own health because I wanted to keep on eating what I was eating.

We agreed to try the diet suggested in the book for 30 days, then see how we felt, whether we wanted to continue.

We had an easy month as I stretched my thinking about how to cook healthy, organic, plant-based foods and have everything be tasty too. It turned out to be easier than I thought, and a new fun challenge.

Thirty days later, feeling healthy, trimmer, and somewhat righteous, we received the devastating news that Michael's brother had suddenly died of a heart attack. Michael flew back from Mexico where we were staying for the winter to New York for the funeral. When he returned, we didn't even talk --- or consider --- going back to a meat-based diet.

So there we were.

I could repeat all the stuff that I learned by reading The China Study, about how our cherished food pyramid is a hoax, especially when it comes to the amount of protein that our bodies require. Or the impact of dairy on our bodies ---  I mourned giving up dairy.  Just think about --- no cheese, no ice cream, no frozen yogurt?

But here's the funny thing. I gave up meat and dairy because of selfish reasons --- the impact on these foods on my long-term health, as well as how I felt on a daily basis. My long-term hypoglycemia pretty much disappeared as I changed my diet. My digestive issues resolved themselves in record time. I felt lighter, more energetic, more like me.

And then my reasons evolved.

I started paying attention to things I had known as an adult. That we, as a species, are factory farming entire other species for our comfort --- not for our survival. And we're doing it inhumanely (because how could you do it humanely? Seriously?). We would drive by cattle lots and I would have to turn my head not solely because of the smell, but because of the overwhelming sadness of knowing all those cows were being grown to be slaughtered.

I connected the dots between the bacon on the plate of a friend to the pig it belonged to. I understood that the 'spare ribs' we had been eating weren't 'spare ribs' to the animal it originally belonged to.

A few weeks ago a truck filled with pigs going to slaughter parked in front of where we were standing for a minute. I found myself in direct eye contact with a pig shoved into the truck, while we listened to another pig squealing and shrieking with fear and pain while being manhandled on or off the truck, I couldn't tell which.

Pigs on their way to be slaughtered

I could only send a telepathic apology to that pig watching me. "I'm sorry," I thought. "I don't know what else to do."

And I watched that truck filled with pigs drive off, seeing it transpose itself in my mind into a truck full of Jews heading for the gas chambers, while humans stood by, helpless and powerless at that moment, knowing it was wrong.

I can hear some of you gasp with my analogy. My apologies to anyone I have offended. But here's my new bottom line, my new understanding: humans do not have more right to live on this planet than any other species. That our great intelligence was not created for us to impose such violence and greed on another species. That our great intelligence should be for kindness and equality towards all species. That taking these pigs to slaughter is not any different, to me, than killing our own.

Can I ever eat meat? Yes, I can. I have chosen to eat venison for Thanksgiving in Upstate New York that my cousin killed and prepared for the meal. I could choose to eat any meat where the animal grew wild and I knew the person who killed it, although I'm losing my taste for most of it. Our ancestors ate meat. But they didn't factory farm a species.

Esther the Wonder Pig

What recently solidified my thinking was following the delightful Esther the Wonder Pig on Facebook. Esther was  rescued by two humans who mistakenly thought she was a mini-pig, only to discover it was the same pig that was supplying Pulled Pork and bacon. She's such a character that she turned her humans into vegans too.

When you invite me over to dinner (and I hope you still will or I'll be really lonely), please don't apologize for eating meat or choosing to eat dairy. How you eat is up to you, your choice, just like it is for me.

But I made a silent vow that day while I watched those pigs on the way to the slaughter house that while I can't change the world, I can keep sharing my story, about how I evolved from someone who changed my diet because of selfish reasons --- my own health --  to understanding the cruelty of our species over others.

Winter 'off the grid' in Arroyo Seco

We're back in Arroyo Seco for a length of time, after a hiatus last winter while Michael wrote his book, The Fracking War.

The river between El Tecuan and Tenacatita

During our absence this past year we had the usual questions about the viability of living in this little surf village ---- the kind of fantasies that can go either way. Either projecting its absolute perfection, or focusing on the scorpions, the dirt, the lack of amenities.

The surprise this year was opening the gates to the property, standing in the palapa, looking out on to our oasis and once again seeing seeing the dream when we leveled the lot and poured the first concrete footer.

We've now been here enough years that the children that took our English classes the first year we lived there are now waiting tables and working at the new beach restaurants. And graduating from high school, having children, getting married. Our neighbors' son is almost done with his three-year program to become an auto mechanic -- and has arrived home with a cherry-red Mitsubishi Eclipse, which he occasionally now loans to his dad.

Last week we dusted off our Honda 4x4 quad and headed down to the still pristine beaches where my cousin and friends have rented a house for the month. We've started a Zumba class on the beach and we're working on one in town for the locals. We're patronizing the local beach restaurants, still astounded that we have options for times when we don't want to cook.

The beach at El Tecuan, south of Arroyo Seco

The road from the Highway to Arroyo Seco is paved --- no longer the 3k washboard into town. And the phone and electric poles in the middle of the road have been moved to the side of the road. Feels very grown up.

The town now has two internet cafes but the signal is so slow that it's almost impossible to download our emails, much less respond. We can have internet at our house but it's about a two-hour drive to pick up the DSL box so we're forgoing it for this year. And there's still no cell service in the village. I'm surprised to find I'm enjoying the disconnect.

And the beaches! Still remote, still pristine, still magnificent. Not very swimmable because it's open ocean, but we have a few swimming holes we can get to by quad. And it's always a good excuse to ride down the beach.

Bottom line ---- yes, we're still crazy. And we're still crazy about Arroyo Seco.

Cooling the feet after Zumba in La Manzanilla,
Tenacatita Bay

Fighting perpetual motion

The view from the porch

It's a Monday on the lake, the quiet time after the weekend vacationers have left, the ski boats are back at the dock, the occasional sound of a lawn mower in the distance.

 I came back to the cottage this morning after a vigorous and fun Zumba class, faced with a decision --- go to town with Michael, or stay 'home alone' for the afternoon.

That's a big decision for someone who has spent an entire life in motion.

As I eased into the decision, I wondered if this new appreciation for quiet, for privacy, for aloneness, is growth, or age.

No matter.

 It's finally a cool day in the Northeast United States, after a scorcher of a humid, hot week. Yesterday we had a lovely north wind and spent the afternoon sailing around in one of our sailboats, one of many of our fleet of lake boats. I'm comfortably sore, comfortably tired. Comfortable.

 I grabbed my library book and a soft lap quilt and headed to the metal porch glide, savoring the vocabulary, the word selection, the introspection in this lovely book, "The Lost Art of Mixing."

 Listen to this delightful passage:

 "For some reason, everything seemed so much clearer when he was at the lake. Tom had tried to talk about it once to his father, who had misunderstood and gone on a long tangent about weather patterns and a lack of pollution. But that hadn't been what Tom meant. For Tom, life in the city was full of patterns so complex you could never see the separate strands. But the cabin never changed; it was the place he returned to, judged his own progress against his sameness ---- the unexpectedly tall top porch step that tripped him as a toddler later becoming a comfortable resting spot for his long teenage legs as he sat on a Fourth of July watching the fireworks. When he returned after his freshman year in college, he came to see that porch step as a joke played on every newcomer, whose eventual instinctive adjustment to its height would be a sign of their true inclusion in the tribe of summer people."

My daily instinct is to grab the paintbrush to get another coat on the primer, weed the side yard, pick berries or cherries or peaches and get them fixed into jam, do the laundry, wash the car, make a phone call, query that freelance article, do the dishes, run to the market to buy fresh vegetables, sweep, vacuum, dust, wash windows.

Endless motion.

For today, I'm grateful for retirement, grateful to have the will (or fatigue) to stop, sit, read, contemplate, look at lake from this old porch. And try to remember to do it again tomorrow.  Or at least sometime soon.

I'm missing all my friends and family from around the world, hoping you get a chance to join me on this old, sloping porch sometime and listen to the quiet together.

Updates on having your foreign-plated car in Mexico

The meeting this Wednesday in Nuevo Vallarta about immigration and how vehicles and FM3s and other visas are related stirred up a rather large dustup.

Here are some brief clarifications to the original blog, based on information from the powerpoint and Q & A that was just sent out by the Embassy following the meeting:

* First, according to the Question and Answer session information from the meeting:  “For a permanent importation according to this year’s NAFTA regulations the vehicle must be at least 6 years old (please contact your customs authorities).”

Earlier it was reported that the opposite was true. So, your vehicle must be six years or older, and cannot have the letter "J" as the first letter of your VIN number (because it was manufactured in Japan and not eligible for importation).

* Second, although several people reported that the new vehicle rules require that you get your vehicle imported within 60 days of getting your renewed FM3, the published Q & A does not have any time frame information included. So we're still researching how long we have to get our truck imported. Or get it out of the country. We did read that there will not be a 'grace period'. But not how long we have to resolve it legally. Stay tuned.

* Third, the question of “where” you can import your vehicle was answered this way: “ You must always contact a registered customs agent for any permanent importation at the northern border or maritime terminal if the vehicle came by sea into Manzanillo or Cancun.”

Reading all the documents so far, it sounds like we would have to drive our truck back to our point of origin when we first arrived in Mexico (Nogales, for us), have our current import sticker legally removed (the one that is currently attached to our FM3). Then we would have to start the importation process.

From the documents we've received, it definitely sounds like no foreign-plated cars will be allowed in Mexico for longer than 180-days without being imported, and importation has to happen at the border.

You can still get the 10-year importation for boats and RV's.

Perhaps the customs regulations will evolve to allow us to import without going back to the border since so many gringo vehicles will be impacted. Unfortunately, Michael and I are about to receive our new resident visa card and might have to drive the truck out just because we're renewing at the beginning of the process, before anyone knows quite how it will shake down.

We'll continue to update as we work on our specific case. Love to hear from anyone who is even earlier in the process than us.

An informational meeting the new Mexican immigration laws

I attended a 'town hall' meeting today by the United States Consular Agency of Nuevo Vallarta  "intended to educate the public on the new Mexican laws regarding visa renewal and the temporary importation of a foreign plated car to Mexico."

700 plus expats for today's immigration meeting

It was apparently a pretty hot topic for expats. The Consulate expected 200 people. More than 700 people showed up.

They started with the caveat that these are the local immigration officials and not those that enacted the law and to please "not shoot the messenger."

My own caveat is that I'm NOT AN EXPERT and I'm just posting my notes from today's meeting. I'm not guaranteeing the accuracy on their part or on my part. To the best of my ability, I'm just relaying what I heard."

So with that, here goes a summary of my notes:

Let's start with the basics. If you're not already up to speed on the nuances of Mexican immigration, please look elsewhere online for info.

Here's the new time frame for the current application process since the law changed Nov. 7:
* You still renew 30 days prior to expiration.
* It should take 20 working days to process your application in order to take your fingerprints.
* After your fingerprinted, the completed applications are sent to Mexico City.
* Mexico City issues the final forms.
* There is a two to three week wait for the card to return to your office where you applied.

So, expect about 6 to 8 weeks for the application/renewal process.

They also said that the replacement cost for lost or stolen residency cards is quite a bit higher --- maybe $2000 pesos or more to replace the permanent card.
As to the types of visas, it sounds there are still four levels of visas --- temporary tourist visa, FM-3s, FM-2s, and the Permanent Resident.

I'm still not clear on the difference between the FM-3 and FM-2 at this point because although I have been hearing that they no longer exist, they were still referred to during the presentation. But it sounds like either one leads to the application process for Permanent Immigrant status six months before your visa expires in your fourth year.

We're waiting on our FM-something card to come back from Mexico City, so hopefully that will clear it up for us. 

For permanent status for those of us retired, you have to prove a monthly income of over $32,500 pesos per month or investments equal to over one million and something. I could find this number online but I didn't catch it today.

It also sounded like there might be exceptions but it was only briefly alluded to and it would take a trip to immigration for each case.

If you're out of the country when it's time to renew, you have 55 days to re-enter the country and five business days to renew. But the total number of days cannot exceed 60, regardless of the situation. It sounded like there wouldn't be any exceptions for that, and that might have to apply for an extension. That part wasn't clear.

They also said if you leave or return on a tourist visa while you have your resident visas, it will cancel your resident visas and you'll have to start over. Don't know how that would happen unless it is now all computerized. But apparently they really don't want any of us doing this (anymore?).

The big news which the local immigration specialists said they are already challenging is the change in the customs laws concerning foreign plated vehicles in the country.

An official announced.... drum roll, please.... that once you've received your new immigration card (all levels), you have 60 days to get your vehicle out of the country.

Sixty days?

I'm guessing that most ex-pats living in Mexico are hoping that they don't know what they're talking about on this issue. We talked to our immigration specialist after the meeting who said that they are already investigating this information and have not been told this. Nor has anyone read it in a law anywhere.

So ---hopefully this is a misinterpretation said to a mere, oh, 700 PLUS PEOPLE IN AN AUDITORIUM. Who probably all of have foreign-plated cars.

Hoo boy.

They also said that if it is a six year old vehicle or newer, it can be imported. Under this new change in customs, the only foreign plated cars in the country will be those coming down with people holding tourist visas, and must be taken out of the country within six months.

 I'll post whatever news I hear about cars as soon as I hear it, since we would part of a huge caravan of vehicles that would have to leave the country pronto.

In the meantime, I would encourage all of you reading this to follow our lead and just wait for more information to settle out before we all panic and head for the border.

Those of us who attended the meeting are supposed to receive the power point and Q & A's (which had to be submitted a week before the meeting) by email. When I do, I'll be glad to share the information. But it might take a while.

In the meantime, we'll all just Stay Tuned to 'As the Visas Renew'....

Beach chair hoarding doesn't bode well for humanity

 The palapa wars --- or chair hoarding --- on the beach here in Nuevo Vallarta has gone nuclear and it's  positively embarrassing for humankind.

 Here's what's happening in Mexico --- although Florida must have its identical stories about its Snow Birds and anyone who has stayed at a beach resort has probably witnessed it.

Stacking and hoarding beach chairs -- a Gringo sport?

When we first arrived in November in Nuevo Vallarta, people would slip down to the beach early in the morning and 'claim' their beach chairs and the shade of a palm-frond palapa by leaving a beach towel or a book or a personal item laying on a chaise lounge.

I thought that was silly enough, but okay.... if that chair and that palapa are that important to your happiness, go for it.

But now it's gotten to Palapa Insanity. As has our world.

Now people are stacking a half-dozen chaise lounges under one palapa, with another half dozen upright plastic chairs stacked nearby and a towel draped over all of it the night before!

Seriously?

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the chairs were actually used?

What it means in this small expat community is that even the relatively sane people who don't want to be reduced to chair claiming (or chair hoarding) are finding themselves forced to play the game, or they won't have a place to sit --- even for an hour or two.

Worse, these reserved chairs sit empty for most of the afternoon, their possession-crazed owners likely up in their condos, not even on the beach, catching up with a little TV.

Last night while we were down watching yet another sunset,  a friend apologetically put her towel on a chaise lounge in the back row because she wanted to make sure she had a place to sit the next day.

But by the time we arrived on the beach at 8 this morning to do a little Zumba, her towel had been tossed aside and another set of towels were there to claim possession.

Really? How embarrassing for all of us.

It's stunning to watch adult humans reduced to this open warfare. But the hopelessness I feel is that it is simply a microcosm of what is going on in the human race --- the selfishness, the greed, the self-centeredness.

The big 'MINE' of resources, energy, land, money, food, stuff.

I have no idea how the Palapa Wars will get resolved on this beach, other than the season ending and the sport of chair hoarding will no longer be fodder for the daily amusement of the Mexican employees.

But it doesn't bode well for us as a species. If we can't even get it together to figure out how to cooperate on as simple an issue as beach chairs, how likely is it that we'll figure out how to share fuel, food, medicine?

It's a topic I'll try not to think about when I wander down to the beach later on this afternoon and look for a place to sit. I'm sure someone will offer to share....

Living within our means doesn't mean hardship

It's rainy in Puerto Vallarta, and quiet. Both unique in Mexico for January 1 of any year.

Michael and I started our New Year's Eve last night with our annual 'Budget Summit' -- something we started doing monthly when we made the decision to retire more than five years ago. We had accumulated some credit card debt, had lived beyond our means for a bit (had a great time too!) but it was time to hunker down and figure out how to get out of debt. Get adequate savings. And retire.

Wishing you a great New Year from Mexico!

We started because although I was absolutely ready to retire and walk away from my university teaching job, we couldn't afford it. But I also knew I could keep on plugging away as long as I could see we were making progress toward pulling the plug.

I just suited up, showed up, got my direct deposit, only spent cash and then only frugally. And Michael reported monthly on how much progress we were making on paying off our debts, how much money we were able to put into savings.

We hunkered down together with a mission to be debt free in two years ---  we got in the life raft together with both of us rowing in the same direction ----  and we accomplished that goal in 18 months. And immediately filed for retirement.

A sweet reward for some self-discipline and working together as a couple.

Last year we added a philosophical level to it: apply a matrix of our personal priorities/dreams.  It was after Michael read the Steve Job's biography where Job's said everything you do, every decision you make, should be connected to the top categories in your matrix.

For Michael, it was health, family, writing, friends. For me, it was health, community, adventure, fiscal prudence. Basically, living within our means. I guess I was concerned about living on a retirement income.

But regardless of what is in the matrix, it's a great conversation to have with a spouse. Hey, Hon --- what are your priorities for the year? A seriously important --- and interesting ---  conversation.

So last night we had our budget summit. Today we talk about our personal priorities, see what has changed, what has stayed the same in our matrix. How does it overlap? How is it different?  And then I'm hoping we will be able to apply that to our spending:  is what we're about to spend directly related to one of our agreed on categories as a couple?

Hopefully, more travel! More family time! But we'll talk.

What triggered my frustration this morning is reading about this supposed compromise to our national  'fiscal cliff' by our elected leaders. It isn't a surprise that our elected leaders aren't providing the leadership required for this country to pull itself out of the abyss. Regardless of party.  It is not a surprise that our leaders don't believe we --- the American public --- can understand or be persuaded that we will all have to sacrifice and we will all have to live within our means, as a country.

But that's the leadership I want. And I believe it's the leadership that is required.

Perhaps it's time to have that conversation as a family first, then as a country and not wait for our elected officials to solve this. Because they either can't or won't.  I can barely stand to watch, like a slow motion car accident, but I can't avert my eyes either.

So, personally, 2013 is going to be a great year. Nationally, well, not so much?

Feliz Año Nuevo, friends, wherever you are.

Only in Mexico?

Michael and I took off for a quick birthday weekend trip to Arroyo Seco to pick up some things for our time in Puerto Vallarta and to celebrate my birthday with a few friends at a few of our favorite restaurants.

Nothing worked out quite as we had planned --- nothing new there --- but we came home with stories to tell.

The new paved road into Arroyo Seco!

The biggest Arroyo Seco news was, of course, that the three kilometer road from the highway into town was now paved.

We just replaced the shocks and struts on our Toyota Tundra, which undoubtedly wore out because of three kilometers of washboard road to get in and get out of the village. So the smooth ride was fantastic.

But the planning? Only in Mexico.

Caution tape on the telephone pole

One side of the road is an arroyo or riverbed, so the road had to be widened on the other side. But the big concrete telephone poles had just been installed last year after the hurricane and no one wanted to spend about $1,500 (US) per pole to move about six of them.

So they didn't.

One is in the middle of the road. Another is about mid-lane in one place. One is almost off the road but then the guide wires are in the middle of one lane.

Hmmmm..... what's wrong with this lane?

At least someone thought to put some caution tape around the one in the middle of the road. How handy. But there aren't any street lights on the road between the highway and the village, and some are almost at the top of hills but not quite.

All in all, quite hilarious until the first fatality.

The pavement hasn't quite made it to town yet

Locals just shrug their shoulders, still delighted to finally have a smooth ride home.

Unfortunately, the pavement stops as it gets to town so we still have a dirt road by our place. But our neighbor reminded us that it is poco a poco --- little by little --- and it will arrive. I have patience. It's something else I've learned living down here.

My birthday itself was somewhat eventful. After our beach ride, we returned home for lunch to discover an invasion of tiny ants --- IN OUR BED! So instead of going out for a nice lunch, we were stripping, shaking, spraying. Ick.

Then this morning as I headed for a last bathroom break before getting into the truck to drive back up to Vallarta, I found this little friend IN THE TOILET! Thank goodness I looked before I sat.

Grateful to remember to look before sitting....

I was reminded that living in the country is not for the faint of heart, whether in upstate New York or coastal Mexico. And a mantra from sailing kept coming to mind.... 'it's not an ordeal, it's an adventure.'

That's what we always told ourselves when the trip was devolving rapidly. So the Captain is on notice that I'm taking a rain check on my birthday and that I'll get back to him with a new date and a new plan. No ants or frogs will be invited.

The legacy of our Valois 'frontier' women

I drove up to our lake cottage this week as we were battening down for Hurricane Sandy and a Nor'Easter to simultaneously arrive and I was once again struck --- awe and admiration --- for those hearty women who lived up here year 'round for most of their lives.

My mother at her 80th birthday party, with her neighbor and friend, Mary Crouch.

My mother, Louise Schwartz, chose to winterize our summer cottage in Upstate New York and make it her permanent home after my father died and after we had a brief fling living on Sanibel Island. She wanted to come home to her roots, her family, and this cottage on Seneca Lake was always the love of her life.

She shoveled out her car (no garage or carport) to drive over the icy Searsburg Road to Trumansburg to teach, and later even farther, to Dryden.

It was before the Finger Lakes Wine Trail was even an idea. Or legal.  No wineries, no local restaurants --- just Sheik's Oasis, our corner bar that occasionally threw a frozen pizza in a toaster oven. So it took neighbors and friends to make it through those long winters.

Mary Sullivan Crouch lived next door in a farmhouse her family had owned since she was a child. They would call each other daily to catch up on their news, make sure they were okay. Sometimes Mom would tell me they hadn't seen each other for weeks during the winter, even though they could probably have waved to each other out their bedroom windows.

And they did it as single women living in the country for many decades.

Our house on the left, Mary's below

One time Mom told me she hadn't been out of the cottage for a week. Literally. Not even as far as the mailbox. Way too treacherous with ice and snow, she said. I couldn't wrap my mind around it, as someone who has followed the sun to warm climates for most of my adult life.

But as I went up to the lake house to make sure nothing I left in the front yard would get picked up and smash through the front picture window, as I thought about getting the water shut down before the first real freeze this week, I was in awe.

Awe that this was such a challenging place to live and that she and Mary were up to the job. Didn't even question it.  That they would get snowed in until the plow showed up, that the water pipes would occasionally freeze, that Mom would shut off the second floor to try to keep the downstairs warm enough and the utilities affordable. And that they still loved it.

I stood on our overlook watching the northerly winds blasting down the lake, feeling the temperature drop, the rain come on. I looked up at the huge trees surrounding our little cottage, limbs swaying in the breeze. I thought about a story that my cousin's husband, 'The Bear' told me --- that when Mom was snowed in long enough she would call John and he would show up on his snowmobile with a pack of cigarettes for her. Otherwise, she was 'just fine.'

This summer our neighbor down the hill, Ruth Rundell, passed away at 87 years old. Mom died at 83. Mary died at 93. These three amazing women are gone, the three cottages passed on to the next generation. They were hearty, strong women, good neighbors always.

It's a beautiful legacy. One I hope to live up to....

Louise in her garden on the shores of Seneca Lake

Cashing in return tickets?

Probably not, but I can definitely see why so many cruisers got this far and never left.

On a secluded beach on the East side of Vava'u, Tonga

We've explored the Vava'u island by kart, then swam with the whales the next day. Yesterday was the opening day of the Vava'u Regatta, followed by a Pub Crawl through the town, Mardi Gras style.

Michael, far left, swimming with a Momma whale and her calf

Today is a traditional Tongan feast, complete with the poor little suckling pig that was probably just running across the lawn at the Port of Refuge Villas where we're staying.  Sundays are a mandatory day of family, church and rest in Tonga. Apparently no shops are allowed to be open, other than the bakery (which is the day they bake, I guess).

Tomorrow I teach my first Zumba class here as the Regatta goes into full bore race/party.

What's really bizarre is that today is the Spring Solstice here, which is tomorrow for y'all on the other side of the planet, and it's Fall for you. Love it!

Very lightweight internet signal so this is just a quick post to say that Tonga is fantastic, and yes, we're still coming back to the States in another week with lots of photos, videos and stories to tell.

A change of season, a change of plans

This is the first time we've been at our cottage at Seneca Lake in Upstate New York after Labor Day in about, oh, 40 years or more.

The end of the fresh veggies and the beginning of the grapes

We could feel the season changing --- shorter days, the bright colors of the early leaves changing, the last of the best sweet corn ever, treasuring the freshness of every last slicing tomato.

It was probably the hottest summer on record (again) in Upstate New York and it made for an endless summer of boating and swimming and generally finding ways to cool down. For all of you who poo-poo the difference between 90 degrees of dry heat and 90 degrees of humid heat, just try it out for yourselves. Ninety-five degrees and 80 percent humidity just sits on your chest and diaphragm and makes you seek shade near the coolness of the lake with a cold drink in your hand. Productivity diminishes as the temperature rises. Most of the houses in our area don't have air conditioning --- nor have they ever needed it.

Until now.

But the demarcation of Labor Day is still like a 'before and after' of summer. It was hot, hot, hot. Then the switch flipped and it was cold, cold, cold. Low of 42. High of 62. And now I get how the locals love the change of seasons. Pull out the fleece, make a cup of tea, and ho ho! Our energy is back and frisky, just like all the dogs that have gone from panting in the shade of the park to leaps and frolics.

Fall!

As we started to shut down the lake cottage, getting all the linens cleaned and dried and into plastic storage bags, scrubbing down a summer of dirt and fun so the critters will have less motivation to move in while we're gone for the winter, I time traveled back to every summer when we would go into mourning as we closed up and returned to the city the day after Labor Day.

School in New York started the Wednesday after Labor Day (and probably still does) so after months of running free, not having a schedule, swimming, skiing, playing games, hanging out, it was back to the 'real world' for us. No wonder we weren't eager to leave.
 
We had planned on being in New York for our first fall since our college years and have had so many of our snowbird friends tell us that fall is their favorite season there. That you can have warm weather, sun and swimming anywhere if you go south enough, but fall, ahhhhhhhh. It's special.

Mourning the last of the sweet corn

But in our normal subject to change lifestyle, we're in Sacramento today to see our kids and grandkids for a few days before we hop on a plane to go explore the Kingdom of Tonga in the South Pacific for a few weeks and write some stories, do some sailing as part of a regatta, dance some Zumba with the Tongans.

We'll have plenty of photos and stories to tell when we return, along with a plan, for sure, to spend next fall on the shores of Seneca Lake.

Knock on wood, I'm back

After another three weeks of coughing, and I really think, this time, I'm going to make it.

I know, I've said that before.

I spent the last few weeks breathing through a nebulizer four times a day, inhaling steroids, taking an antibiotic. And coughing.

The final verdict is that I probably had whooping cough --- pertussis. I started getting sick with a pretty horrible cough at the end of February, serious fatigue, and a cough that changed over the months but never got better, only worse. It was only when my newest doctor threw everything at it that I started to get a little better. And get hope.

And besides the coughing, that was the toughest part about being sick. Wondering if I was going to have respiratory problems that would last the rest of my life. These past few months, I just stopped doing my usual everything and did nothing.

I quit going or teaching Zumba. I lost the motivation to do all the home projects I had been looking forward to doing. I didn't walk. Didn't play my fiddle. Didn't socialize. Didn't write. Nada. Because not only do you feel sick from being sick, you feel terrible from all the side effects from all the medicines that are essential to keep the cough at bay, much less cure the damn thing.

Now that we have a diagnosis and I'm feeling better, I understand what happened. When I started coughing, I (and all the doctors) assumed it was a typical virus. If I had taken an antibiotic then, I might have had a chance of a quicker recovery. But adults don't have the typical 'whoop' sound of the cough, it's just deep and persistent. So by the time I took one of several antibiotics, it was to treat secondary infections.

In other words, too late.

But what I really want to say is --- knock on wood --- I'm back. I taught a Zumba class yesterday morning with just a few short hacks and wheezes. I worked on a quilting project. I took an hour long walk with Michael, up and down the Watkins Glen hills. And I felt fine afterwards, just tired. As it should be.

Monday morning I start teaching a long postponed Zumba class to my Hector Warrior Women friends, launch a business I've had on hold (more about that another time), open up the lake house, and generally go back to life in the fast lane of retirement.

And be very, very grateful that I can.

Missing a patient friendly Mexico

Knock on wood, I think I'm going to make it.

I picked up some little respiratory virus on the beach in Mexico at the end of February, which started with a little hacking and wheezing and ended with a lot of hacking and wheezing, multiple inhalers and a lot of interactions with the medical profession in Mexico, California and New York. And the winner in patient care is...... drum roll, please.....

Mexico. With no runner ups.

If you think that we have the best health care in the world, think again.

My bronchial cough started in the little village of La Manzanilla, and it was simple to walk into Dr. Marta's pharmacy, find out what respiratory virus has been going through the winter population, what to expect, and how to treat it.

No appointment required.

The following week I could feel some some asthma-like symptoms after exercising, so I headed up to another clinic, just up the road from Arroyo Seco. The clinic in Careyes is quite impressive, open until 8 each evening and all night if you pay more. They charge $700 pesos per visit if you're not Mexican (about $52), and the doctor sells you the medicine you need so you don't need to go to another pharmacy. No doubt she has also figured out the profit margin on drugs.

But the point is, medical care was accessible. I was sick, I could go see someone. I could get medications. I could go home feeling a little less anxious about whatever was going on with my lungs.

The following week we were vacationing on the beach in Puerto Vallarta, north of our Mexican vacation home, and my lungs or bronchials still weren't working well. So I could walk into another 24-hour clinic and get a thorough check up, this time getting an additional prescription for a secondary infection. Although I was frustrated that I couldn't shake this thing, I was relieved to be able to get checked out. That clinic charged $40 U.S. and rechecks were free.

Next we traveled back to Sacramento, California, spending a few fun weeks seeing kids and grandkids. Lungs and bronchials were still giving me grief, and I still couldn't exercise. But now we're back in the states, so I had to make an appointment with my regular physician for the following day (although I only had a $20 co-pay. Although insurance picked up $165 U.S. dollars for that 20 minute visit). A nice bonus with the California system is emailing your physician with questions, although it might be a day before you hear back.

Then home to NY: Because my doctor in New York had moved on from the clinic where we usually go, another doctor was kind enough to see me on an emergency basis. But no calls to or from the clinic after 4 p.m. when the clinic closes for the day. Any minor emergencies, like changes in medication, requires a trip up to the local emergency room. And a lot of dollars.

So from a patient's perspective, Mexico works a lot better than what I've been experiencing.

In Mexico, doctors usually work from about 9 a.m. until 7 or 8 in the evening, having taken a break between two-hour break for lunch mid-afternoon. So they are available evenings when people often need them.

Many Mexican doctors give you their cell phone number and email addresses so you can ask questions. I don't have to make an appointment, travel to the doctor's office, sit and wait my turn to ask if he or she thinks I can lower a dosage.

A patient friendly system, for me, is to work as a team. They have the knowledge, I have the body and the systems. And often, yes, the anxiety. Our system isn't patient friendly as long as we keep our physicians sequestered and inaccessible.

A minor status detail in Mexico --- the doctors walk in the same front door into the office or clinic as the patients. When is the last time you saw a doctor walk in the same door with you? It definitely discourages casual interaction.

This isn't to blame U.S. doctors. The ones I've seen are great. They've taken their time, they are thoughtful in their approach to treating a persistent problem. I have no doubt that in the current medical system of having too many patients and too little time, they could be inundated and work 24-hours a day trying to be responsive.

But, regardless of whose fault it is,  it's pretty bad that when I'm sick, I wish I was back in Mexico for my health care.

Little Arroyo Seco starts to grow up

We returned home to Arroyo Seco late January this year, months later than normal, to find our sleepy little Mexican village not so sleepy anymore.

It’s like realizing your child is now a teenager. It’s with a lot of mixed emotions.

The big news?

After years of promises, the 3-kilometer road connecting us to the highway is on its way to being paved.

We arrived just after a big meeting on the beach to announce that the local municipality and the state had committed the funds to finally pave the road all the way to the beach.

I’m sure it has nothing to do with the state senator who built a beautiful beach home on Playa Grande last year.

Cattle still share the roads with cars and quads.

The locals are vibrating with excitement about a paved road --- no longer the washboard road that was the price of admission to our lovely little village on the coast.

And they are hopeful that their cars will last longer and that lots of land will start to sell again --- maybe even for more money --- after sales stalled with the U.S. economy several years ago.

But for the two of us gringos in town, it is with trepidation that we imagine the future here, of Americans and Canadians and Europeans ‘discovering’ Arroyo Seco, now that the road will signal a clear and easy path to the beach.

We are in Sayulita this weekend, the tiny little groovy surf beach where every meter is built, and we wonder, what will Arroyo Seco look like in two years? Five? Ten?

We’ve spotted a lot of subtle  –– and not so subtle –– changes already this season.

The municipal government workers are driving a brand-spanking new garbage truck to town, and two large dumpsters are on the beach. They look really nice and the vultures seem to be enjoying how much garbage is available without even having to cruise for lunch.

We are hoping the municipality actually starts to pick up the garbage too.

Coconut shrimp served on the beach.

Down at the beach we have three ---- yes, three! --- restaurants and the seafood is fabulous and fresh. Seriously fantastic. And one even serves sushi.

And weekly we have interrupted Russian MTV cameras filming surfing and other exotic events on the end of our beach during our rides on our Honda 4 wheel drive quad.

That’s when I knew for sure progress is heading our way, sooner rather than later.

Russian MTV cameras on Playa Grande

In the meantime, much remains the same.

The children still walk by our place about 8:30 every morning on their way to school. The mothers with the younger siblings pass by at 10 to bring the schoolchildren their lunch and sit with them while they eat. All the kids are home at 1:30 for the day.

Most of the teenagers are playing volleyball in the square at night, families are sitting in front of their homes for the evening conversations. But this year you can also spot some of the teens in the new internet café (gasp!), chatting on Facebook, of course.

We can still buy a chicken or vegetables from a neighbor’s place a block behind us who swings by our place on her bicycle later with the freshly killed and plucked chicken, the freshly picked squash or cilantro or tomatoes from their farm just outside of the village.

Later you can make an appointment with her for a pedicure for $75 pesos, the equivalent of maybe six dollars and change.

The tortoises are still laying their eggs on the beach, but rather than the locals digging them up to eat (for virility) or selling (for pesos), some of the locals are finally rescuing the eggs by digging them up and putting them into a more secure area on the beach to launch after a natural hatching.

The fun part for me this year is that my Spanish is finally sufficient enough to pass the time with my neighbors, and I go to town with a local girlfriend or two and we can converse enough to make jokes only other women would understand.

And that was really the goal when we made the decision to move here, to immerse ourselves in a village where we were forced to speak Spanish so that even this tired, old brain could learn another language. 

So we will watch progress march on through this village and in front of our home on this newly paved road, treasure the time we’ve had to get to know the people and the culture.

And we will see whether progress is for the best.

A test to publish

This is a test of posting from my iPad.

Choosing to live with less?

For the past 10 years --- more if you include summers --- Michael and I have chosen to live what my parents would have called a 'bohemian life' that meant living with limited utilities, limited comfort.

Whether we lived on our boat or in a rural village in Mexico or in our lake cottage in rural upstate New York, we constantly monitored our usage of what most Americans take for granted: water, sewage, gas, electric, garbage.

Know what we had, what we used, what we stored --- it was a lifestyle we had accidentally chosen.

We would carry a couple hundred gallons of fresh water on our 48' Maple Leaf sailboat, Sabbatical. So when I washed the dishes, took a shower, brushed my teeth, I knew I'd better not to let the water run because we would run out. Even after we moved off the boat and on to land when we built our home in Arroyo Seco, Mexico, the village would only turn on the water for an hour every morning so we could fill our water tanks for washing and watering. Drinking water still had come from the 5-gallon jugs purchased from the daily water trucks.

Living in our lake cottage in rural Upstate New York isn't a lot different. We use a beach well for our water, pumping the water into a big cistern located underneath the kitchen floor. So even in the United States, we've still had to be cognizant of how much water we've been using -- especially when we have guests -- or the cistern will go dry, which means the pump goes dry, which means Michael has to go grumbling down to the cellar to re-prime the pump. And then refill the cistern. Otherwise, no dishes, no showers, no flushing the toilets.

Because the 100-year-old cistern is a bit suspect, we haul water in by jugs. Limited water, just like on the boat. And just like Mexico.

Garbage is also an issue everywhere we've been living, which means selecting food and drink products based on the packaging. On the boat, small containers stored well. But then you have more containers to dispose of. We could fill glass bottles and throw them overboard to become crab condos on the bottom of the sea. But not plastic. We 'composted' food over the side because it's pointless to save it in a plastic garbage bag to send it back to a landfill.

In Mexico, if we throw everything into big plastic trash bags, the garbage guys will pick it up and deliver it just up the road from our village where they burn it. All of it --- including all plastics, toxic whatevers, tires, everything.

Really lovely when you live downwind....

So we tended to be careful to sort, compost, recycle, return.

Other utilities were limited as well.

When we ran out of propane on the boat for the stove and barbecue, the propane bottle would have to get to shore, then to a gas company for a refill (usually without a car), then back on the boat and reinstalled. So we were pretty careful with our propane use.

It was a little bit better in Mexico. The propane truck came by twice a week, although propane is pretty pricey there. For the water heater, we opted for a solar heater. Lots of sun in Mexico.

And then there's the head (or the bathroom for you landlubbers). That waste has to go somewhere. And the water that you flush with has to come from somewhere. Always a big issue on a boat. In Mexico and in New York, we built huge septic systems, so we wouldn't have to worry about that for at least a decade.

We hope.

So --- when we bought our 'new' little house in Watkins Glen, it seemed a miracle that the water would continue endlessly (as long as we pay the bill), we could drink the water, flush whenever and whatever, crank up the thermostat on the natural gas heat, put all the garbage out on the curb, throw all the recyclables into one container for someone else to sort.

These are comforts most Americans take for granted.

I could too. But here I am, not even five months into civilization, stunned at how easy it is to slip into a cavalier attitude about these resources. It's so easy to let more water run in the sink, run the dishwasher with only half a load. Same with the washing machine. Forget the clothelines! Just turn on the dryer.

So here's the first part of my epiphany for today: If I'm no longer vigilant about the packaging, the waste, the storage, if I can start to slide backwards after a decade of paying attention, and I multiply my attitude and use by an estimated 6.94 billion people on the planet, well, Houston, I think we've got a problem.

I finally understand the simplicity of the dilemma.

We're waiting and hoping for Americans (and all humans) to choose to turn off their faucets, take their bags to the grocery store, buy merchandise with the least amount of packaging so less is produced and less is taken to the landfill. We are hoping people will choose to use less of everything so we will need fewer energy resources which will then produce less pollution.

In the meanwhile, while we all bask in the ease and comfort of what we believe are unlimited resources, we're fouling our own nest and about to get expelled by Mother Earth. At least that's what it feels like these days as we break all kinds of weather records around the globe.

So the second part of my epiphany? We all need to change our lifestyles, use fewer resources, go without. And that's not going to happen. And it's probably too late.

Since I don't have a solution, all I can conclude is that perhaps my generation should start apologizing to our children right now. And to our grandchildren.

And in the meantime, turn the water faucet off.

An incredible video about the human destruction of our planet