So, imagine my surprisedismay shock! disgust! when I walked into my bathroom, which is the furthest room away from the walled-in garden of my house it could possibly be, to find a f***ing toloc hanging out behind the toilet. [Read more…]
I am not living the life I imagined. I think a lot of people can say that. For some, that’s a good thing. Or, it can be not so good.
Specifically, I’m contemplating the price of “paradise”…and if I want to pay it.
Tropica is in the news as the perfect place to live, work and retire. Real estate porn – colonial houses, pools, hammocks, low cost of living are why baby boomers are pouring into town. While the press extolls the beauty and virtues Tropica I’m thinking of going in the other direction.
In Tropica it’s always guest season. Living in a vacation destination means a lot of houseguests. I enjoy picking people up at the airport and having the stimulation and fun of visitors.
Being a good houseguest is an art, but it can also be a learned skill. If you have friends living in interesting places, and you are lucky enough to be invited to stay, it means you can travel all the more. So it behooves you to treat your hostess like the treasure she is.
Fall in Tropica. The tourists are gone. Kids are in school. The hotels on the Riviera Maya are empty and prices are the lowest they’ll be all year. The snowbirds haven’t arrived yet. The air has finally cooled down to 80F/26C. The Tropicans are in bliss.
I’m filled with nostalgia for crisp air, sweaters, and the flaming colors of leaves. How I miss the autumn of my childhood in the U.S. Palm trees are always green. Halloween, which isn’t a Mexican custom, has drifted in nonetheless and is fighting with Christmas for floor space in Costco. Not a pretty sight.
I’m usually never at a loss for words…but yes, my friends, I have succumbed to the inertia that is the essence of the word: summer.
What is summer like in a place where it feels like summer all year round? Even in Tropica there are subtle seasons. School’s out just like everywhere and life slows down even more. The weather is, if you can believe it, hotter and stickier. Meriland empties out like Paris in August, with everyone going to their beach houses on the Gulf.
Warning! This post may bore you to tears. Or you may laugh and recognize yourself.
Hey, it’s a beach read, slouchy, easy…and people love it when I air my dirty laundry (in this case, pants) in public. Here goes.
I invited my DD to be the voice of reason as I tackled, Marie Kondo style, the pants section of my closet. As I kept bringing out armfuls of pants, DD’s face went from amused to shocked. The problem is: every single pair brings me joy. That means they’re keepers, right?
Yes, that would be me. I’ve become a general contractor. My good friend Jean taught me to hire myself and pay me well. More on my pay, later.
In the last 24 hours I’ve had visits from a plumber (who couldn’t resolve the problem of a cistern that won’t stop running), the water purifier people, telling me I need a new pump under my sink to fortify the water purifier which needs maintenance all the time, a mason who didn’t fix leaky roof and it kept raining in my living room.
You all know how I feel about tropical Christmas. I wrote about it last year. In general, I take comfort in traditions. The ease of cooking Thanksgiving dinner, menu always the same. The cherished Christmas ornaments that I pull out of the box each year. The Easter ham. The Fourth of July barbecue. But this year with the holiday season in full swing, I’m feeling the season in a different way. [Read more…]
In the grand scheme of life, dengue and chinkungunya are nothing. Pfft! There are truly horrible things that people suffer with and die from. Bottom line: it’s not cancer. I’ve lost count of the weeks. It doesn’t matter anymore. I really wish people would stop asking, “Are you still sick?” in an annoyed tone, meaning, haven’t you gotten over it yet? Followed by a grudging, “Well, you look good.” My reply? “I hope you never get dengue or chinkungunya.” [Read more…]