NOB (North of the Border) Brain Disorder

I've been back in Colorado for a few days now and I'm having to re-learn everything.

"Now where do I keep the toaster and which drawer is the silverware drawer? " I can't even ask myself, "Now where would Gaby, (our girl Friday in Mexico) put this?

"Oh look! I have a dishwasher!" (Clapping hands excitedly).

I've finally remembered where the button is that rolls down the window in the car but the one thing I can't seem to retrain my brain to do is turn on the hot water in the kitchen. It should be easy. It's just one of those simple faucets with a handle that swivels to the right for cold water and, of course, swivels to the left for hot water. What's the problem? This is universal, isn't it? Umm…not necessarily. You see, after I had our plumber/electrician guy (they are often one and the same in Mexico) hook up our new kitchen faucet, I found that he had hooked them up the opposite way. If you swivel the faucet to the left you get cold water. If you swivel it to the right you also get cold water… for about twenty minutes at which point the water instantly turns boiling point hot for, again, about twenty minutes then it turns cold again because you have depleted the 5 gallon hot water tank. For some reason our house has a bathtub you could almost swim laps in. I have no idea why. It would take me until the next Olympics to fill the thing. If you are asking me why I didn't just call the plumber/electrician guy and have him come back and re-plumb the faucet correctly, you've never lived in Mexico.

Monday morning:

Me: "Hola, Miguel. Como esta?"

Miguel: "Bien. Bien." (Miguel is thinking, "What does the gringa want now?")

Me: "Miguel, there seems to be a problema with the faucet. Could you come by sometime today and look at it?"

Miguel: "Si. Si. (Miguel is thinking, "Posible, I will have time on Thursday.")

Me: "What time?"

Miguel: "9:00" (Miguel is thinking, "Why do they continue to ask me this stupid question?")

Me: "This morning?" (Disbelief)

Miguel: "Si. Si. " (Miguel is thinking, "These gringos, they will believe anything.)

Same Morning, 11:00 am

Me: "Hola Miguel. Where are you?"

Miguel: "I am on my way. I will be there in 15 minutos." (Miguel is thinking, "Posible I will have time on Friday.)

Me: "Okay, because I have to be somewhere at 1:00 pm"

Miguel: "Si. Si." (Miguel is thinking, "So what?")

Same day, 3:00 pm:

Me: "Hola Miguel." (I'm not even going to ask.)

Miguel: "Lo siento, Senora. I will be there manana." (Miguel is thinking, "If she would have stopped calling me, I probably could have made it on Sabado.")

So instead of being held captive in my own home for a week, I decided that I would just wait until the next time I had to call "Miguel" for another more urgent problem and then I would corner him and not let him leave until he fixed my faucet. In the meantime I would just learn to use the faucet the way it was wired, I mean plumbed. Not! And I have the scald marks on my hands to prove it.

I swear up until the minute I left, I continued to make the same mistake so why now that I am back in the states has my mind finally decided to rewire itself and start working the way I wanted it to in Mexico?

Oh, I get it. It was waiting for manana.

"Ow!!! Damn that water's hot!"

 

P.S. The pic above is some of our workers not waiting for manana.

Starfish Throwers

I was walking our stretch of beach this morning and I decided to poke around a new batch of rock that was uncovered by the uncommonly low tide. The cap'n I used to do this regularly in the Bahamas and after the hurricanes we found old coins and all kinds of assorted treasure. (Don't tell the Bahamian government). My treasure hunt didn't turn up any bootie but I did find a starfish that had been marooned on the beach by the low tide. It was still alive so I picked it up and flung it back into its salty home. It reminded me of a story the priest told at my mother's funeral. He said Mom was a starfish thrower. Many of you have probably heard this story but it's a good re-read.

Once upon a time, there was a wise man, a scientist but also a poet, who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work. One day he was walking along the shore. As he looked down the beach, he saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself to think of someone who would dance to the day. So he began to walk faster to catch up. As he got closer, he saw that it was a young man and the young man wasn't dancing, but instead he was reaching down to the shore, picking up something and very gently throwing it into the ocean.

As he got closer, he called out, "Good morning! What are you doing?" The young man paused, looked up and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I guess I should have asked, Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?"

"The sun is up and the tide is going out. And if I don't throw them in they'll die."

"But young man, don't you realize that there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it. You can't possibly make a difference!"

The young man listened politely. Then bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it into the sea, past the breaking waves. "It made a difference for that one!"

His response surprised the man. He was upset. He didn't know how to reply. So instead, he turned away and walked back to the cottage to begin his writings.

All day long as he wrote, the image of the young man haunted him. He tried to ignore it, but the vision persisted. Finally, late in the afternoon he realized that he the scientist, he the poet, had missed out on the essential nature of the young man's actions. Because he realized that what the young man was doing was choosing not to be an observer in the universe and make a difference. He was embarrased.

That night he went to bed troubled. When the morning came he awoke knowing that he had to do something. So he got up, put on his clothes, went to the beach and found the young man. And with him he spent the rest of the morning throwing starfish into the ocean. You see, what that young man's actions represent is something that is special in each and every one of us. We have all been gifted with the ability to make a difference. And if we can, like that young man, become aware of that gift, we gain through the strength of our vision the power to shape the future.

And that is your challenge. And that is my challenge. We must each find our starfish. And if we throw our stars wisely and well, I have no question that the 21st century is going to be a wonderful place.

 

I am so fortunate to know so many starfish throwers. If I tried to list them all I know I'd miss someone but you know who you are. Thank you for all you do and keep flinging those starfish no matter what.

 

 

Chelem Christmas Dreams Toy Drive

I have a big favor to ask but it's not for myself. As some of you may know, I have become very involved in the Chelem Christmas Dreams Toy Drive. It's part of my "giving my all" to my new home. Last year we gave away 875 bags of toys. For most of the kids these were the only toys they received. Toys are very expensive and poorly made in Mexico but for us to try to ship toys down from the states is very expensive. If any of my friends would like to donate a toy and ship it to me, I will figure out how to get them down there. I will also take gently used toys. While we had several Barbie dolls donated last year, we didn't have enough to go around. It was heartbreaking to see the faces of the little girls that didn't get Barbies. Every little girl should have at least one doll. So if you have any gently used (or new)Barbies, Barbie clothes and accessories, or other dolls send them my way. Of course, we can also use boy toys (action figures)and baby toys. We also take money. We have a Paypal button on our website but, of course, Paypal has to make money too so they take a chunk out of the funds we receive. If you are kindhearted enough to send a toy please keep in mind that I will have to "mule" all the toys down in suitcases and we're weight limited. Please visit our website. http://chelemchristmasdreams.com/
If you have a little gambler blood in you, you can check out our online raffle http://chelemchristmasdreams.com/raffle/ If you win it will give you an excuse to visit our new neck of the woods. If you're interested in giving (and I know you will be)send me a comment down below with your email address. All of these comments go to my email first and won't be published here. I will respond with my shipping address.

I apologize to my facebook friends that have already seen this. Facebook automatically publishes anything I publish to my blog, http://firstmatemary.blogspot.com/. That's where all my long-ass posts on fb come from. You're welcome to visit and read my other blogs about living in Mexico, living on a sailboat, living in Colorado, and I guess just living.

P.S. Hey, I'll lower myself to begging if it's for a good cause. That or a Jack and Diet Pepsi. Thanks, all

You Can Go Back Home

I'm back in Kansas, the place of my birth and the following 40 some years. And while the cap'n cringes when I say this, it feels like home. It's hard to explain but it just feels like there is some kind of recognition deep in my DNA. My heart beats more sure. I know the smells and the feel of the air. The way the sunlight slants on an autumn afternoon is a touchstone for all other afternoon suns. I can tell what the day will be by the light that shines in my morning window.

I was born with wanderlust though. Always dreaming of faraway places and the unfamiliar. A wishful restlessness. And so I wander. To distant shores and lands that are as different as imaginable from where I came from. I'm not sure what it is I'm looking for but I haven't found it yet. I'm a little afraid that it's back here where I started. But it could be in Mexico. I had forty plus years to let Kansas seep into my marrow. I've been in Colorado for six "half" years and it's just starting to feel like home. I'll give my new home a fighting chance.

The cap'n is starting to sweat bullets while he reads this. Don't worry cap, I'm not ready to put the house in Mexico up for sale and move back to Kansas. Not even! I'm excited about our new life down there and the undiscovered possibilities. But just like anyone that moves on a boat or to a new place, foreign or not, I sometimes feel nostalgic for "home". That's okay. That's normal. But it's easy to mistake that homesickness for unhappiness with our new surroundings. It takes time and effort for strangeness to evolve into familiarity. It's scary, especially if you don't speak the language. And it's so tempting to surround yourself with only the familiar and do only the things that you already know how to do. But where's the fun in that? You have to confront the things that scare you, if you don't you are not giving yourself or your new "home" a fair chance. You will always ask yourself if you did all you could. Most importantly, recognize if it is yourself or the place you are unhappy with. If you are not happy or comfortable with yourself, no place is going to provide those things for you. (How was that for a Zen moment?)

However, if you have given your all and you've given it all the time you think you can spare, it's okay to say, "This isn't what I want." It can be heartbreaking to admit that the dream wasn't what you thought it was going to be. Plus, when you leave a "fringe" community like the boating or the expat community, you may feel or be made to feel that you've failed. You're abandoning ship. This is so not true. You tried. By God, at least you tried, which is more than most people do. It is more important that you recognize that you are genuinely unhappy and do something about it. If that means leaving and trying something else, so be it. Life's too short. I stayed on the boat longer than I should have. I waited until the cap'n admitted he was unhappy. I squandered some precious years and tinged a lot of happy memories with resentment.

Move on. Go back home if that makes you happy or keep searching until you find a place that feels like home. It's okay. You have my permission.

Desperately Seeking Fellow Yucatecans

The cap'n and I were paying our tab at a Mexican Restaurant in Great Bend, KS the other night when I noticed a large map of Mexico hanging on the wall. The map was faded and several cities and towns had been penciled in.

"You don't have Progreso or Chelem on there," I pointed out to the cashier.

"You know Progreso?" he said, obviously surprised.

I explained that we had a casa in Chelem, which is very close to Progreso, and that we spent our winters there.

"There is another couple that lives here in Great Bend that has a house in Progreso", he informed us.

"Really?"

We were incredulous. We know of only one other couple from Kansas, Steve and Mary from Salina, that has had the good judgment to buy property down there. If this kept up the Kansans might be able to steal the expat majority title from those blasted Texans.

"What are their names?" we demanded.

"I don't know", replied the cashier, "but their son, Joel, works at Verizon."

The next morning I set off for the Verizon office with all of our important contact information in hand. Email address, stateside telephone number, Mexican phone #, Magic Jack #, stateside address, a hand drawn map to our house in Chelem. I even included illustrations of all the notable landmarks along the way. The Glorietta (that's what they call a roundabout in Mexico. It sure sounds prettier), the police checkpoint manned with friendly policemen armed with not-so-friendly looking guns, the big piece of rope laid across the road that is used as a speed bump, the coconut stand, uh make that the dozen coconut stands, The Modelo cervaza store, the little red tienda at the turn to our house. There use to be a pole with a rag tied to it and that's how everybody found the way to our house. But in the hot Mexican wind the rag frayed and eventually disappeared. Now sometimes even the cap'n and I miss the turn but that's usually when we're coming from Las Dunas or Playa de Chelem, two of the local drinking establishments.

It was a very nice map. I would have written out our address but I didn't have enough pages of paper for that and they'd never find it because Mexicans have very little regard for street signs. No Necessaria, the locals already know where everything is.

So I went up to the Verizon counter and inquired if they had an employee named Joel. The young man at the counter said, "Yes, but he is with a customer right now. May I help you?"

"No," I said, "I need to talk to Joel."

The young man and his other 14 yr. old counterpart shot me a quizzical look but they assured me that Joel would be just a few more minutes and left me wander about the displays of IPODs, and Blackberries, and other strange devices while the two of them tittered behind the counter trying to figure out whether I was Joel's long lost birth mother or a "cougar" he picked up in a very dark bar while a very inebriated state. Courtney Cox, I am not. Damnit!

Finally Joel finished with his client and I cornered him as he returned from walking her to her car.

"Joel, um, you don't know me and this may seem crazy…um, but do your parents have a house in Progreso?" I blurt.

Blank stare looking back at me.

"Progreso, Mexico? " I offer a little desperately.

Enlightenment dawns on his face.

"My parents have a house in Yoomah,"

"Where is Yoomah?" I ask thinking of all those strange Mayan names on the highway signs. All those unpronounceable "Dz" towns.

"In Arizona," he replies, "Yuma, Arizona. Is that close to Progreso?"

"No," I mumble. I ramble some explanation about a guy at a Mexican restaurant that gave me his name and said he might know someone. It's beginning to resemble a drug deal gone really wrong and Joel is starting to get that deer in the headlights look.

"Here," I shove my map at him, "If you're ever in Progreso, look me up." The guys behind the counter snicker.

I scuttled out to my car, jumped in and busted out laughing at myself.

If you've ever been in the Walmart in Merida desperately looking for an item and have been rescued by a fellow gringo who knows the lay of the land a little better and knows that in Mexico the baking soda is kept in the pharmacy not in the baking aisle, you understand that previous scenario. And you know that by the time you and your savior part ways you will have shared all the information mentioned and probably more. We expats band together, we're brothers and sisters in arms so I guess I was looking to reconnoiter with some fellow soldier

Just for fun, for the next week, I parked in the Verizon parking lot and waved and winked at Joel as he scurried back and forth to his car.

P.S. Dave, I hope you don't mind that I "borrowed" a picture of our sign. I owe you a cervaza if you ever cross over the bridge.

Another Day, Another Park

In my transient lifestyle, I found myself wandering the paths of another park. This one was not littered with the refuse of humanity but that was okay because I was feeling pretty bottom of the proverbial garbage pail about myself. It was one of those weeks when I had found myself to be embarrassingly human and even though the bruises weren't readily observable to the human eye, I was feeling pretty tender from the ongoing onslaught I was inflicting on myself.

The cap'n kept trying to reassure me that I was a good person, a nice person, a kind person but….he has to say that because he loves me and he was desperate because it ain't fun living with me when I am in this state of mind. So I didn't believe him.

So I'm on this path early one morning and I see an elderly gentleman ambling toward me. He has the rolling gait and the vacant stare of a Parkinson's patient. I am really in no mood for any kind of encounter but my good manners kick in and I smile and say, "Good Morning."

The man's vacant eyes light up, and he says, "Not everyone is friendly. I just passed a couple and said Good Morning and they didn't say anything back." He says, "I speak to everyone."

I go a few more steps down the path and dissolve into tears. I know that man was Jesus.

P.S. Please don't write and tell me I'm a good person, that's not the point of this little article. Instead I challenge you to stop yourself today every time you tell yourself that you're stupid, fat, ugly, weak…..You're human and you're doing the best you can!

Borrowed from my friend, Marlee
"Dear God, Please help me see the truth about myself no matter how beautiful. " - Alan Cohen

JESUS DON’T LIKE PIZZA

Years ago we were stuck in St. Augustine, on the boat of course. But as far as cities go, St. Augustine is one of my favorite ones to be stuck in. I had gotten into the habit every morning of jumping on my bike and pedaling over to Café St. George for their wonderful ham and cheese croissants. My trek took me over the paths of one of the city parks and past several of the city's citizens that lived in the park, or at least slept there. Now the Sisters of Divine Torture from my Catholic school days had always taught me that every person is God's child and when you help a stranger you could be helping Jesus. I think we even used to sing a song that went something like…"When I was naked, you gave me clothes, When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat" Well, something like that. We always giggled when we got to say naked in mass because we were six years old and it was the sixties and naked was still a "dirty" word to six year olds.

Anyway there were a lot of Jesus' maybes lying around in the park and I could feel the steely finger of Sister Irene drilling into my back as I drove past them. So of course I picked up a few extra croissants at the bakery, after all it wouldn't be right to offer Jesus a lowly bran muffin while I hate hot flakey croissants. As I made my way back through the park I sniffed past the bundles of humanity and kind of threw the greasy sacks of croissants at them. With my final sack in hand, I approached the last of my lucky beneficiaries. I had to force myself to go up to him. He scared me. I had seen him lurking around the marina and he was one of those guys that stared at you with these spooky eyes but if he caught you looking at him he skittered away. He was wrapped up in a dirty parka and had a stocking cap on top his nest of snarls and mats. I slowly extended the bag to him and he took it just as slowly and said a very quiet "Thank You". I rode away.

A few nights later I wheeled back to St. George Street in pursuit of the best pizza in the world which is to be found at Pizza Alley. Their Garbage Pail Pizza is twelve big slices of paradise right here on earth. I was riding through the park inhaling that heavenly scent when I saw two of my favorite Jesus' waving at me. Fart! Oh well, sacrifice is supposed to hurt. I steered their way and offered them two slices. They smiled their beatific gummy smiles and proceeded to propose to me. And I think they planned to be married to me at the same time because I had a feeling these two did a whole lot of unsavory things together. Relieved, I was able to explain that I was already married and that's a good thing because as every man that has every dated me can attest I am easily convinced. All two of them.

I was headed for the exit when I spotted my scary friend huddled on a bench. I sighed and went over to him.

"Would you like a piece of pizza?" I gently asked.

"I don't like #%*&ing pizza," he snarled.

I jumped back and wagged my finger at him.

"No more #%*&ing croissants for you, Jesse!"

Then I rode away to try to explain to the cap'n what happened to those other slices of pizza.