And one thing leads to another...

Last week we started a small project - a brick planter. Here is the finished result:



The wall has been finished for more than a week, but we still have the concrete workers here, because:

1. One of the cement stairs, off the upstairs closet, was just off enough that when you stepped out of the closet, if you didn't put your foot just right, you would slide off the edge onto the step below. This was a tiny fix, and a messy one, but very worthwhile.

2. We wanted to build a small dining nook on the upstairs landing. This was a small project, but detailed. I chose three cheery colors of talavara tile. I'm very pleased with the results, and once we get it painted I will post a picture.

3. While I was in the tile store in Cancun to buy the tiles for #2 above, I spotted an adorable ceramic sink on sale. I've been wanting one for a long time but due to the cost it was never a priority. The sink was on sale for $40, so of course I bought it.

4. Due to #3 above, we needed to install the sink, which meant a counter needed to be built for it. We decided to use the leftover blue tiles from project #2, but didn't have enough. Yesterday morning I did another quick trip to the tile store in Cancun to get more blue tiles. While there I found some cute little ones that would go with the blue tiles, and decided that they would be great to line the edges, so I bought those too. I'm lucky the workers are flexible and work with rapidly changing designs.

5. Due to #4, we had to break the outside wall of the house to find the pipes so Miguel can install the plumbing to the sink. Of course, the broken wall will need to be cemented back up after Miguel makes his connections.

Will that be the end? Of course not. We need railings built for the staircases. The retired carpenter is here now, cleaning the wood. It's a busy place! But the dog is happy, he thinks he's the supervisor and he has been taking it all in.

Mango!

I grew up in one of the fruit belts of Canada. Berries, peaches, pears, apples, grapes, watermelon, cantaloupe - all of it is plentiful in the summer and early fall. My mother's idea of dessert was fruit, not just in the summer but all year long. My idea of dessert was chocolate cake, cherry pie, or brownies.

But I've discovered a fruit here in Mexico that is at least as good as chocolate cake. The mango, a fruit I never knew much about until Miguel brought it home from the mercado one day. He carved it up and I tasted it - WOW! What a sweet, juicy, delicious mouthful of fruit. I was quickly hooked and expected mango for breakfast every day for the rest of my life (I didn't know the mango was not available year-round).

Preparing the morning fruit plate became my breakfast task. I learned how to carve the mango, eating any remaining fruit directly off the seed. We shared one or two mangos every day.

At first it was my lips that felt odd - dry, rough, and itchy; I blamed the sun. Then my eyelids also started to itch and burn, and I was constantly rubbing my eyes. I finally made the connection and realized I was allergic to mango. I researched on the internet and discovered that many people have similar symptoms - it is actually quite common. Mango allergy is related to sensitivity to other things such as poison ivy and cashews (which also cause a reaction if I eat too many, such as half a can (or so) during Christmas holidays).

Eventually the mango went out of season, and my itchy lips and eyes cleared up, confirming my suspicions. But I longed for my mango, and when it came back into season this year, I didn't hesitate to eat it again. However, now I do not eat off the seed, nor do I eat the smaller 'side' slices, and right after I finish my breakfast I clean my hands and mouth with running water to remove any residue from the peel. So far so good, I haven't really been itchy from mango for months, unless that is what is causing the mysterious itch on my spine?

Sometimes the mango we buy looks a little worse for wear - a little spongy and the skin is full of black spots. I used to think those mangoes were rotten, but have since learned that it is usually only the skin that looks bad; inside the fruit is usually very ripe and sweet.

Sometimes we are forced (twist our arms!) to eat mango that is not quite ready. Just a little green around the edges, but those are the ones where I can taste the bitterness of the skin and that seems to kick up my allergy.

I'm not the only one in the house addicted to mango; Minina also likes her daily feast. We will be in the kitchen preparing breakfast and Minina will suddenly appear at my feet. She will cry until we give her a piece of mango. But she's very particular - she smells the fruit first, and usually gobbles down one or two pieces. Occasionally she doesn't eat it, and then you can be sure it's not quite ripe. Minina is my mango meter, letting me know that I'm about to eat a mango that may cause a reaction.

Why are we so hungry?

Since the beginning of August it has been hot, very hot. Our pets are eating less due to the heat. But we've been exceptionally hungry - due to the heat? Not sure there is a relationship there, but it's worth mentioning.

Our normal meal times are 9 am (breakfast) and 3-4 pm for comida (midday meal). Comida is normally our last meal of the day, with coffee and a light treat later in the evening. But the last few weeks we've been snacking on more substantial leftovers from the fridge, or ordering pizza.

The dog is very happy when he hears us talking about pizza. Loco loves pizza, especially pizza with ham on it. Loco eats pizza like a kid - pulling off the ham and cheese, spitting out the vegetables (peppers and onions), and leaving the crust on the floor. He actually makes quite a mess - we make him take his piece of pizza outside.

Lately we've been ordering vegetarian pizza - peppers, onions, pineapple. No sense wasting a piece of that on Loco, right? But just when you think you understand your dog, he surprises you. As we share our pizza, Loco sits and watches us, and his eyes tell us that he wants some. We offer Loco small pieces of crust with just the cheese, and he takes it and eats the whole thing. No mess, not a crumb.

The other morning I found a cold piece of pizza in the fridge. I decided to eat it before breakfast, so stood over the sink with my cold, stiff piece of vegetarian pizza. Loco appeared from somewhere and stood beside me. I wasn't really paying much attention to him, and didn't realize why he was there - until it was too late. The last piece had been swallowed before it dawned on me that Loco wanted pizza for breakfast too. Sorry, boy - next time!

Morning coffee - ahhhh

There is nothing like the aroma of fresh coffee, especially in the morning. My morning coffee memories go back to the days of childhood, when my grandmother was visiting us. She would get up ridiculously early (6 am) and have her coffee percolating while the rest of us were still sleeping - I remember lying in bed and enjoying the delicious smell, knowing my grandmother was down in the living room.

My grandmother continued to percolate her coffee long after many people moved on to Taster's Choice instant, or drip coffee makers. She insisted on grinding her own beans at the grocery store. She drank it black, and strong, like syrup, and she drank it all day long.

I'm probably not a true coffee lover - I take mine with heaps of sugar and lots of milk (cream if we have it). My coffee is diluted into some other sweetened coffee-flavored drink, and if I can't have it like that, I'd rather not have it at all. It takes me a long time to drink my coffee; it's usually lukewarm by the time I get to the bottom (but that's where the sugar has sunk and those last swigs are soooo yummy!).

Coffee is one of our cherished routines here - one cup in the morning around the ridiculously early time of 6 am (funny how that works - as one gets older, the mornings get earlier), and another cup in the evening. We never use instant coffee, it's dripped coffee, a particular brand that seems smooth and does not create havoc inside my stomach. Our local tienda has started stocking our coffee for us - but it's not on the shelf, we have to request it, and they bring it out from the back. Just one thing to love about Mexico - the personal touch.

Miguel takes his coffee unsweetened, with or without milk. Although he prefers his coffee fresh and hot, he will even drink it cold, pouring the leftovers into a glass and drinking it like coke. More than once I've been thirsty and reached for his glass of 'coke', looking to quench my thirst so I wouldn't have to get up and get my own refreshment - luckily, the smell hits my nostrils before the cold, bitter liquid hits my lips. Blech!

During Hurricane Wilma, when we were without power for 15 days, we still found a way to make our drip coffee. We boiled water on the gas stove, and then ladled the water over the coffee grounds that we put into the drip-coffee maker's filter tray . In order for the water to drip out of the tray, we had to push the lever - taking care not to burn our fingers. Although we had sugar, we did not have milk - so I drank my coffee black and because we were without so many other things during that time (lights being one of them), I felt like we were living in the lap of luxury with that black coffee.

I was hoping I might learn to drink black coffee after Wilma, but no - as soon as we had milk, I was back to my pale sweetened drink. Some routines are just too enjoyable to give up - my sweet coffee is one of them.

Su-e

My name seems simple, right? Sue, short for Susan. Pronounced "SU".

But Spanish-speaking people do one of two things with my name:

1. They misspell it like this, "SU";
2. They write it like this, "SUE", but then prounouce it as SU-WEH

At least it's not SU-EE, like chopped suey.

I've decided that fron now on, for people I've just met, my name will be Susana. Makes it easier for everyone.

From the Garden

As you can probably tell by now, our non-working lives mostly center around a couple of things - our home/garden and our mascotas (pets).

The garden belongs to Miguel. Not that I don't love to garden, I do, but right now I don't have the time. And I fear that when I do have the time, Miguel will not welcome my contributions anyway. He's very tuned into each plant - are they happy, do they need a little TLC, are they simply not going to make it? Some will be having babies, some are seeding, some about to present flowers, some need trimming, some need repotting, some need more soil. This one needs more sun, that one more shade. Several times he has noticed that two plants living side by side are not happy with each other, like a bad marriage, and need to be separated.

Case in point - we had a morning glory vine trying to climb the cocoa palm, but the palm wasn't having any part of that. The morning glory was not able to get a grip around the trunk, and even when it finally made its way up to the palm branches, with a boost from a nearby plant, it was not allowed to hold on; the vine just laid there limply dangling over the branches. Miguel said the cocoa palm was not giving permission for the morning glory to be there. So he moved the morning glory next to the salvia, and the salvia plant did give permission to the morning glory and so we had lovely blooms until the plant went to seed.


The morning glory got revenge though, because the cocoa palm ended up getting sick and after 5 years in the garden, it died.

Last year Miguel had a horrible accident (almost electrocuted), and was badly burned. He was in hospital for more than two weeks, and even when he came home, he was confined to the bedroom (in order to avoid infection). His hands were bandaged and he could not do anything for himself. However, somehow he found a way to hold onto a hose, and each morning he covered up and went out to water his plants - his babies needed him.

Despite losing a small piece of his 'green' thumb (cooked from the electrical burn), Miguel's garden has yielded watermelon and cantaloup from kitchen scraps, and radishes from a seed packet.





On second thought, since Miguel gets results like this, maybe I'd just better lie in the hammock and watch him work.

The Whistle

When I first moved into my house, a good Mexican friend would often come by for a visit. I was always a little dismayed at how he announced his presence - he would stand out in the street and whistle for me, like I was a dog. Hey, I have a name, and I have a door - why not call me, or just knock?

Although offended by the whistle, I never mentioned it - I mostly ignored it. I figured he would get the message that I was not going to answer the door until he called me properly by name, which he sometimes did. Or he would honk the golf cart horn. In any case, victory was mine, I would not be whistled to.

Being the clever foreigner that I am, I bought a doorbell - one of those wireless gadgets. But I didn't want just anyone ringing my bell, so I hid the doorbell on the inside of the gate. I told friends where to find the button in case they dropped by unexpectedly. But most of my friends were tourists - only here a couple of times a year - and they did not use my hidden doorbell, they forgot I had a doorbell. Neither did they whistle, they simply came up to the door and announced their presence. Or in one instance, sat on the front porch visiting with each other while we rested upstairs awaiting their arrival (they didn't hear us, we didn't hear them).

The doorbell didn't last long. First, nobody used it and second, the salt air corroded the battery in no time flat. So much for the 'clever foreigner'.

Besides the whistle, another way Mexicans announce their presence is to stand in the street and call "Buenos" - over and over. And over. I once timed someone trying to get the attention of my neighbor - he stood out at the post for at least 5 minutes, calling "Buenos" every few seconds. Sometimes it was a little louder, sometimes a little softer, like he was embarrassed. But he persisted, and eventually my neighbor gave in and came out and talked to him. I sort of dread the "Buenos", because in my experience, it is usually someone I don't know who wants to sell me something. I often don't respond to the "Buenos" people and usually the barking dogs get them going on their way.

One more way the Mexicans get my attention is by tooting the horn on their mopeds, or honking the horn on the golf cart (which is a bicycle horn and quite noisy). Usually the people doing this type of honking are workers or delivery people - letting you know they've arrived. Occasionally, though, it is just someone giving the horn a few squeezes as they pass by, often the garbage men. They don't want anything, they are just having fun.

After spending a lot more time here, I now know that the whistle is not offensive and is a polite way of letting someone know you are there without making a lot of disruptive noise. I've learned that a correct response to someone whistling in the street is to whistle back in acknowledgement. The beauty of the whistle is that it blends in with the chirping of the birds, it is non-intrusive, and is much nicer than standing in the street bellowing the name of someone. Only problem is, I have occasionally mistaken the chirping of birds for someone looking for me in the street. When I look, there's nobody there - I actually think we have blackbirds that have learned the whistle. Since childhood I've tried to whistle, but never mastered it - all that comes out is soft air that tickles my lips. I think I need to recruit a blackbird.

Hammock Cat

It seems to be the way with our animals that something they feared and thought they hated suddenly becomes one of their favorite things to do.

Let me introduce Luna:



Luna was a stray who decided to come and live with us. We think she might have had a home at one time because although she wasn't quite 'tame', neither was she wild. Luna's story is a long one, I will leave it for another day. Suffice it to say that I became Luna's primary employee, the one she slowly allowed to get close enough so I could touch her. Her gaze is always wary, but she longs for our company.

One day I was hanging out in the hammock, and Luna was prowling around the terrace, looking for attention. I spontaneously picked her up and pulled her into my hammock - something I'd never done before. She gave me one horrified look (what's the matter with you?), leapt off my lap and took off. We were left in peace for the rest of the siesta.

The very next day, the house inhabitants resumed their positions from the previous day (aka siesta time in the hammock for the humans, with outdoor animals sprawled underneath). As I lazily gazed around, I spotted Luna - and she was getting ready to pounce...right into my LAP! Phlump - umph (she's heavy)!

Luna looked around, did a little kneading of my delicate abdominal tissues with her sharp claws, and then made herself comfortable. A sharp 'meow' told me she wanted to be stroked. So I stroked, but every time I stopped, she reminded me...'meow'. That cat enjoyed every single minute she was there, like she'd been doing it all her life.

And now, Luna will be nowhere in sight when I ease myself into the hammock. But within seconds, there she is. I don't know how she knows, because it's not like I make a lot of noise climbing in there; in fact, I try to do it in secret so I can lie there in peace. No such luck. I think Luna and the hammock have a secret code.

Hermientas

When I bought my house in Mexico, I didn't speak any Spanish beyond the formalities - "Hola", "Adios", "Gracias", "Por Favor". The tradesmen doing work at my house didn't speak any English. I bought dictionaries and other handbooks to try to learn. I bought Rosetta Stone's cd. I tried reading the Spanish journals and listening to Spanish tv. I often confused French with Spanish. I learned to communicate with a lot of gestures and pointing at words in the dictionary. Somehow the workers mostly understood me.

One of the most important communication skills I learned was finding substitute words for words I did not know. "Hermientas" (tools) became my generic word for just about everything related to work around the house. "I'm going to the store to buy 'hermientas'" (maybe a rake, maybe a hammer, maybe a hose). "Tienas 'hermientas'?" (do you have tools?).

We have an old carpenter who works here now and then; he's retired but works just because he loves his work. One day we took him to lunch at a small diner down the road - one we'd never visited before. There was no menu, just a short list of what they had to offer written up on the wall. It boiled down to whether one wanted chicken or fish. Miguel and the carpenter chose fish, I chose chicken.

We were the only ones there. I think they were about to close for the afternoon - they were washing the floor and pushing tables aside. But we sat and waited for our meal, because nobody told us to leave. There was a bit of noise coming from the direction of the 'kitchen' (word used lightly to describe a small space used to prepare food). Once in a while a head appeared over the edge of the counter and smiled at us, so that gave us encouragement to wait.

Finally the food arrived. A bowl of pasta, a bowl of liquid frijoles (beans), and two plates loaded with a whole fish, served with rice. My plate had 3 or 4 pieces of chicken, nicely cooked on the grill. We were ready to dig in, but there was no silverware, and it didn't look like anyone was about to give us any. The guys dug in anyway, using the tortillas to tear at the fish. I sat and waited for someone to notice that we needed attention. I don't know the word for silverware, and I get confused on the correct words for knife, fork, and spoon. So when someone finally came out from behind the counter, I politely asked for 'hermientas' - tools.

After the blank look, (Que?), the woman went behind the counter and rustled up a tablespoon and a fork. As she handed me the hermientas, she apologized to the guys for not having any to offer them. They shrugged it off and assured her they would manage. But I think the woman felt embarrassed as she then went back behind the counter and returned with a couple more spoons (which enabled the guys to eat the pasta and beans).

After we left, the carpenter, being too polite to criticize, thanked us for the meal. Miguel was a little more vocal - what kind of restaurant doesn't have knives and forks for its customers? The carpenter then agreed that it was very odd. But the food was good, so we decided that it was more a take-out place than a sit down eating place - maybe the tables and chairs were just for sitting and waiting for take-out orders?

The carpenter continued to work at the house after I left Mexico. During one of Miguel's calls, I asked what he'd eaten that day, and he informed me that he and the carpenter had gone to the restaurant that didn't have 'hermientas'. They did take-out.

More concrete

Guess what? We're doing ANOTHER project that involves concrete. This time it's a small garden at the back of the house, where the plants there have outgrown their pots. As Miguel says, the plants are suffering just like I would if I tried to stuff my feet into shoes much too small.


The plants need room to stretch their 'feet' in order to be happy and healthy. And so, despite my earlier promise to avoid concrete at all costs, here we go again.

Yesterday, the master albanil (cement mason) came to discuss the plan with Miguel. They drew straight lines, which meant the garden would be square, but the wall would be off from the tiles, which apparently are crooked. I opted to make the wall straight with the tiles, figuring once the plants are in place, the eye will not notice an inch or so more on one end as much as it would notice a wall mis-aligned with the tiles.

It took most of the day for the junior albanil (nicknamed Cilantro - don't ask me why, I think it has to do with the green shirt he often wears) to break up the patio tiles and concrete where the small garden will go. Fortunately he was able to use a cutter to make his line through the tile, so the adjoining tiles stayed intact. However, he had to use his pounder/battering rod to break up the concrete underneath - not sure what it is really called, but it's a long heavy metal rod (about 5' in length) that he slams into the concrete until it's all busted up. Concrete structures carry noise quite well, so the echo made it sound like he was tearing down the house.

Cilantro has worked here before, and I like how he cleans up after making a mess. We left him at his work to go out to eat, returning to find the area prepared for the next phase, and the mess all swept up.

This morning Miguel eased the plants out of their too-small shoes. Not an easy feat as they are vines and couldn't just be turned upside down and dumped out. But he managed somehow, and now the plants are sitting there, all in a row, waiting for their new wall to be built. Like an audience, anxiously waiting for the performance to begin.