Hey - how was your trip to Mexico?

Thanks for asking! It was great! - Vince and I flew out last Wednesday morning, switched planes at Washington Dulles, and arrived in Cancun around 3pm. It's a busy airport and everyone was in a hurry - we filled out our customs forms, and made it through the maze quickly and fairly efficiently. We were supposed to meet the driver for the car rental place right outside and to the left of the entrance, but were accosted by several "guides" and other car rental guys on our way, so had the directions repeated to us several times. One "customer service" guy was actually trying to talk us into wasting a whole day of our valuable vacation at a new resort, listening to a sales pitch. Ha. We left him in the dust.

The car guy had Vince's name on a board, so when we saw him, he grabbed our bags, and we climbed into the shuttle van with an American 4-some and drove us to the nearby office. Renting a car in Mexico is slightly tricky - you really need to make sure you purchase all of the additional insurance, which in this case cost more than the actual rental charges, which were pretty cheap. You should also make sure you ask for a tourist card to show if you get stopped for some minor infraction. Theoretically, they cut you some slack.

After all of the papers were signed, they gave us a little fold-out map of the Riviera Maya, which what the northeast coast of the Yucatan peninsula is called, and sent us on our way. It's really just a straight shot along the coastal highway. Though it's coastal, you can't see the water, which is hidden by dense jungle and denser resorts. The coast is lousy with big resorts - dozens, if not hundreds of them - but we sped on past them towards the little town of Tulum. Since the Rental place (American Rentals - don't forget, Mexico is part of North America!) only left us with 1/8 tank gas, we had to stop for petrol pretty quickly. Having just picked up our pesos at an ATM poor Vince wasn't quite attuned to the money yet, and almost got ripped off by the gas station guy - got 100 pesos less than he should have in change. When he questioned the attendant about it, the supervisor came over, and suddenly the attendant spotted a 100p note under the car (it was pretty windy, and I really don't think it had fallen there). At any rate, the situation was resolved, and on we drove. As we drove south during rush hour, I resolved not to drive at all in Mexico - it looked tricky, risky and .... hard. Nothing I was interested in exposing myself to. One of the important speed control mechanism consists of "topes" (In English, this means "teeth rattling speed bumps"). We really had to keep our eyes open for them, as not all are marked, and if you hit one at the posted speed limit, you'll rue it. If you read on, you'll see that overall, the driving wasn't so bad, and I eventually took my turn.

We arrived in Tulum as darkness fell, and realized we had NO idea how to find the hotel - this was my slip-up. I had assumed it was a tiny easily navigated place, and that we would easily find our hotel in the Zona Hotelera. The hotels in town were all tucked into the neighborhoods, though and the town wasn't quite so tiny (or well-organized) as I'd assumed. We quickly spotted a tourist info place and pulled in - the girl there had no idea where Hotel Residencia la Mariposa was, but found it for us on a map tacked to the wall. We were able to see the street intersection - just a few blocks away. It was the only map she had in the tourist information office (really? yes), and we couldn't take it. As we tootled off, we noticed belatedly that there were few street signs, and we were still lost! Eventually, we found ourselves in the right area, a residential neighborhood on the south end of town. A friendly neighbor pointed the way, and there was our place. The Hotel Residencia la Mariposa is Italian owned, neat, clean, reasonably efficient, and cheap ($41/night). The rooms are spare and color coordinated. Ours was mint green, so the butterfly on the door, the very basic wood furniture, and the shelves were all painted that color. The floors were a clean, shiny grey tile, and everything else was white, including the coarse cotton curtains. The bed, sadly, was pretty uncomfortable - just a mattress on a plank bedframe - but we were usually so tired that it didn't matter. there was a portable a.c. unit over the window with a remote control (Daewoo made - it was kind of slick). Our view was of the neighborhood was of typical small town Mexico, I think. There were palm trees, coconuts, oodles of plants of all types, plus clothes lines, people's projects and junk in the yards. We could hear all the neighborhood noises, music, people calling out. It was very homey and fun, I thought. The first couple of nights we kept the windows open, but it became too loud and too hot. The hotel had a breezy little veranda on our floor (3rd) with big green tropical plants, rattan furniture, and cool red tile floors. During the week, we sat out there several times - it was delightful.

That first night, we walked a block or so to El Camello (the Camel) a delicious, cheap pescado place (fish) - we had sopa pescado the first night, guacamole, tortopels(sp? - tortilla chips). Sat in little cheap plastic chairs at a cheap plastic tables right in front of the parked cars and trucks. We had a great, swift waitress who spoke no English (thanks Vince, for all the translating!). The clientele was a mix of locals and tourists. We ended up eating here several more times, and especially liked their ceviche (we got mixto - pescado, camaron and pulpo - delish! - that's fish, shrimp and octopus.

Next morning, we went exploring in the little town of Tulum, but first we took advantage of the "continental breakfast" included in our room fee. Tea or coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and toast with jam and butter. The toast was white bread, Bimbo brand. I had forgotten people even ate white bread anymore. It sort of held us until lunch time - we always took advantage of it, though, as it WAS included!

Our first task that day was to purchase some bottled water - it's true that you should NEVER drink the tap water in Mexico. The restaurants typically make their ice cubes from bottled water and wash the produce the serve in bottled (or at least purified) water, too. I'm pleased to say that neither of us got so much as a twinge in the gut - we were very very careful. (except for one time, which I'll tell you about later - that time, we were just plain lucky). When we purchased fresh fruit at the markets, we washed it in bottled water - scrubbed the skins (and then peeled them)

We found a little grocery and bought a couple of large bottles, then headed for the beach! It was just about a mile away - there was a long straight road to the beach, which t-intersected with a long straight beach road from which you could access the beach hotels, restaurants and little businesses, as well as small plots of personally owned land. The road from town to the beach looked as if it was undergoing some up-sprucing - there were new palm trees planted, a wide bike/walking path, landscaping, etc. Tourists were up an down this path in groups and alone. Some backpackers and wanderers hike along here and there.

Now, the reason we headed to the beach first off was to locate the kite-surfing school we'd signed up with. We had scheduled 3 1/2 days of lessons, and the first lesson was scheduled for 2pm that day. We drove along the beach road looking for the "Extreme Control" sign. It was on the right a couple of miles down, next to a high dark wooden fence. There were a couple of cars parked. We pulled up next to them and went to the gate - it wouldn't open for us, and we were afraid the place was locked up tight. While we sat and dithered a couple of people popped out of the gate, and we figured out how to pull the latch and get in.

Once we stepped over the bar, we were surrounded by a jungle of palm trees growing from the sandy beach and knolls. We spoke briefly to a fellow who appeared to have a shade-tree mechanic business right inside the gate, and he gestured beachward. Over hill and dale we went, shoes off, toes in the sand. We passed a dozen or so small dome tents, and several colorful hammocks. It seems that people stay or live there for days or weeks on end, roughing it. When we arrived finally at the school, we spied a few more permanent buildings - the kitchen was in one, the toilets were in another, and the kite school office was in a one room lean-to. Everything else was in the open air. Mario and Heather, who run the kite school greeted us, and introduced us to our instructor, Julien Kepski. They'd apparently had a cancellation, and suggested that we begin right away. Seemed like a good idea. We covered ourselves with spf 70 (me) and spf 30 (vince) and stepped through the fence to the Caribbean beach.

Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh. It was all I could think of to say. wonderful warm breeze, blue sky, bright sun, and aqua waters lapping beaches of fine white sand. How could anything be more perfect?

Then we turned around and stepped back to the school, because we were required to wear a kite harness, life jacket and helmet during the lesson, so we had to don and figure out how to use all of these things.

Once safely outfitted, we headed back out with our friendly instructor, Julien. More in the next installment.

Shake It Off

Our family has really been through it lately. I don't know about the others, but I got so used to worrying about Mom and Dad for so long and anticipating that dreaded phone call for 20 years that I got into a bit of a depression, I think. Now that Dad has gone on to bigger and better things, I'm beginning to appreciate how gray I let my world become. Drab, institutional, utilitarian, frumpy--definitely nothing inspiring.

Oh it's not just because of Dad. Dad was the least drab person I know. He loved it when we dressed up, wore makeup, and looked "put together." One summer evening we all drove to the MUNY in stretch limos, then stopped at Ted Drewe's for ice cream. He bought me the "right" clothes for my first civilian high school experience. He made Christmas shopping an adventure and set a good example for us by always wanting to spoil my mom. He knew how to enjoy the nice things in life. I just wasn't feeling it anymore for lots of reasons.

But I am now, and why not? Spring will be here soon, which always makes me happy. Today we drove through Provo Canyon and spent the afternoon in Park City, Utah at the Sundance Film Festival, where I saw blue sky and sunshine for the first time in weeks. In February I'll have crocus blooming in my front yard and buds on my forsythia. And if I can figure out how to keep Huckleberry Hound out of the garden, I can plant peas in March.

I still worry about my mom, in some ways even more than before. But Mom is all about being productive and efficient, so I know she understands how I feel. No more black crepe and gray. I'm pulling up my socks and getting on with it.

In Memorium - The Lady in Red, a Dad favorite

'Twas a cold winter's evening, the guests were all leaving. O'Malley was closing the bar,

When he turned and he said to the lady in red "Get out, you can't stay any more."

She shed a sad tear in her bucket of beer, as she thought of the cold niiiight ahead.

When a gentleman handsome flew in through the transom

and these are the words that he saaaaid,

"Herrrrrrrrrr motherrr neverrr told her, the things a young girl should know,

about the waa-aays of college men, and how they come and go (mostly go-o-o-o).

Now age has taken her byoo-hoo-hoo-teee, and sin has left its sad scarrr,

So remember your motherrs and sisterrs booooys, and let her sleep under the bar

My Dad

So, as you all know, we lost our Dad last Saturday, 12/11/10 at 4:02 pm. (we didn't lose him. He died. We know exactly where he his, and I assure you, there is nothing lost about my Dad). And though we were all there (Mom and all 5 kids), and though it was very expected, it was still a bit of a surprise. Dad was a very stubborn man, and I don't think we completely expected his death. I half expected him to sit up and ask for food. He slugged on with that damned cancer for 20 years - why quit now?

His death was, and is a sad thing. It was and is a relief for him, because he lived in much pain and discomfort and awkwardness of routine for so many years, that I know he was just sick of it all.

His funeral was very nice - military honors, the bagpipes, and a full church service to a packed house. He'd have liked every bit of it.

However...the eulogy was so lauding, so over the top in its praise of Dad, that some of the speakers forgot, I think, the Dad was human. They described him as an annoyingly perfect individual who probably walked on water, and lay on beds of nails for entertainment.

In fact, he was funny, and quirky, and not always laudable.

Dad was quite a bit larger than life - he walked into an empty room, and it was suddenly full.

Yeah - he was human. When one speaker praised Dad's infinite patience, I think every member of the family reared back our heads and mouthed "WHAT?!?!?!?!" Dad had a pretty short fuse and was REALLY cranky at times.

The speakers forgot to mention Dad's motto, which was repeated often -

"Never let the bastards grind you down."

He said it in English and he said it in Latin and he had it mounted over many of his desks throughout his career. And he said "bastards", too, my church friends.

They didn't remind us that he said, "never let 'em see you sweat".

They didn't recount that he taught all the kids and grandkids (and probably his nieces and nephews), how to kill an attacker with one blow. (now, dear reader, I won't describe how that is done, because that may put someone on guard, but rest assured that every member of the Hixson clan is a trained killer - don't mess with us).

They didn't tell the story of how he shot a bat down from the 2 story fireplace in the family room, when he was so sick he could hardly walk even with a walker. (he was worried it would hurt his grandkids - don't you mess with them either. Just because he died last Saturday doesn't mean he can't come back and get you too)

No one ever explained that we were taught never to start a fight. BUT, if someone else started it, we were to by God finish it and finish it good. Hit hard. Hit fast. And it wouldn't hurt to hit low. For a committedly non-confrontational kid, it was good to have that advice. I only had to use it a few times, but was completely victorious when I did.

Dad was smart - very smart. He had many academic and business accomplishments. He was a stubborn, determined, stick-to-it kind of guy who didn't tolerate fools gladly. Hell, he didn't tolerate them at all. Try being a fool in front of him - I dare you. Actually, I wouldn't dare you, because if you're a fool, you'd try it, and my Dad was always heavily armed. Why, we found 3 loaded weapons in the room when he died - 2 within arm's reach. Yeah, buddy.

So, we miss him a lot. It's a hard loss, and I feel selfishly sad about it - selfish, because to want him to stick around would have been to want him to endure more misery, which is unthinkable.

But I miss the Dad who was funny and quirky and a bit of a loose cannon WAY more than I miss the saint who was described at the service.

As Dad would say, Keep smilin' kiddo. And never let 'em see you sweat.

And I'd say, "Love you, Dad"

And he'd say, "uh huh! you bet!"

Confused by Bibliomancy

I've always been attracted to the art of divination. Sometimes I gain valuable insights about the future by reading the movements of clouds (nephomancy) or, and this is my favorite, by watching a cats' movements or jumps (ailuromancy). Bibliomancy has also been the subject of much of my attention for many years: (1) A trusted book, often a holy book, that, by definition, is believed to hold the truth, is picked up and placed on its spine on a flat surface; (2) the book is allowed to fall open; and (3) a passage is picked with the eyes closed. This has proved to be a very accurate way for obtaining credible information about the future, but I'm always looking for other forms of "mancy" to, er, suit my fancy. and I thought I had stumbled on a new form of divination, "horamancy", which was destined to be the wave of the future, so to speak, or so I thought. The discovery of my new method occurred only a few weeks ago, but it only now that I am prepared to describe the events.

I awoke in the middle of one night and looked at the digital clock on the night table (Latin hora, meaning "hour") and read "3:16". To me, this was an obvious reference to John 3:16, which reads: "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life". I felt confident and, to a certain degree, sanctified and saved, until I contemplated the other possibilities of interpretation. After all, there are many "3:16" citations in the various books of the Bible, so I felt it necessary to check a few, just to make sure they matched the intent of the most famous example cited above. First, I tried Genesis 3:16 and read: “I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you”, but that seemed unrelated and harsh, so I looked at I Kings 3:16 and my eyes were met with the words: "Now two prostitutes came to the king and stood before him" At this point I was thoroughly confused, but decided upon one last attempt. I decided to consult the last "3:16" in the Good Book my finger quickly came to rest on Revelation 3:16: "So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth". It was time to call my experiment at horamancy a complete and abject failure! From that point forward I decided to stick with more proven forms of divination, such as xylomancy, divination using wood found in one's path, which I hear from experts to be quite reliable.

My bird, Toots...

We used to have 2 parrots, Winnie and Toots, who came to live with us in 1988 and 1989, respectively. Winnie passed away last year, sadly, but Toots lives on and is a relatively young 21 years old. "The girls" have always had a strong sense of self-preservation, especially with cats and dogs. They were always tolerant of the house pets as long as they kept their distance, but woe betide the critter who approached the cage. Ungodly shrieks, groans, screams and wing flapping have frightened each in our long string of 4 footed family members into keeping a respectful distance. The screaming then died down, unless the animal was bold enough to get too close again.Toots is perhaps more protective of her safety now that Winnie is gone.

For little Max, however, they made an exception.

Max is a 55 pound Lab/Shepherd/something with a curly tail ball of energy and excitement.When he came to live with us at the age of 6months, he immediately approached the cage - - and the parrots seemed fine with it. Never screamed, never threatened. They allowed him to stick his head in when I had the door open, and they even seemed to throw food out just for him. As a pup, he even put his paws on the side of the cage to get close enough for a sniff. The response has ever been one of benign tolerance. After Winnie died, Toots has remained friendly. Max is permitted to stand right up against the cage while he looks out the window - never gets chased or nipped (I say "nipped", but it's really a full out "chomp"). I guess I thought she'd mellowed.

Wrong.

This week, we have a house-guest - a very friendly, quiet, mild-mannered hound named Bella - about 2 years old and somewhat interested in what's in the cage. Not aggressively interested, just curious. Is this permitted? No, it is not. Toots growls, snarls, screams, and makes threatening wing flapping gestures every time sweet Bella approaches. She walks away and it stops. Max walks up alone to eat the kibble off the floor and Toots is quiet, almost friendly. I know Toots is a small creature and very concerned about self-preservation - who could blame her? - so I shouldn't laugh. I think she can tell the difference between me laughing with her and at her. It is pretty funny, though. Bella comes to me for reassurance that she's still an ok dog. Once she gets a pat, she tries again. I think she's finally given up now and will simply stay out of the sunroom. Toots sits in the sun on her perch and shreds vegetables. All is right.

Usually this type of sign/symbol is associated with circular traffic movements, but in this case it is used by historians to describe the seemingly complicated but, in reality, rather simple peregrinations of three of the great proto-Germanic peoples that occurred during the great migratory period of the fourth century c.e. The peoples were, of course, the Regurgilites, Cololites, and Coprolites. All of these tribes originated in the bowels of central Europe and moved slowly at first, and then quite rapidly towards a sudden termination at the great battle of Cloaca, near the present-day city of Merde, France. The symbol represents not only the physical movements of the different peoples, it also illustrates the tendency of these great warriors to merge, diverge, and submerge their identities among, between, and within each other. This complex set of relationships was first elucidated in 1873 by Col. (retired) Francis Lawton-Bliss, a talented amateur fly fisherman with almost no interest in any pursuit other than catching trout in the wild and generous rivers of western Scotland. Fortunately, like Martin Luther, a distant relative on his mother's side, he experienced this insight, a sudden illumination of the mental faculties akin to satori or nirvana, while expelling the remainder of a large meal, though by what manner we do not know, near his campsite. Two years later he was made a Knight of the Garter for his achievement and shortly thereafter he was eaten and digested by the natives of the Outer Hebrides while he searched for a fish of supposedly unbelievably large dimensions.