Watching the Lovely Weather from Inside. Bugs Be Biting.

We had a hideous heat wave and now it is the most perfect temperature you could ever dream of. I was on my chaise lounge trying to read, trying to write, but mostly feeling guilty about my kitty crying from inside. On my list of projects for my home--screened in porch.

I read a few pages of a new book I like, "City of Girls" by Elizabeth Gilbert. I opened my notebook to a blank page, and blank it stayed. I turned my attention to my lovely Drunk Monkey Gardens, admiring the Honey Locust, the giant fern-like umbrella spreading her branches and protections over half the yard. I think of how I love working at my desk on the second story with the window open, right next to the tree, house of many feathered friends. Then I admired my Black-eyed Susans and Purple Cone Flowers and Sombrero Cone Flowers and wild Fleabane I let go because the dragon and damsel flies like it. And my potted flowers that the hummingbirds and hummingbird moths love--dahlia, calendula, lemon drops, snap dragons, candy striped cosmos, 4 o'clocks, marigolds, salvia. 

Looking at my gardens brought me a few degrees less giddiness that it has the past. But now, sitting here writing about it, I feel the giddiness return.

Abby has taken sentry  on her perch, overlooking the tree, cackling at some moony doves. And I am doing the thing that has always reassured me--stringing together words where there was once just a blank page-well, screen. (Note to self: maybe handwritten journals are just not your bag. Can you just accept that? Yes. But can I keep all of my blank journals and admire their intended use?) And now here come the cicadas all wound up and agitated. 

I have a friend, well acquaintance, who is 38 and basically shucked her life. Shucked it like an ear of corn. Those kernels are pearls. I am fascinated by her. She is mostly known for her sex appeal, which gives her tremendous popularity. Earlier she did some non-paid modeling. She's a mother to an 18 year old, possibly a single mother, not sure where the father is. She was an executive assistant or something like that and did lots of theater. And through no fault of her own, men started gushing on her. Even I found them somewhat annoying. A couple of years ago she left the comforts of the corporate world and became a teacher in one of those charter schools in the inner city. She left her comfy apartment in the northern suburbs and bought a fixer upper in the rough part of town. She talked about restoring her home. Then she rented it out and bought another fixer upper. She tore out the grass in front and back and planted gardens. She spent winters knitting scarves for homeless people. She talked about teaching and the kids. Then she kinda disappeared for eight or nine months, reappearing only in bursts. A half-shaved head. Eating everything in sight Barcelona. Then the next week, living rough in Tennessee backwoods, cooking bacon over a fire. Then she started making hints about her life being overwhelming, spending every weekend in bed for eight or nine months from pure mental exhaustion. She changed schools without mentioning why. Then she started dropping hints about leaving it all behind and headed for the unknown. Her kid was grown and would be headed for college the next year. She rented her house on Airbnb. She moved to that creek in Tennessee and she's kinda homesteading. Sometimes the water goes out and she has to bathe in the creek. This woman was a model, but I guess she was never prissy. Also this model loves to eat, and loves to talk about eating, and does not care if she gains weight. She is of course still massively sexy, with weight only half her hair and no make up. She's teaching at an online school and starting community gardens and running a sort of camp ground of sorts that belongs to her family. And she writes about eating four ears of corn, and look out number five. That's why I say she shucked that urbane life for foraging and found some pearls. And I'm pretty mesmerized by what she's doing and what she has to say about it.

And for the record. When she used to post her sexed up modeling photos from when she let her figure get in the way of her love for food, yeah, back then, we're talking hundreds of likes. Now she's posting pics of no make up and sweaty and driving a tractor and being the happiest she's ever been...and...crickets. One or two likes. What happened to her fans? Not that she asked them to be fans. But where are they, now that she's happy? They only like her when she's being sexy, being something for them. Now she's doing something for herself, something truly inspiring and brave and happy, and where are all these people?

Another friend had her life pretty much fall apart, that is a home and a job. She was homeless and nesting here and there for over a year, but then she announced she would move to Nashville after spending a summer in Michigan. Except there's no job and no house in Nashville either. She's taking a journey of faith, and she's scared, but she falls back on her faith. I don't believe much in that sort of thing, but I am mesmerized by the undertaking at age 52.

They're both on journeys albeit very different.

Maybe I am missing a journey of unknowns. I never liked that trip. I was on it for a while as a young adult and swore it off. 

But there's something off. I think I know what it is. It's my job. I think I'm having a midlife crisis. I had one in my late thirties, but that one was more, holy crap I am 37 and haven't ever had a life of my own. And I got it and loved it and succeeded at it! I'm something! But now I've got this well-paying but IMO totally meaningless job, just like everyone else does at that company, and every day there is more and more bullshit piled on. No, not the actual work for the actual customers. All this behind the scenes total bullshit, and it accomplishes nothing but duplication and hours on a ledger, and a ton of effort and on top of that it is so boring. I can't even describe what I do for a living. how is this even a livelihood? I think this part of it is wearing me out. 

I am looking for adventure again, but I don't know what kind.

Maybe I'll figure out tomorrow, right here. 

Go to the Source

A friend of mine from college recently posted on Facebook a few photos of a quaint inn in one of our bedroom towns, a notebook, and a beautiful breakfast. She had said that all she wanted for her birthday was for her kids to not fight and to find some time to write. Her kids went into a war mode, and the frantic day got away from her before she had time to do one simple thing: write. That's all she wanted. Time and quiet to write. The next day her husband surprised her by booking her a room in the sweet inn with a whole night and morning to herself to devote to writing, while he stayed home and dealt appropriate rebuke to the kids.

It was the most beautiful birthday present, the most selfless act of love I've ever witnessed. He knew what she wanted and didn't take offense that it didn't involve him, and he stepped up to make it happen and made all the plans for her so she wouldn't feel guilty about leaving the family over night.

And here I am with almost nothing but time, and I do not write. I have an office, tons of notebooks, pens, peace and quiet, and no one to answer to once I get home from work. And I do not write. I felt awash in guilt, but not just guilt, prodigal. Squandering. Wasteful. 

Why don't I write?

Why do I write? Who is it for? What does it accomplish.

What is it good for?

Absolutely no one: but me

It is for me. What does it do? What good is it? It helps me figure it out. What is it. It is everything. 

I no longer write for public consumption. But I should write for me. I loved writing here. I began to believe that I had nothing to write about. I must have believed that I did all sowing all the gleaning all the treasure hunting I could in this life.

And that is how I realized today that Life Got Me Like...Huh. 

I'm not sad. But I'm not excited.

I'm used to excitement. It was my drug for many years. It was my raison d etre. It was my rationale. It was my excuse. It was shiny plastic medal that no one cared about.

I've been wondering about my life lately. Maybe a few years. I came down from that high horse of living on the edge. I've questioned lately if I'm in a rut now, or if I'm still trying to operate from a baseline level of manageable time lines and interests.

Does writing make me feel guilty? Like, I should be doing something productive instead of spilling thoughts and anxieties with a little rhyme and romance. Or guilty because it's not very good, and that's my fault? Or guilty because I don't have anything to write about? Or guilty about being so lazy that I don't see the things I have to write about? 

Guilt. How about I kick that hitch hiker off my road trip? 

I am still on a road trip. I have to road trip everyday, journey in place everyday. 

I think writing is like exercising. Do it even when you feel you have no energy, no thoughts. Make a list of things that made you happy or sad. Write out things you accomplished or why you didn't accomplish things.

I wait all year for summer to arrive, but days like these, and what is a day like this? A hideous heat index, that's what. 

But now, like the Neko Case song, it feels as if it's passing me by. 

And it should not. I am feeling this, but this is a lie.

I have a yard full of beautiful flowers to show for it!

My shade garden never took off, and it made me sad, but it's not exactly tragic, either.

We went on a trip to Traverse City!

I was a grown up and did a colonoscopy.

We had dinner with Ralf and Jim and a party at Michele's

We went to a baseball game on 4th of July and watched the fireworks.

We spent a long weekend at my parents' lake house.

We saw a sunset on Lake Michigan.

I stained my deck.

I fixed up my mailbox and birdhouses and painted a purple an old ladder I've been dragging around with me since my days in Salt Lake City, and it resides happily in Drunk Monkey Gardens.

I started running again less than a month ago. I saw a picture of myself from ten or so years ago, and that was my inspiration. I inspired me. And I have to let that happen more often. But it can't happen with my damn hitch hikers and hijackers. I became my own source of inspiration. I can do that. I can do that again. I can do that everyday.

I feel great running again, and look forward to running days. I am being smart about it and listening to my body. I am adding distance slowly. I am cross training. I am focusing on the doing not on the result. I am doing something I never thought I'd do again.

A Little Spotlight is Good for the Soul

We took an impromptu trip to a jungle eco-resort in Mexico in December. Coming back home to a long, brown, ugly Indiana winter took a toll on me. Something you might not know about Indy: it's full of pigs who litter. The litter is always there. This Spring I have taken to cleaning my neighborhood. What I'd really like to do is clean the clocks of these disgusting offenders who throw garbage out the window. Pollution, bare trees, brown grass, grey skies all led to me burrowing indoors all winter, a respite that in past years has given me a cozy feeling. This year it felt like a deep rut into which I was spinning my wheels deeper and deeper.

I went through a period of feeling "foggy," especially in social situations. I had this feeling that I was kinda just floating through it, not connecting to anyone, and longing to get back to the quiet of my home.

The fogginess might have been caused by a vitamin D deficiency, which my doctor diagnosed at my annual screening. She prescribed some vitamin D. It might have also been caused by my tendency toward introversion being thrown into uncomfortable territory. This one surprised and slightly concerned me since this happened at outings with close friends, where I usually feel upbeat and positive.

So I sank into a sort of self-created very comfy trap.

In March, I took a risk by going on an audition. I don't audition much anymore. I decided to take a chance on this one. The theater was packed. Everyone was fantastic. I had to fight off some negativity. I didn't always do well fighting it off. Days went by, and I heard nothing, so I decided that it would be my last audition, and that I did it well and bravely and didn't quit without trying. But then I got the call from the director who offered me what I consider the best parts/roles in the play. This was Love, Loss, and What I Wore. A friend I adore but don't see often enough was cast as well as an acquaintance who has played many of the same roles I have albeit different productions.

Three of us wound up car pooling to rehearsals, which made the drive so much more fun, often more fun than the rehearsals!


I enjoyed digging into characters and developing new skills and new ways of getting to a character. One thing I tried seemed to really pull it all together for me. I had a talking-to with myself. I said, you've read them, memorized them, felt them, rehearsed them, researched them. You sound great,b ut could you connect more meaningfully? And then this question: "Have you LOVED these characters?" I realized I had not. I had not given them sympathy and affection as if they were a dear friend or sister or MYSELF. That night, everyone heard and felt a difference.

To be learning and growing so late in the game--this is my what 40th play since my  late 30s--was just what I needed to break through that cocoon I'd been weaving for several months.

My mom and her best friend-since-she-was-four Donna came to the show on Mother's Day. They drove from Michigan taking the same back roads that Donna's father took back in the 40s and 50s. Donna's extended family lived somewhere in Indiana, and my mom was always invited.

It was so exciting having them in the front row. I could feel my mom's presence, heart, and soul. I found myself in new territory--feeling empathy the way I imagine someone else might. I could hear my words coming out so true and deep. I could feel sorrow and feel empathy. I never had this happen in theater.

Here's a good reminder of why I should not worry about other people and how something affects them: I was a little unsure of what they would think of the play. It's not Hallmark or Lifetime. It's real women talking frankly about life in all its glory and guts. I wondered if they would be uncomfortable with my character who spoke about getting raped or the character who was about to her marry her female fiance. Well, they both LOVED the play. Said it was like nothing they'd ever seen. Said they talked about it the whole four-hour drive home. My mom told me she was proud of me and how well we did, adding in that "You look so pretty." In short, I underestimated them. I was afraid they might be offended. Well, they weren't! They were perfectly capable of taking in the play on the whole and grasping exactly what it meant.

My mom's astute observation: "Gingy" more than anything, more than hardships and missteps, and heartbreaks, and betrayals, more than anything else, she valued her life.

That was my gift from my mom.

The whole play was a gift to me from Jim, the director, from Larry, whom I didn't even tell I was auditioning, from Adrienne, Denise, and Alyssa, and Molly. Larry attended twice. Many friends attended. My mom attended. It was also a gift to me from me. I took a risk. And then I dug deeper into gratitude. And I had a little mantra before I went on stage: be present, be grateful, and be generous.

I said throughout the play that it might be my last, and that was why I wanted to dig deeper than I ever had. And now I don't know if it will be my last. I may never want to audition again. I may never want to be committed to a schedule again. But if I do, it will be a play that is worth my time, like this one was. It ended on a wonderful note, with a fantastic audience full of friends, perhaps my best performance of the run, and a fun party

Springing back to Life

I put myself through some drudgery over the Winter. Spring came, and I began a new, just like the world around me.

My birthday was fun. Around 1 pm on Friday, with the weather fine and my spirits up, I decided I should celebrate with a couple of friends. At first I thought I'd have a simple barbecue on the deck, but no, work had to get in the way of me getting to the store on my lunch hour. I texted Michele and Patrick and devised a simple plan. Eat in a hole-in-the-wall nearby ethnic restaurant then back to my house for margaritas, cake and a game.

Michele and Eric and Patrick and Christina came and picked us up, and we went about 1/4 mile to Tu Casa, a Domincan/Venezuelan restaurant in a janky strip mall. We felt as if we were walking into a private party when we entered, and they looked kind of confused. Finally someone who spoke English greeted us a little warily, wanting to know if we wanted Domincan or Venezuelan food, because after 6 pm, the menu changes to Venezuelan. "Venezuelan it is," we proclaimed. There were no menus or lists, just some photos on the wall, which were not necessarily exemplary of what was actually available. A waitress who spoke no English, came around with her phone, and showed us photos on Google. We all finally found something, and it was interesting to say the least. Food was okay, but my friends were great company and good spirited.

Afterwards we enjoyed a yummy strawberry creme cake I made, some homemade margaritas ala Michele, and played "The Game of Things." It was a really fun and simple evening with lots of laughs, and I felt very fortunate to have friends who made time to celebrate with me at a moment's notice. 

Larry and I were able to squeeze in a nature / wildflower walk at Eagle Creek before the gathering. Wildflowers always cheer me up!

Sunday, Larry surprised me at tech rehearsal by showing up with a cake. After tech he took me out to eat at Season's 52, one of my favorite places. I had scallops and asparagus.

The week before, I went to Michigan for Easter, and my mom took me to dinner at Tosi's. We had a nice night! Afterwards we went home and watched cable TV, which I still always learn is a big waste and let down. We finally settled on Ten Commandments, and I learned that I am madly in love Yul Brynner. 

The nursery down the road adopted some donkeys, Burrito and Lil Red. They are much like the donkeys at Sandos Caracol--aloof unless you have a snack. 

Strawberry shortcake for dessert at my mom's house

Mom and Dad showed me the lake house they bought this Winter

An article my mom wrote about a waitress who was retiring after 64 years was framed and posted on Hall of Fame

Leftover Venezuelan food--a sort of giant sandwich with plantains as the bread.

I love my magnolia tree!

And my crab apple tree

Violets

Dogwood

A tree I like at Eagle Creek.

Welcoming Burrito and Li'l Red to our neighborhood!

A Slice of Paradise Called Xcalacoco

I learned in October that I had to use 48 hours of PTO before the end of the year. I was almost certain this was an accounting error, so I did what any self-respecting professional would do--planned a trip, pronto! I initially suggested a camping trip to Big Bend NP, but Larry was not having that! I guess he had his fill of camping from our trip to nine national parks in November. He countered with "something relaxing and tropical."

Cancun is a quick three-hour direct flight, so we booked air fare, reserved a rental car, and found what seemed to be the perfect lodgings--an ecotel called Sandos Caracol Ecoresort, which boasts an emphasis on wildlife and conservation with many programs and activities for high-octane people but is also an all inclusive with a water park and a huge beach, so we could also eat and drink and be merry. We picked a room in the quiet part of the resort for adults only. It was in the jungle, and I loved waking up to the jungle sounds every morning and looking for monkeys in the trees.

Larry arranged a dive at Dos Ojos, the largest underwater cave/cenote in the Yucatan. We enjoyed driving around and checking out the scenery. I love the low-lying jungle of the Yucatan, but the place is really built up now. I was last there 15 years ago, and that part of the QRoo was hardly developed. It was sad to see, actually, but yet there I was, contributing to the growth. Larry signed up for a dive and I did a snorkel tour. I was the only English speaker on the tour. The tour guide spoke some English. I did my best to keep up, and was surprised by how poor my Spanish and by how much I could pick up despite of that. Later in the trip I would really wish I spoke fluent Spanish.

Dos Ojos is an underground cave/cenote system. Parts of it requiring diving under water and swimming about 100 yards. The caves are all connected underground, and a guide takes you through the tunnels. You need a torch to see where you're going, and some areas are really tight with stalactites and stalagmites.

One cave is called the Bat Cave, and I figured it was just a cute name, but no it really was a bat cave. Thousands of bats above, and I just loved it!

My camera was locked away with my other belongings so I have no pix of this adventure, but it was beautiful. Climbing out of the cenotes/caves and onto a jungle floor felt like being in the bottom of a terrarium. It really took my breath away, and I enjoyed walking the paths and exploring on my own while Larry was on his dive.

After the Dos Ojos adventure we did a self-guided tour of Tulum Mayan Ruins.

Overall the impromptu trip was the perfect mix of adrenaline and relaxation punctuated by astounding beauty and lovely people. Our hotel was geared more for a Spanish-speaking population, so we at least felt like we were traveling in another country, but it seemed most visitors were from Europe. I have stayed in some resorts in Cancun where it feels like you've never left the U.S. Most of the staff spoke some English--some fluent, some knew only a few words, so it was good for me to try to up my skills. I did not do so well--stage fright I guess.

When the hotel was being built they found a dozen or so cenotes and vast mangroves in the jungle as the ruins of a small Mayan city. Xcalacoco was an important port town some 1200 years ago. The hotel then changed plans and decided to protect these important historical and geological gems, and rebranded itself an ecotel, with an emphasis on preserving and protecting. I think this was carried out well in some ways, but not in others.

The resort was just beautiful. Not the architecture or pools or the typical things you think about when you think about a resort in the tropics. I loved the thatched roofs and open air concept of the common buildings. They fit in perfectly with the "eco-tel" vibe. The rooms were just okay. Not fancy but comfortable, and compared to the camping trips we've been on, any indoor accommodations with indoor plumbing feels luxurious! But what was really gorgeous were all the cenotes and vast network of cobbled paths through the green jungle. I just loved taking walks, morning, noon, and night. We especially loved taking swims before dinner in the many hidden cenotes. It felt like a paradise all our own!

Our days were fun-filled. I'd get up early, grab a nice cappuccino from la elefant bar in the lobby and walk down to the beach for sunrise. I enjoyed greeting the pescadores (fisherman) and their faithful companions, los pelicanos! After that we'd meet Jesus to make our daily visit with the animals and los guaucamayos--the parrots! Then we'd find a place for breakfast with cappuccino, mimosas, tamales, omelets, tortillas, french toast, etc. Then we'd pick an activity--snorkeling in the jade river, bike riding out to the ruins, walking through the Xcalacoco Puerto Del Sol, a romantic gondola ride through the jungle. We'd hit the beach and try to swim or take a long walk. We'd hit the water park. We'd take a jog. We'd relax at the spa. We'd spend hours at the adults only pool, enjoying the drinks, monkeys, peacocks, and tame feral cats. We'd take a dip in the cenote. We'd find a place for lunch. We'd hit the swing bar for some ice cream. We'd head back to the beach. One day we both had a massage on the beach, a dream come true for Larry, and oh it was wonderful. One day he did a massage in the resort spa while I partook of the Temezcal ceremony, something I've wanted to try for a couple of decades now. We'd figure out dinner. We'd walk off dinner. We'd walk the quiet shores. We'd retire early.

The food here was like the room--not great but we didn't go hungry. Oh, well. Can't win them all. The tamales were fantastic, and there was lots of "street fare" in the plaza but for some reason we never at there. There was a good steak/fish house that we managed to eat at twice. Our favorite was the Mediterranean place, right on the ocean. One night we had a beautiful romantic ocean view and one night a cozy jungle view of a cenote and waterfall.

Mis amigos, los animales! I made many friends at our ecoresort! The hotel has adopted many species of animals that had been mistreated or abandoned.

Our favorite part of our impromptu vacation was the animal sanctuary. While the manipulative monkeys and crafty coatimundis live happily on the resort of their own accord, the ecotel has rescued many domesticated animals that seem unbefitting for a beach resort in Mexico. In addition to the feral cats that have been neutered, tipped, immunized, and fed, they also have burros, Nestor and Domi; a pig named Coco; a potbelly pig named Cindy; two black and brown-furred sheep, whose names I did not catch but called Big Mouth 1 and 2; a chinchilla; fluffy lop-eared bunnies; cute ducks with wagging tails and red faces who "peep" instead of quack and try to swim in the pools; proud peacocks, one of whom presides over the open air spa, preening and posturing, jumping up on the reception desk, and trying to follow people into the sauna; four sweet and funny Guacamayos (macaws); and three Xoloitzcuintlis, who serve as ambassadors and educators about animal rescue. I learned that the barnyard animals were rescued after a church put on a live nativity scene, and then abandoned the poor animals and left them to starve to death!

A Xoloitzcuintli ( “show-low-eetz-kweent-lee" or "Show-Low" for short.) is a rare and ancient dog breed, going back at least 3500 years. They have the distinction of being hairless except for the top of their heads, giving them a cartoonish Dr. Gonzo look. Xolos were muses for many artists, particularly Frida Kahlo, while Aztecs, Toltecs, and Mayans considered them sacred guides to the underworld. The Xolos here were rescued at different times from abuse or neglect, and the handlers work very hard to integrate them into a calm, safe, sociable, and happy life. The Xolo is extremely loyal, which is why they were the chosen dogs of royalty, and it is evident that they have little interest in anyone who is not their people. They have a dismissive way of regarding you while you're baby talking them and trying to pet them that makes you feel quite proletarian.

I am someone who likes to wake up very early on vacation to get the adventure started. (This became a point of irritation for Larry when we lived in the campervan for 19 days this Fall!) I loved to get up early, get a nice mug of cappuccino, and walk down to the empty beach to greet the fisherman, pelicans, and sunrise. See, even writing that puts a big smile on my face, which is why I write this stuff out! My restlessness paid off because this is how I came to be an unofficial animal keeper on the resort! One morning, I was petting Nestor and Domi, when suddenly they started eee-orring and snuffing at the top of their lungs. Then the sheep started bahhing, the pigs started oinking and squealing, and I started laughing my burro off! Up comes a man with a wheelbarrow full of food. I got a look at the haul, and it was very good food! All fresh and colorful like a gourmet salad! The man smiled at me and let me shadow him a bit. He handed me some homemade tortillas, then pointed at Cindy, and she started hollering! I fed her some, then Coco wanted hers, then here come the burrows with their lips all sticking out, and then the sheep start screaming at me. He didn't speak English, and my Spanish is not so great, it turns out. Still, we communicated with smiles, laughs, gestures, and expressions. I learned his name is Jesus, and it did not hit me until now how funny that is that Jesus takes care of the animals in the stable!

The animals and Jesus had a special connection that was a joy watch. I've seen firsthand what it looks like when an abused animal decides to trust a human, and when a human sees the soul of an animal. It looks exactly like love. The look in his eyes when he cared for them melted my heart and filled my spirit. One morning he was tasked to give the burros a bath, and they absolutely loved it, as if they were getting a massage. Pigs love to swim and have their own swimming hole on the resort. I would have loved to see pigs swimming! (Saw some pics in the stable.)

On the second day of waiting for Jesus at the Manger, he motioned for me to follow him after he finished with barnyard animals. "Guacamayos," he said, which was a word I remembered from Costa Rica--"Macaws." He led me through the jungle a ways, pushing his wheelbarrow until we reached the Macaw Dormitories. As soon as they heard the squeaky wheel they started "caw-ing." One by one, he opened their cages and greeted them: Pollock, Ek, Zsusa, and Lupita, then held out a broom handle. They gracefully climbed on, and he carefully took them to the wheelbarrow, where they perched on the side. As each one was loaded up, they all watched him intently, trying to make eye contact with him, then bopped their heads and danced when he spoke. When all were loaded up, he started pushing the wheelbarrow again, and they loved it. They were going for a ride! They chattered the whole time with each other and Jesus, and the newest member of the flock kept looking at him constantly for reassurance, and he'd say, something like "Estas bien, Lupita." (You're fine.) Soon we were heading for an employee only area of the resort, but Jesus motioned for me to follow. Lots of staff were arriving at that point, and they all had a huge smile and "Buenas Dias" for Jesus y los guacamayos. I could tell that Jesus was also loved by people.

Finally we reached the gardens where the ecotel grows much of its food and decorative plants. It was a slice of heaven, so cool and peaceful. He got his broom back out, and loaded his charges up onto their perches, then told me "espera acqui" (wait here.) He came back with a handful of peanuts so that I could feed them. I held out my palm flat and let the birds decide if they wanted the treat. They approached very eagerly then delicately took the peanut from my palm! Jesus was watching closely to make sure that I was careful with the birds. The birds, I learned, all came to the resort after being rescued from cruel people who had used them as props for photos for tourists who are stupid and confrontational and try to pet them (birds do not like to be pet! It hurts them!) and stick a camera flash in their face. Lupita was new to the resort, and when they rescued her, she barely had any feathers. Birds pull out their own feathers when they are distressed and depressed. Tiny feathers were now growing back. One morning on the wheelbarrow ride, something spooked the parrots, and three of them flew into the trees above. Pollock, the alpha parrot (red one in my photos) seemed to be admonishing them to come back. He started pacing back forth as if he was agitated. After a few minutes, they flew closer, then Jesus held out the broom, and they climbed aboard. I liked seeing them, a) being able to fly (some people cruelly clip their wings!), and b) wanting to come back.

It was very meaningful to have Jesus trust me with his beloved animals. I also felt a special connection between us, as if we were meant to be friends somehow.

After hearing about my adventures with Jesus, my very own late sleeper started rising early to help feed my new friends. Like me, he especially loved feeding the parrots and was taken with how how gentle and delicate and absolutely stunning they were. Even though we did so many amazing things on this trip, Larry and I both listed the parrots as our favorite thing.

When it was time for us to go back home, I sadly I told Jesus I was leaving and "Gracias por tu amistad," (Thank you for your friendship.), and he gave me a sad smile and had a little twinkle in his eye. He welcomed a hug from me, and I said my said my sad goodbyes to Jesus and the parrots and the manger animals.

The Xamana at the Temezcal was named Jesus, too--and again, this just now strikes me as funny. Jesus the Xamana and Jesus the the animal keeper were my favorite people I met on this trip. Both were so warm and generous in spirit, both open to connection. I was blessed to have met them both. You know I can't end this post without proclaiming, "Jesus is just ‘alright’ with me" and “What a friend I have in Jesus.”

We spent one day at the sister resort Playacar Sandos, which had a gorgeous beach, the sandy white infinity that I dream about night and day! The beach and food were much nicer at this resort, but

We were sad to say goodbye to Mexico and our ecotel, beautiful beach, delicious tamales, and wonderful people. My animal friends gave us a wonderful sendoff! Peacocks, cats, and monkeys at the pool and the restaurant. One monkey swung from the rafters, climbed down the railing, and perched himself beside our table hoping for a bite. I am not a moron who feeds wild animals, so he lost interest really quickly.

When we returned our rental car at Thrifty Car Rental in Cancun, the bitchface checking us in went over the car with a magnifying glass and found a mark that was scrutinized by her asshole boss and his dickhead manager. These fuckers are running a racket. They told a couple of lies, most of them in Spanish. I heard him say $50 dollar in Spanish but then tell us it was $80..."That is why you are going to have to pay me eighty dollars." I said, "You just told him $50." Really sour note, I'm afraid, and it makes us not want to rent a car in Mexico again. Just putting this out here for anyone who wants to rent from Thrifty Car Rental in Cancun.

I'll let the photos say the rest.








































Larry enjoyed the hammocks in the Select Club Adults Only beach club






I made friends with the cute burros.









Peacocks liked the Select Club pool and the spa!











Xoloitzcuintlis! 






View from my chaise lounge





One of two books I found on the community bookshelf. Others were in Spanish, German, Korean, Arabic, Dutch, Portuguese, etc. Truly an international hotel.






I liked the bar, clubhouse, and canapes in the Select Club beach





One of the restaurants was Japanese show cooking










Sunrise on the beach. All to myself!









La Riviera Mediterranean restaurant. Right on the beach. Palapa roof. Open roof. Loved it.





People got up at the crack of dawn to claim these stupid Bali Beds. They just laid there all day like Caligula. Really not necessary.





Pescadores out for their morning catch













Many monos!

























Centote Cristilano





Guacamayos slept in their dorms in the jungle then spent their days in the quiet nursery/garden. Jesus gave me backstage pass!





My friend Jesus and his feathered friends











Going for a ride.























I thought the magroves were fascinating. I've never seen this color water.





Coatamundis everywhere, even in the trash cans: Mexican Trash Pandas











Beautiful jungle pathways. Bridges over rivers and cenotes and statues memorializing the area's Mayan roots.






























El Tortuga cenotes. We enjoyed swims here in the evening.









































Temezcal. Didn't take photos during ceremony. It was very special. Three Brazilian women, a Mexican woman, me (American), and Jesus the Xamana. He spoke mostly Spanish but one of the Brazilian women translated. He spoke English too. This was a beautiful experience of being intimate among strangers--feeling honest and safe is not always easy to do. Ceremony commenced in nearby Cenote Secreto. Fellowship with what seems like magic waters.




























Christmas tree made of wine bottles.




















I enjoyed L'elefant bar right in the jungle on the cenote.





Another hidden cenote somewhere in the vast jungle property.





I loved the way the palms filtered the sun and made the light green.






Old Mayan port town ruins discovered while building the resort. It completely changed their plans, and they decided to make it eco resort instead of luxury resort











This was my favorite "building." Wondered if it was a bar or reception at one point. It's now an activities desk. Ceiling is painted like a tree, with wine bottles as the leaves, built right into the adobe roof.




























Bamboo forest on the way to Los Lirios, one of the nicer restaurants.





El Manglar bar. Mangrove. Brackish chalk blue water, which I found very pretty and unlike anything I'd ever seen. Stupid people who should stay elsewhere complained of the swamp smell.

















Monkeys hanging out at adult pool.












Tulum fortress city on a cliff beside the sea. We were struck by how similar the ruins were to the Greek ruins.























A monkey sat beside our table, hoping for a handout!









Naughty monkey, swinging on the rafters through the restaurant.






Peacocks liked to roost on people's balcony.





Romantic gondola ride on el Rio Jade











Champagne and chocolate strawberries




Nestor, our gondolier.

















Loved the beach at Playacar. My favorite thing--miles long beach you can walk forever

















Sacred Kapok tree--tree of life









Open air lobbies and restaurants.




There is a cat sanctuary on the resort. This little cross eyed cutie was a sweetie.






The very nice and quiet adults only pool


































Suspension bridge over a large cenote











Nice view for dinner!




Peacocks, cats, coatamundis, and monkeys. What I called The Party Animal pool.












One of the shows. They put on a good show about Mayans--pretty good storytelling, plus acting and dancing. We enjoyed this