Rain man

What do you do when a tornado siren goes off? You run outside with an umbrella to see the show. Actually, we did head to the basement first until things seemed safe. We had just said goodbyes the friends and family who had come for Sunday supper. (23 of us altogether.) We had no clue that the weather was turning serious until Robert's sister, Sandy, returned moments later, followed by another sister, Susan. Sandy, hearing the news on her car radio, decided not to take a chance driving home; Susan had just forgotten her purse. So we had a little crowd in the basement, though no one would sit tight. Susan took a cigarette break. Beau wanted to watch the skies. My mom went upstairs to get her dog. While you're up would you bring me a cup of coffee, please?

I suspect we all doubted a tornado would touch down in our neighborhood since nothing that exciting ever happens here. I had the craziest fleeting wish for one to selectively rip away the sagging railroad-tie retaining wall around our swimming pool: It's an eyesore screaming out to be repaired. Instead we got a leak over the family room from the torrential rainstorm that followed.


Susan's son, Joe turned 18 today, so we celebrated with chocolate cake. Then the girls cleared the table to begin working on addressing invitations to his upcoming Eagle Scout Court of Honor ceremony. That's right, Eagle Scout. We all think that's quite an achievement and are proud of him, especially with the hardships he has endured. Susan relayed a recent scene where another Scout mother offended her with the catty comment that 18 is a little late to be receiving that rank. "Well, I guess he was a little occupied with his dad's recent death and my recovering from a brain aneurysm," she shot back. Yikes. Susan-- always good with a quick come-back.

Homeland Security

Robert and I have been looking at trading our suburban house for a condo in mid-town. Like a lot of modern folks we're re-thinking our lifestyle and wanting mobility, low maintenance, and no yard work. Every other high rise is being converted to condos lately. But if we're to live in a big tall box at least let's have a great view, says Robert. And that means a higher floor. I prefer nothing higher than three floors so in emergency it's possible to jump for it. We've found a unit (occupied for years by an elderly woman) we can maybe afford since it has not been remodeled and still has blue carpet (in her bedroom). It's on the 18th floor. Robert goes window to window examining the views, while I follow checking the stability of the aging window latches. "A person could fall out if this was open," I mutter uneasily. I'm imagining escape routes and ropes, calculating how many bed sheets it would take to descend 18 stories. This particular unit has two entrances and I praise this not for convenience, but for something else entirely--in case some bad guy comes in the one door I can run out the other since there's no jumping out the window and scampering away.

With friends we toured another building which had incredible views from the 19th floor, but it was the unit on the second floor that had the favor of the women that day. Lindsey and I echoed each other's observation that the entrance overlooked the lobby--good in case you need to yell for help in case a bad guy gets in. We amused the guys with our silly attention to homeland security. Guys don't pre-think escape-and-run strategies. A baseball bat by the bed is the extent of Robert's personal security plan.

But like many of my observations about male behavior, I am wrong. Men do have strategy other than "take-it-on-when-it-happens." I got a little glimpse of it today from Robert while pricing cabinetry for Beau's sales office. At Home Depot he tells the salesperson he wants the service counter to be extra high. "Why?" I ask. And I learn it is better to have a high counter to make it harder for some bad guy to jump over and fight you. I smile a crooked smile and feel vindicated.

Gotta get moving

I realize I am probably disappointing my readers who want to hear about life in Loreto Bay, but life in Kansas City is where we are right now though not for long. Soon we will leave the midwestern flatlands for Colorado. Our revised plan is to live in the Rocky Mountains for the autumn months leading to Christmas holiday when we plan to return to Loreto Bay for the winter. We share a condo with friends in Summit County and we've managed to snag it for the next several months (except for Thanksgiving break when we will fly home for the week.) Allison will attend public school; Robert and I will once again look for things to explore, which should be easy.

I love the mountains. Robert loves the ocean. This is the year we both get to indulge ourselves. I want to hike and fish and take lots of photographs. I will edit a video project for a good friend who has put together a genealogy study of her Irish-immigrant family. Later, when it snows I want to cross-country ski and take Allison ice-skating and sledding. The local school she'll attend has nearly 50% Hispanic students whose parents are most probably workers in the service industry that supports the ski resorts. We could send her to a more prosperous school, one with higher test scores and a lesser free-lunch tally, but some interesting research persuades me to withhold a blanket judgement that this school is inferior. Half the kids there are learning English as a second language. They may have parents who (hopefully are legal immigrants) are not proficient in English. Therefore, reading and writing may be a challenge to many of these students. Doesn't mean they are bad or dumb, simply means they have a challenge.

I researched the district schools as much as I was able to online and interestingly I came across the minutes from a year's worth of district meetings that altered my misgivings about this "lesser" school. The discussion was about high-risk behavior among district students. It was the consensus that the problem behavior was occurring in the middle class white student population, none in the Hispanic. The reasoning? "...the Hispanic students are generally involved after-school with babysitting or other means of providing for the family." That touched me and reminded me of the fondness I felt toward the Mexican children we met at Colegio Calafia. Good kids. Unspoiled kids. Kids I wouldn't be reluctant to let my daughter hang around with. Of course, I have to check it out first. I will be leaving with Allison in the next few days. Robert will come soon after he finishes some work here.

I need to get going because every day that I'm here I fall deeper into old patterns and desires. I'm watching a lot of television and my lust for consumer goods is reawakening. I'm looking at real estate and dreaming of condo remodels on the Plaza. Time to go.

Bring out the big toys

Forget my idea to hire a tree trimming service; Beau had a cheaper solution--plow the trees over with the bulldozer. "Now, you're thinking," says his dad.


Not the neatest results, but the scrubby trees are no longer obscuring the view to the warehouse.

IMHO

The consultations continue. Robert and Beau discuss plans for the outside of the warehouse. Robert suggests Beau take a chain saw to the scrubby trees in the field adjacent to the highway to open a better view to his business.

But there's an enormous amount of poison ivy lurking out there. Beau's been battling against it all summer with repeated trips to the doctor for shots, medicine, and ointments.Maybe we should call a tree cutting service, I say.
That's a good idea, they both say.

It happens sometimes, I say.

Sharing the Vision

Robert examines Beau's progress on the warehouse exterior and offers his ideas--which of course are expansive.

Excuse me, Allah.

It's two a.m. in the morning and I can not sleep after marathon news watching. British intelligence foils a terrorist plot to blow up planes flying from the U.K. to the U.S. Now innocent travelers live in fear and mothers are requested by airport security to sip their baby's formula before boarding to prove it contains no explosive agents.

I am so angry at the situation in the Middle East; so alarmed by the idea that people there want us dead. How do you deal with people who believe Allah is on their side to annihilate "the infidels?" How do you negotiate for peace? My response is to want to wipe them away, destroy them before they destroy us. Maybe it's my American sense of entitlement that demands I should live in hard-earned peace and prosperity. Who are these terrorists who want to kill us?

It's surreal to me to be juggling these thoughts in my head while simultaneously living days filled with light-hearted behavior. I take my nieces ice-skating, order pizza, walk the dog, visit with friends, buy hats. Who wants to take that happiness from me? Something in me defiantly says, Just try to mess with me. Bring it."

Girl stuff

Lunch with Kim and Diane. They both look great. We had a lot of catching up to do. As usual, we met at the boutique Kim works at and walked across the street to a favorite cafe. And, as usual, after lunch, Kim lured me back into the boutique to try things on. This time, she had some serious help from Allison who has quite the opinion on what suits me best. "This will look good with your skin tone," she says, and I'm speechless.

I bought her a hat and colored "one size fits all" tights. "They'll fit me, Mom--I'm one size!" I came out empty-handed I think because I have lost my desire to dress pretty. I'm letting myself go, I tell my friends. Living near the ocean in a warm climate will do that to you. Who's to impress? I believe that's the point of escaping to Mexico--you want to hang all that up. But, I am home now, and should probably get with the program and get my sorry self in for maintenance: pedicure, manicure, facial, haircut, highlights, teeth whitener, waxing, new shoes, clothes, earrings, eyeglasses, sole supports, botox, collagen, dermabrasion, a facelift, or whatever else is necessary and recommended at my age.

Or I could what men do when they need a boost--buy a new car. Probably no more expensive.

My girlfriend's back...

Allison's girlfriends discovered she's back in town. These two sisters were staying overnight at their grandparents house two doors from us. They saw we were home and came running. Michelle stopped by later with her toddler granddaughter and we had a impromptu girl party. My sons rolled their eyes and left the house to us.

Gimme shelter

Who changes like a changeful season
holds fast and lets go without reason
Who is there that can give adhesion
to Cancer?



We left one blasted hot place only to return to another equally oppressive one. This afternoon, my mother flew home to Arizona for the weekend where it's cooler. Ha! Me, I feel stuck in limbo; home but not home. I'm tucked back in my familiar shell where I'm practically hiding should somebody notice me and drag me back into this old familiar seabed. I'd thought I'd escaped. Why am I so reluctant to get back into the swim?

Loreto Bay already seems like a distant memory, yet a life is waiting there for me to pick back up. I think about our little casa sitting fully furnished and appointed, waiting like some time capsule to be reopened. I'll hasten back when I'm able... to snuggle back in. It was a nice fit, I remember.

Everything's up to date in Kansas City

I'm home, but out of a job (my mother moved in to take over my work and care for our house while we explore new horizons) My only contribution is to prepare a flyer to hand deliver to various businesses to promote our own. The idea is that we take a little goodie bag that will include my chocolate chip cherry cookies (which Bruce and Susan at Dolphin Dive say are the best cookies they've ever eaten) and remind people to shop with us. Simple, but effective, I say. I learned from tagging along once with my dear friend, Cynthia, on her sales calls to doctors, that food works best.

The Public Art Commission is on hiatus for the summer so I don't have my work there. I'm kind of on perpetual vacation ( Oh boo hoo, I know.) On top of that it is so blasted hot and humid in Missouri right now that it might as well be called "Misery." Apparently, it's hot everywhere in America. Twenty-five thousand cattle dropped dead in California from the heat. At least we have air conditioning. I stayed inside most of today with Allison staying occupied with crafts and games. We made a city out of dominoes, chess and backgammon pieces, and other assorted items.

Family is coming for dinner tomorrow so I need to step things up. Baked ham and corn pudding and Susan brings the home-grown tomatoes and Sara brings the cobbler. Maybe Luke will sing the chorus from Oklahoma! He was mighty fine in last night's performance.

The old life

I thought we'd found the perfect situation for Allison: Spanish immersion Montessori school. We dropped her there one day this week to try it out, but it was not a good fit. There are only two children her age there. The rest are babies, toddlers, and preschoolers. It is only this summer that the school added older kids to the mix, with 1st through 3rd grade this fall. The idea was for her to have some fun with kids her age and practice Spanish, but we'll find something else.

Beau is very focused on preparing the facility for his business. His biggest obstacle seems to how to deal with our drunken sign painter who lives upstairs in the warehouse. Robert "adopted" him years ago when he was a drifter in need and now he's a permanent fixture. My sons can't remember a time without him. He is extremely amusing--he has a unique way of communicating that is reminiscent of Dennis Hopper, always twisting and pivoting and lots of "Yeah, man." Beau worked with a carpenter to build an alternate stairway to keep him out of sight of the customers.

The warehouse will get the giant black, red, and white raceflag exterior to tie in with the theme of our business. It sits visible to the highway so to be a perfect eye-catcher. Beau's hired and fired one painter and decided he could rent the sprayer and do it himself. He came home last night so coated with white paint particles that he looked ghostly. We are sitting together at the dining table (a thing I really like) and sharing our day's events with one another. I'm making things like pot roast and spaghetti again, and having to buy a gallon of milk a day just like the old days. Allison and her dad went on a nature walk where she instructed him on leaf varieties (something she learned at the day camp her aunt Sara took her to before we returned home.) Earlier she and and I emptied the coin jars and piggy banks, sorted coins and packed them into paper rolls. Before that I had to cut up a cardboard box so she could make a house for the salt and pepper mice shakers and ceramic horse. Like me, her projects are never simple--I had to walk away before she'd have me laying wall-to-wall carpet in the thing. Point is, she is happy to be home doing familiar things.

Ryan seems relieved we are home. As footloose as he is, he still needs our guidance. We have had some nice talks and he played some new tunes he's created on his guitar. Family is coming for dinner Sunday. Tonight we see our nephew perform in Oklahoma at an outdoor park. It's nice to fall back into the old life--for awhile.

Home at last

We are home. Don't have any interesting stories to tell. We're busy getting reaquainted with people and things. We have a lot of neglected matters to get in order, especially things related to our business. It's carrying on fairly well without us, but it needs some attention. We want to lend moral support to Beau as he prepares to open his wheel and tire business. He's organizing and painting and remodeling the warehouse on our property to house his inventory and office. He has focus I've never seen in him before. He has something he really cares about doing. Saturday morning we woke to find him missing. Did he stay out somewhere overnight? No, he went in to work on the warehouse. He's built racks for the wheels and is entering data into the computer.

I'm going to help him tomorrow with my ideas for designing his office space. We usually enlist our old friend, Tracy, to draw up any designs we need--usually over lunch on a paper napkin--but he is out of town. I think I can manage this one on my own. While I'm at it I may design living quarters since the warehouse is certainly big enough. Beau could live there and save money to buy a house. "Think of it", we say, "a cool penthouse apartment over the salvage yard. You'd be closer to the Plaza and Westport and all the action. Then your brother can live with you there in the summer breaks from college and we could sell our house and be free to be wandering nomads."

Not quite free: Allison is balking at returning to her life in a Mexican school. I can't blame her since she hardly understood what was being said all day long. She obediently sat in class doing her best, but drawing close relationships with other little girls was too difficult without command of the Spanish language. I think that stress was great on her and of course she's not looking forward to re-experiencing it. Everything else about being in Mexico she liked. While we are home I want to work on the language. Tomorrow we check out a local Spanish immersion Montessori school for a summer program. Meanwhile, she's having fun at home playing with her cousins and brothers and singing with her grandmother--a grandmother like no other--an airplane flying, no cookie baking, karaoke-singing grandma.

I Luv Colorado

Under the rainbow

A Gondola ride up Ajax Mountain in Aspen followed by a little shopping and we were off for some sightseeing. We basically crossed the Continental Divide three times today: once on Independence Pass heading toward Salida, then back over through Monarch Pass towards Gunnison, up Cumberland Pass to the Taylor Park Reservoir and back over again via Cottonwood Pass.

The drive up from Cumberland on was exceptionally beautiful; up the pass a rainbow stretched from one mountain to another across the great expanse of forest, and down the pass we witnessed the spectacular vista over the reservoir. The unpaved road meandered through pine and aspen groves along a river full of beaver dams and through a ghost town named, Tin Cup. We wanted to get out on foot and explore, but we realized we'd underestimated our fuel and felt compelled to keep moving while we still had daylight. When we stopped once, the Tahoe stuttered and stalled. It started up again and we thought it best to keep it rolling. We had gravity to our advantage as we were just beginning the descent down Cumberland Pass toward Taylor Park and, hopefully, gas. We carefully coasted all the way down the mountain switchbacks braking for the hairpin turns.

In spite of our anxiety over the possibility of running out of gas, we were in awe of the incredible views across the valley below. If we ran dry and had to walk down the pass it would be have been worth it just for the visual feast, I said to Robert. Of course, I was pretty confident we were close to the next patch of civilization. Plus I'd taken inventory of our assets: Two gallons of water, fruit, stale crackers, a tin of dark chocolate, three bottles of wine, a swiss army knife, and, Robert's George Brett baseball bat which we could use to fend off bears.

In Taylor Park Robert filled the tank to the tune of $70 dollars, that's how low we'd dropped. Of course we were all smiles now, having beat out bad fortune this time. I guess I could say we beat it twice: in the few miles before reaching our evening destination of Dillon, we hit a deer on the road. She leapt too late. We braked hard, but swiped her with the right corner of the Tahoe breaking the headlight. She scrambled away we think--it happened so fast and there was no opportunity to stop.

So, we are safe at rest in the Comfort Inn. Tomorrow, we'll stay off the roads and walk around the river at Keystone. Maybe Robert will golf. Then it's the long dull ride home across Kansas where the biggest danger is the fear of falling asleep.