Happy 2023: The Year of No Improving!

San Pedrito Beach, Baja California Sur, Mexico

In 2022: 

We did 11 housesits in 3 countries (including 3 U.S. states). 

Along the way we took care of:

15 dogs

3 cats

and 1 guinea pig

I finished writing my book about our itinerant life (title still in flux) and am hoping 2023 gifts me a publisher! In the meantime, you can read an excerpt that appeared in HuffPost. The piece makes clear that our lifestyle isn't all champagne and roses.

You can also watch this interview with Dave and me about housesitting all over the world. 

Also, a piece I wrote about housesitting in Mexico appeared in House Sitting Magazine. 

landing in Baja

We had one flight cancellation...our first in nearly a decade of nomadic living. Our flight out of Panama was cancelled. After a debacle of waiting for hours for our luggage and organizing all the passengers, American Airlines redeemed itself by putting us up in an all-inclusive resort for the night, including food and fancy rooms. They put us up in a crappy room the next night in Miami, but they paid so we couldn't complain (much). 

It felt amazing to return to Baja and to our home. We hadn't lived in it for two years, so we had a lot of projects facing us, but we took them poco a poco. The area has exploded with construction so there's definitely more people and noise--and we lost our slice-of-ocean view. 

Day of the Dead in Todos Santos

But we still have a nice view of the hills and there are also more restaurants and activities. We saw a great outdoor production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, went to a music festival, attended the consecration of a Buddhist stupa and enjoyed a fantastic Day of the Dead celebration. We were happy to reconnect with our community and had a wonderful visit from our friend Nicole.

With Nicole on our rooftop

In the meantime I turned the epic age of 60. Especially after facing two major health crises in my fifties, I was grateful to be alive. But I kept seeing ads and articles for getting rid of wrinkles, for getting thin after menopause--voices that insist that "60 is the new 18!" or whatever. 

And I thought NO. Just NO. 

I'm grateful to be 60. Too much of my life has been taken up with thinking that my body should be different than it is. So I decided that at age 60, I'm letting go of body shame and the toxic diet culture mindset (often wrapped in a pretty bow of "wellness") run by those who cash in on making us feel badly about ourselves and keep us on the "never good enough" treadmill. 

Pema Chodron says that constantly focusing on improving is a violence to the self.

Besides, aging isn't a disease or a problem. It's a privilege.

This leads me to my mantra for my sixties: NO RULES! I want to live improvisationally, allowing whatever is in front of me to inspire me to act rather than deciding in advance what I should/shouldn't do. 

I'm inviting in joy, relaxation, nature, naps, ambiguity, softening, reading, music, peace, creativity, humor, true connection with others, surrender and being here now. 

Speaking of reading, I read 65 books in 2022 (see my reviews here) and am constantly grateful for those who tell their stories.

Shannon, Anne, Laurie, Nancy & me

To celebrate my new decade, four amazing women joined me in Cabo for a week at a wellness retreat center. I know each one from a different part of my life; together we created a colorful mosaic of friendship. I ended our time together floating on a cloud of love.

Walking on Cerritos Beach with Deva, our neighbor's dog.

I think my sixties are going to be cool. Is it a cliche that I started playing Pickleball and went to my first Zumba class? I'm not sure if I'll continue on with either one regularly. No rules, remember? I'll decide each day, sometimes each moment, how I want to spend my living time.

Me with Mom, 60 years ago

The actual day of my birthday in November we spent with my sister and some friends at her new, gorgeous house in Todos Santos. The food (especially my sister's homemade carrot cake) and company were great, as was the music jam: three guitars and my uke.

Hawaii housesit view from the lanai.

We left Mexico after two months to housesit in Hawaii. So we will be ringing in the new year in aloha spirit. But after this we are headed back to Baja to settle in for a while. 

Happy New Year to all. Here's a Tibetan Buddhist Blessing that I send to everyone:

May you be filled with loving kindness. 

May you be well. 

May you be peaceful and at ease. 

May you be happy. 

New Orleans Fun for the Graying Nomads

Our home for 3 weeks

Dave's mouth was hurting. There we were, on the road headed to New Orleans, and the pain was getting worse. As he drove, I searched Yelp on my phone for a highly rated dentist. It was Thursday. We would arrive for a three-week housesit in NOLA the next day. I got him an appointment for Monday. Such a relief. But I wondered if he'd need to see an emergency dentist over the weekend. 

When we arrived, Judy, the homeowner, greeted our road-weary selves and plopped us in the sweet little guest house behind her beautiful shotgun home. The house is in Gentilly, a lively district with friendly neighbors and music drifting over at night from a band jamming in their yard. Judy had stocked the room with treats for us: crackers, hummus, a bottle of champagne. 

We spent the evening together, learning the routines for the adorable Bichons Billy and Trixie. And we prompted Judy to tell us stories about living in this vibrant city. For many years she worked at the radio station, and she knows many local musicians.

cuties

Dave drove Judy to the airport the next day, and we moved from the guest house into the main house. Setting up--finding places to put our clothes, toothbrushes, books and the ukulele--then shopping for food and putting it all away is what finally allows us to relax and settle into a new home. 

Poor Dave did all of this with a pulsating face that was swelling up before our eyes. It was agony. Finally Monday came. It would be the first of five trips to the dentist to take care of a cracked tooth and get a root canal. The dentist lived up to his Yelp review.

When the day finally came that Dave could eat more than soft foods (yay!), we went to Sweet Soulfood and got this vegan deliciousness:

jambalaya, mac n cheese, fried cauliflower, collards and cornbread

We were pleased to discover a lot of vegan options throughout NOLA, including a vegan bakery. And it was good to see that all the restaurants (and most of the music venues) required masks and proof of vaccine. 

Kermit on trumpet

Our first music event was at Kermit Treme's Mother in Law Lounge. To get there, we drove past a massive party beneath a freeway overpass, where thousands of people gathered for BBQ to the sound of blasting boomboxes and revving cars. Kermit's place is quintessential New Orleans, a small bar with low ceilings, an intimate stage, and a sprawling back patio with another stage and an offering of BBQ. Kermit Ruffins is a mainstay of the town, a true entertainer.

With Jonesy and Candis on the patio

There we met up with our friend Candis and her guy Jonesy. Dave has known Candis for years, and we've rocked out at many music events. We've also hung out with her in Hawaii and Tahoe, and she once guided us on a raft trip down the American River. Turns out that Jonesy is great friends with our neighbors in Baja! He immediately felt like our buddy, too.

Even though Jazz Fest was cancelled, The Radiators kept their show dates, which meant getting to see Dave's all-time favorite band with his tribe.

So happy to boogie with Jude at the Rads show!

One afternoon we went to the Broadside to see Anders Osborne, our favorite singer-songwriter. The place had the vibe of the fair, with food, families, dogs, and dancing. I love outdoor music...and music that ends in time for me to get to bed early!

Outdoor, daytime music is the best!

We'd hoped to take the ferry to Algiers, but it wasn't running. Still, we saw a lot of the city driving around...and walking through the French Quarter. 

NOLA Halloween wackiness

A classic

I had two wonderful literary experiences. One day, we were exploring the French Market, and amidst the vendors selling voodoo dolls and Mardi Gras beads I saw a guy sitting at a table surrounded by books. Ah, one of my peeps. He told me his novel, Hood Struggle, is a gritty account of his young life in Baton Rouge. His goal is to publish "raw and uncut literature." I've since read his book, and it lives up to that description. 

the writers

One day I met up with Lynn, another friend who was in town, and we enjoyed a walk around Royal Street, with its charming storefronts, galleries and shops. Later, I popped into Beckham's Bookshop, my favorite kind of used bookstore that feels like you're walking back in time, with hordes of dusty books jammed on floor-to-ceiling shelves, the overflow stacked in slanting piles.

Queen Sugar, a novel that's been on my radar for years, caught my eye. It takes place in Louisiana, so it felt meant to be in my hands. Sitting in Cafe Du Monde, I opened the book to see two of my friends mentioned in the Acknowledgements. I love those moments where time and space collide.

Read Queen Sugar; it's a phenomenal novel

When we made plans to come to NOLA, we thought we'd be attending French Quarter Fest and Jazz Fest, filling our hours and days with tons of live music and huge groups of friends. But both fests were cancelled. And honestly, it was nice to explore the city in a low-key way. 

We also spent time at home. We may be nomads, but we're also kind of homebodies. Perhaps we just need more down time as we get older. And when we housesit, we enjoy being with the animals, in this case, Billy and Trixie. They are also aging, to the point that they need to be lifted up and down the stairs. As I helped them, I thought about how one day someone might need to do so for me. I hope they'll do it with the same tenderness.

A True Freedom

Look what I have:  A set of great new CDs to listen to as our friend Craig chauffeurs us on a wine-tasting adventure. 

Live Tedeschi Trucks Band...a GREAT CD!

This was the start of my 50th birthday celebration in November--four days secretly planned out by Dave.

What a great tradition that's taken hold in our three years together:  We create a birthday adventure for the other person. An adventure that we enjoy together.

First stop.

This year's was not only a celebration of my entering a new decade but also of the Mother Lode region of our beloved California.  We started by going to seven (yes, seven!) wineries in Amador County, east of Sacramento.

It's like old Napa there--mainly small, independent wineries; lots of personal attention from the staff; and no charge for wine tasting.

 And, oh yeah, it's beautiful.

Lookin' cool in hard hats.  The equipment is half the fun of ziplining.

Who knew there was a zipline in the middle of the state?  In three years we've ziplined in Alaska, the Santa Cruz mountains, and in Hawaii.  So why not another?  This is just one line, but fast and long--quite impressive!

Mother-Daughter masseuse team

After ziplining, we had a couples massage in the Gold Rush town of Murphy's. 

We spent that night in another Gold Rush town:  Angel's Camp.  I hadn't been there since I was a 17-year-old boogeying to the Doobie Brothers, Toto, and Huey Lewis at Mountain Aire Music Festival.

Moutain Aire 1980, with my friend Nancy

Angel's Camp is a charming one-strip Gold Rush town with a fantastic B&B called Cooper House.

Super Duper Cooper House

Cooper House used to be the home and medical practice of a Gold Rush-era doctor.  It's now owned by Rob and Tey who, in Rob's words, "want it to feel like the home of a relative you've never met before."

Cozy at Cooper House

I'd say it feels like the home of a relative who has great taste.  Tey used to work for Gumps in San Francisco.  He spent years collecting the furnishings that B&B guests now enjoy.  The breakfast was yummy, and round-the-clock you can help yourself to coffee, tea, and wine in the shared living space--where we also enjoyed relaxation and conversation with a Danish family. 

The next day we went here:

Yosemite Valley, with Half Dome in the distance.

Yosemite.  Jewel of California.  It'd been years since I'd been there, but it holds a special place in my heart because it's where my parents met.

Mom and Dad in the late 1970s/early 1980s.

In the 1950s, my mom (who died this year) was a nurse there.  Dad worked there as a tour bus driver one summer during his break from Chico State.  They loved Yosemite.  We spent several vacations there, and once they took us for dinner at the Ahwahnee.

That's where Dave and I had dinner that night, in the stunning Ahwahnee dining room.  Our server told us she's worked at the park for 30 years...and she's only 15th in seniority.  Sounds like some people visit Yosemite and never leave.  I get it.  There's a mystic pull to the place, with its ancient granitic presence.

View of Upper Yosemite Falls from the window of our Ahwahnee suite.

I can't describe Yosemite any better than did Ansel Adams when he said: “Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space.”

We discovered that Thanksgiving weekend is a great place to visit Yosemite.  The air is crystalline, and the people spare.  Few tourists:  that's rare in Yosemite.  So not only do you get to take popular hikes in virtual solitude, but the staff has time to give you special attention.  In our case, that mean a free upgrade to a suite!

The Library Suite:  Suh-weet!

The morning of my birthday, I luxuriated in opening presents before the fire and eating the most delicious room service breakfast we'd ever had.

View from living room window of the suite.

The Library Suite offers an old-fashioned sense of luxury, with leaded glass windows, golden wood paneling, and books galore.

On our hike that day we saw dozens of nearly-tame deer who all but posed for pictures.

I kept thinking about how grateful I am that our government has protected some of the most life-giving, eternal features of our country.

My 50th year is a hallmark in my life, but a drop in the stream of eternity.  On this trip, my past ghosted through my present.  I stared at Half Dome and thought of my parents, and of the man in my life who loves this world, and me.

I felt both the grandness and the infinitesimal qualities of being human.   As John Muir once wrote, in nature "life seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good practical sort of immortality."

Yes, I Will Take You

"Hey Mom, do you want to eat in the dining room?"
"No, there are a bunch of old people in there."

Words from my 74-year-old mom, who is now in a rehab facility for about a week or so for rest and physical therapy. She'll be released when she is less of a fall risk.

Who can blame her for not wanting to identify as an "old person." Up until my father died in March, she was going to the gym, writing articles and books, attending a weekly writing group, making dinner every night, tending to my father's varied and many needs, and being active in a variety of ways in the community.

After he died she had two successive falls, and suddenly she has lost her husband, her home, her health, her independence.

I'm whirling from it all. I know my sisters are. My mom? I can barely imagine.

Grief? Loss? What are the right words?

My friend Gabriele Rico sent me the perfect Ellen Bass poem, with the perfect words. I'd read it several times before in Mules of Love, and re-reading it re-reminds me that what my mom and my family are enduring right now is ... well ... the human condition.

Here's the poem:

The Thing Is

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs.
When grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, how can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you,
I will love you, again.