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. 

The Colors of the Sea

Today, my 52^nd birthday, marks two weeks that we’ve been in Mexico.

Sunset from our rooftop.

After a grueling and fascinating two-day drive caravanning with my sister from San Diego to California Baja Sur, we were accompanied by an intense sunset during the last leg from La Paz to Todos Santos. In the charming downtown, we ate our initiatory Mexican dinner in an open-air restaurant. 

Then my sister led us the last ten minutes south to El Pescadero. After passing through the shadows of the tiny pueblo, we took a right on an unmarked dirt road. Our blue Subaru earned its all-wheel drive cred bumping toward the ocean in the dark. When we got to our small resort, dogs came out to greet us. We soon learned this place is dog heaven, an off-leash life.

That night, we dragged our stuff into our empty casita and collapsed on an air mattress. A few hours later, my body awoke to mattress sag. The re-inflating mechanism was so loud that my sister, whose place is next door, said she thought we were making smoothies in the middle of the night.

The next few days meant facing the reality of what we’d done. We were owners of a house in a foreign country, near an incredible beach and town—a house that needed furniture, a refrigerator, curtains, air conditioning, and a washer/dryer. It lacked cabinets and a bar/counter to complete the kitchen and bathroom. The talavera sink had to be installed in the bathroom. The one plant in the yard, a palm tree, was dead, a victim of Hurricane Odile. We didn’t even own a broom, a sponge, a beach umbrella, a local cell phone.

Our To-Do list was epic. And handling it all in shaky Spanish? Amidst a culture where things are done in a different style and pace? In the middle of a dusty resort that has a lot of construction going on? The only choice was take it easy, a bit at a time. Poco a poco.

In 14 days, I’ve had (only) two meltdowns. In each case going to bed helped (that is, after we said adios to the leaky air bed and hola to a real mattress).

I’ve also been doing yoga and meditating. I remind myself that a beach walk, a soak in the Jacuzzi, and a swim in the pool are incredible amenities. As is being a homeowner, especially in a place with a built-in community.

Hermanas con perro.

Having so many great people around has been a life saver. My sister, her friends who’ve become our new friends, other casita residents, and the resort staff—everyone has been a font of information and, most importantly, bienvenidos.

Without a working kitchen, we collaborated with my sister to make meals in hers. Our bilingual friend Paul took us on a trip to Los Cabos (an hour south) to help us buy a slew of things and arrange to have them delivered. The next day, Dave and I went alone, an hour east, to La Paz stores.

We’ve been to Todos Santos many times, buying other furniture and food. We’ve been to several excellent restaurants, including the one here at the resort that serves pizza made in a wood-fired oven by the pool. Our favorite is a pescaderia that serves the freshest (and cheapest) fish tacos ever. Down the street is a little tienda where we buy handmade tortillas. Dave almost wept the first time he held the warm bundle in his hands.

Whenever we drive around and see the leftover ravages of the hurricane—buildings and homes and cacti toppled—I’m reminded of our incredible fortune. Nothing of ours was destroyed. We have shelter, food, and water. And each other.

Unharmed cacti.

In just two weeks, we’ve enjoyed cocktail parties and meals on neighbors’ roofs, watching the sunset. We’ve dipped into the warm ocean waters and taken long beach walks. We went to the Farmer’s Market and live music on the playa.

We’ve had incredible conversations with people, most of whom—like us—live alternative lives. One was a young Polish woman we picked up hitchhiking; she was traveling Baja alone. Another was a Swiss couple on bikes who’d ridden all the way down from Canada.

Some people have retired here. Others have young children. Some live in Cabo or La Paz and come here for the weekends. One guy lives here a few months at a time, spending the rest of the year working in the states. Some live to surf or fish or just be near the sea. Others love four-wheeling or hiking through the desert hills. Some were born here. Others fell in love with Mexico and never wanted to leave.

Every once in a while an odd feeling seizes me. A sense that we’ve jumped off the biggest cliff ever. Funny I’d say that after all we’ve gone through in the past two years: retirement, getting rid of all our possessions, traveling all over—oh, and brain surgery.

One morning, a few days in, I woke up with anxiety crawling up my skin. I closed my eyes and prayed for new internal space to open up. I felt around inside for the richness of the fertile void. I asked for a sense of something—purpose? clarity? happiness? peace? What did it all mean, this living thing? My mind scrambled around like a rat in a cage.

I went for a beach walk. The ocean, my sanctuary. On my way back, a young man standing with two young women near the surf school asked me in Spanish if I knew how far it was to the bus stop. I pointed down our dirt road and told him it was probably at least a 20 or 30 minute walk. He seemed on the edge of tears and—switching to English—told me that a friend had brought them to the beach last night and then disappeared. He said his mom was going to be worried about him; he couldn’t call her because his cell phone ran out of juice. They were in their early twenties and from Guadalajara.

I guess they’d spent the night on the beach. They looked exhausted. They reminded me of my students. I said, “Wait here. I have a car. I will drive you there.”

A surge of energy and joy blasted through me. I ran to our casita and grabbed three bottles of water and three granola bars. I hopped in the car, blasted the A/C, and drove over to get them. As we bumped down the dusty, rutted road, they drank the water and tore into the food.

“Can I be your dog?” he joked. We all laughed. Clearly, they couldn’t believe their luck. I couldn’t believe mine, either.  

Casita-in-progress.

So, we are two weeks in, and I’m writing at my computer on my new little rustic table. Jazz plays from speakers attached to Dave’s hard drive that holds thousands of songs. The house is filled with furniture, a washer/dryer, a fridge, and new talavara sink. A sweet new palm is planted in our yard. We even have a dresser. What a luxury to have my clothes in drawers after so many months in suitcases.

Three guys are installing the A/C right now. Another guy has been in and out, working on the finishing touches of our kitchen counter. I was able to string together Spanish words to create Frankenstein sentences that seemed to work, more or less.

Yesterday, our neighbor Kimberly, who makes jewelry, mentioned she’s collecting driftwood on which to display her work. On Dave’s and my morning beach walk, I found three pieces that I brought to her. She hugged me, said they were perfect. Later, she came by to wish me happy birthday. Then she fitted me with an anklet the colors of the sea.

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."

I'm

45.

Today.

*

I'm not a god person, but I love this ee cummings poem. Posting it here is a birthday present to myself. To me, it's a celebration of life. Of yes.

*

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of allnothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)