I just spent 2 days and 1 night at a high end spa and retreat center. Don’t be jealous, it was for work. And even though I had a gorgeous room overlooking the Caribbean Sea I stayed up half the night worrying over details of the contract. But still, life could be worse, I mean what better place to toss and turn than in that gorgeous room with that amazing view.

But I think the hardest part was not the business stuff, it was the lack of cats. If that hotel had say 20 cats running around, visiting you in your room, sleeping on your feet, sitting on you when you hang out in the common areas, it would have been perfect for me.

I’m so used to having lots of cats around that I just don’t feel normal sleeping anyplace without a feline friend nearby. In fact I’ll bet that half the reason for my tossing and turning that night was simply the lack of a cat anywhere on the bed. It was just too weird and I couldn’t take it.

But now I’m back home, with a cat under the chair, and one in my office window, and one in my paper recycling basket and two more in the hall, and one more wandering around whining about how he should be allowed to go out. And I’m back to feeling normal. And I think I’ve solved the problems with the retreat center contract too, so all is good.

At this moment my husband, who is a Mexican immigration agent, is in a bus traveling to the border of Guatemala and Mexico. He’s got a bunch of illegal immigrants in the bus who, I suppose, are about to get deported from Mexico. And they’ve got several police cars escorting them, just in case someone needs to get shot at or something.

The drive is going to take something like 24 hours, largely because many of the roads they need to travel are dangerous narrow mountain roads. And apparently some of the detainees have been acting up, protesting, complaining; and some of them are quite well-fed, big burly guys.

But the bus has TVs on it and they are playing crappy American movies dubbed in Spanish. So that ought to calm down those illegal immigrants right?

Most of the illegal immigrants that get caught in Mexico were planning to cross Mexico and enter the US along its southern border. Most of them want that American dream thing. Most of them want what you see in those American movies. The big car, the blond, the palatial house with the green lawn, the pockets full of dollars.

Truly the bad American movies shouldn’t calm the detainees down…the movies should remind them of the fact that their collective American dream is slipping farther away with each passing kilometer. But we can hope that instead of thinking that way, that the detainees are instead doing what any self-respecting person does when forced to watch a bad American movie and that is to fall asleep.

But still, I’m a little worried.

My dog Sam is something else. I mean it. He definitely not a dog. Not yet anyway.

I suspect this has something to do with the fact that the first year or so of his life was spent as a street dog. Because in his first year of life he didn’t learn normal dog things. He didn’t learn that he’s supposed to LIKE dog food. He didn’t learn what to do when you put a leash on him. He didn’t learn that it’s ok to WANT to go out side the house to pee.

Instead this non-dog of mine thinks that he’s supposed to eat grapes. And mixed-green salad with ranch dressing. And eggs, and garbanzo beans, and soup. And Cheerios. And whatever greasy tacos my husband gives him. And of course, that old stand by, lots and lots of cat food. But dog food? Why ever would he eat that?

And instead of wanting to go outside when it’s time to pee he’d rather hide under the bed or under the coffee table and suffer a full bladder. We literally have to drag him out the door when we suspect it’s time. And if it’s raining out? Oh, then you’d think we were torturing his eternal soul, he’d rather have his bladder bust than have to set foot out in the rain.

As for the leash, well he’s learning quickly that leash means walk (or run) and that means fun, and so he’s learning how to walk on a leash, almost like a real dog.

Now my last dog, she was a REAL dog. She ate dog food and everything. And if SHE ever, for one second, thought that I was maybe possibly going to put on my running shoes then she would tackle me in her excitement to go out for a run.

But Sam, my man, you are not a real dog yet. You have not made the connection between running shoes and going running. It’s not that hard boy. In fact my running shoes are the only shoes I own that have laces, it’s all in the laces boy. Sometime maybe you’ll get there. About when you start liking dog food, right? Right, of course, sure.

We’ve found the perfect renter for our condo. Or she found us, but whatever, she’s still perfect. Problem is that the place is taking forever to get finished. It doesn’t help that we are only finding about 12 to 14 hours a week to work over there. We’ve both got tons of other stuff going on, and we are both working full time on top of it all. And so the condo gets nicer one wall, one surface, one little bit at a time.

The painting is nearly done. The bathroom sink is brand new and is lovely. The 25 year old louvered windows have all had their crank(y) handles replaced and each has a new screen now. We’ve bought new appliances. We’ve installed new mini-blinds. The electrical has been updated, each outlet has proper polarity now (a rare thing in Mexico), and we’ve added another much-needed circuit.

But the kitchen still needs a new counter top and a new sink installed, and we’ve got a couple of closets that still need to be finished. And there’s a list of other small things. We could get it all done in two weeks if we could stop everything else that’s going on. But, I at least, have so much other stuff going on that this idea is just a pipe dream.

Now a normal person would think that hey, this being Mexico, land of cheap labor, that we should just hire some help. But there are two problems with that. One being you get what you pay for, meaning cheap labor often means you just have to look over their shoulder and get them to re-do things anyway. Easier to do it yourself.

And the other issue being that we are both actually very good at this building restoration thing. It’s kind of the perfect hobby for us as a couple because, except for all the bickering we do, we have complimentary skill sets, similar taste and a similar sense of what constitutes a job well done. And so we won’t consider hiring help, even though we are too busy to do the work.

I guess will keep plugging away a bit at a time, and hope to have it all done by Nov. 15, which is when the renter has to be out of her old place.

Wish us luck. And send pizza.

It’s supposed to be cooling off by now. A couple of weeks ago I actually had to get a blanket out of of the closet and put it on the bed because we were waking up cold in the morning. We sleep with the windows open year round (except when it rains) so we are pretty tuned in to the temperature outside.

But after allowing myself to get comfortable with thinking that the heat of summer was over, and that the perfect winter-in-Cancun weather was upon us I’m now finding that it was just a tease. A false start. Because now it’s sticky again, icky sticky, like you wake up and start sweating and you need a shower an hour after you’ve had one. Ick.

I’m finally getting around to posting a few photos from my trip to Colorado. It was so lovely to be there. The lack of potholes. The buried power lines. The nice friends who clamored to get me to hang with them (actually my friends do that here too).

And the city of Boulder is so pretty, especially now, before winter. Mountains and art in public spaces (with no graffiti) and bike paths and no garbage…I find myself sighing loudly when I think about it.

These are my brother-in-law’s lovely duckies

And here are some pix from the famous Pearl Street Mall which is a pedestrian mall in Boulder. There are street performers and lots of great shops and restaurants there.

Pearl Street Mall in Boulder, CO

More Pearl Street Mall

I must admit I’ve been scoping out real estate in Boulder County. But it’s too early for us to get serious about back moving there. We’ve much too much going on here for the next two years. Now wouldn’t it be lovely to live in both places…I wonder if we can swing that.

I received some lovely gifts for my birthday. One of them was a pot of lilies from my husband. He likes to give me live plants, rather than cut flowers.

My mom grew lilies like these when I was a kid. Just looking at them takes me back to 1974 in New England. Lovely. (Thanks Viejo!)

Or at 28.1.

Yes, I did have a birthday this week. And am now over 40. And the lead up to it was much more intense emotionally than anything since. So I guess I’m over it now. Actually I kinda sorta secretly think this decade might be the best yet…

We had a lovely small gathering of close friends at a new local restaurant called Iki RestoBar here in downtown Cancun. It seems to be Thai-inspired food with a lounge feel. The decor is lovely and everyone in our party enjoyed their food. But the best part was the company, thanks for coming everyone!!

And I also want to thank all the people who wrote and called and posted (and even BLOGGED) with birthday wishes, it was overwhelming, especially when you consider how very BAD I am at remembering other people’s birthdays. I’m not worthy, so don’t do that again.

A bit ago I followed a link from my dear friend Anita’s My Magic Roundabout blog and found this Life Expectancy Calculator, and I’m happy to say that the thing says that my real age is 28.1 and that I can expect to live to 86.9.

It gives me lots of credit for being happily married (mostly), for getting good sleep (mostly), for always wearing a seat belt and for all those years of being a slave to exercise.

Funny, I don’t FEEL 28.1 (or even 28.2) and don’t want to. And I don’t think I look it either, although I did get whistled at today by some creepy-looking construction workers. Ick.

Well, not too frozen yet I guess. I talked to my kid today and she reports that school is “fun”, and that she’s happy to be able to get good pizza again. There’s a small chain of pizza places in Colorado called Beau Jo’s and their pizza pretty much puts any pie in Mexico to shame. In fact I’m getting hungry just thinking about it. Anyway her class stopped for pizza in Idaho Springs on the way down from the mountains today, and she was quite happy about that. It’s the small things in life, right?

My 40th birthday is coming up next week. And it seems big to me, definitely bigger than turning 30 was. I didn’t think I would be this tired when I turned 40. I didn’t think that life would have thrown this much at me by now. I know I’m blessed with a pretty easy life on many levels. I’m healthy, my family members are healthy, I have money in the bank and no debt, I wear flip-flops to work… But still, this life stuff can be serious.

When I was a kid I didn’t believe I would live past 20. I had no sense of the future, of life over 20. I figured that lack of vision meant I wouldn’t live beyond 20. It didn’t mean that. It probably just had to do with being young and scared and unprepared for life as an adult.

Now I’ve lived twice as long as I expected to. And I’m still completely unprepared for being an adult. But somehow that’s ok with me. In fact, the older I get, the less it seems to matter how prepared I am, or how good I am at things. And the more it seems to matter that I just simply try to enjoy life.

So here’s to enjoying life. And to catching up on sleep too (yes mom, I know mom).