I might be in Mexico tomorrow...

Today has had its highs and lows; but here is the good news: My overly attentive doctor basically accused me of having colon cancer with no evidence other than being very anemic. Long story short, she said she was quite worried and slightly ruined our trip last week. Then I get five days of goose stuffing level protein from Von Wehlenhof and now I am back in a quasi normal range. But it was an unpleasant few days until the tests came back. Adding to the drama was this horrible very bad no good dream I had of the utmost perfidy; the most unbelievable Lucy and the football type betrayal I have ever experienced...a dream so bad and so real, it can ruin your dinner. Even when that dinner is pizzetta 211. So I turn to my husband and I say: "I miss Mexico"; and he says "I do too".
But he is so happy about the protein/no colon cancer that he says-the single loveliest thing any man has ever said to me:
We can go tonight.
?
Slightly drunk, slightly bruised from blood tests and bad dreams, sad about many sad things...
he says let's go tonight. Let the salve of a Mexican night enter your skin....and sing you to sleep.

Unfortunately we have a dog...and there is no flight tonight. (where jet where..)
But the dust of Mexico is calling, and I might answer.
call you later.
xxxx

Cabo Photos

I think we might need to go back soon...we have been officially converted.

Where guacamole where? 

PS: But how fun was Easter?! Xx

Elefantes Del Desiertos

"Once the dust of Mexico has settled on your soul, 

you will find peace in no other land."

My brother had a discussion with an English girl once about how every family has an unwritten creed-dogma that the children learn through oral tradition. He asked her what hers was.  After a moment of reflection, she said: "must have been: Don't  make a scene." (don't you love the English?) 

Peter told her ours was: Don't play with matches, and love your brothers and sister.

True that. But we were also taught many sub creeds, like: to travel and learn foreign languages, to not hold a grudge, to join the occasional bar fight; to read and re read the stories of Genghis Kahn and Hernán Cortés and the Odyssey. And we were taught -each and every one of us, to love Mexico. Hawaii was for sissys. The Brighams went to Mexico. 

When Jimmy Carter hosted the president of Mexico in the 70s, and he made a joke in his state dinner speech about getting "La Turista"; my father reeled; then proceeded to lecture us at the breakfast table about how impolitic and lame this was. That one does not show respect by talking about the diarrhea one contracts in one's guest's home. I remember him saying " He should have started his speech with the quote: Once the dust of Mexico settles on your soul....." 

My father was nothing if not dramatic. I mean it was a school day, and we were waiting for him to sign our math tests before carpool, but love Mexico we do. 

This place (the One and Only hotel) is a bit of a departure from Mexico..it is filled with incongruous palm trees and ferns and every bloody room has its own lukewarm hot tub on its terrace. I hate to quibble, but that is the dumbest idea...the draining of the water drowns out the sound of the ocean! It is, alas, a South African Jewish billionaire's idea of Mexico....but no matter. The Mexicans are still here; and I maintain that there is no softer gaze than that of a Mexican waiter when a blonde girl orders her drink correctly. It is a salve for the soul to be looked at that kindly. 

I had a weird test about iron blah blah before I came, and it is now clear that a person that leaps around as much as I do needs way, way more protein than I get. Thomas is frazzled that he missed it (he! of the statistics!) and is being a slight pain in my ass about my orders....show me some avocado and I am done. I mean, really....but I have had to eat animal protein at every meal under his gaze. I am not sure, but I think he might also be pouring muscle milk in my ear as I sleep. 

We had been a little stressed out actually before we came, and I think this mini trip did us good. On our anniversary, we went to a place recommended by eloise and my friend who works for Paula Le Duc...a 10 acre oraganic farm and restaurant, and it was beyond (thank you EL!) we got a reservation because of a last minute cancellation..and there was a full moon and a band playing Van Morrison songs to boot. Honestly it was perfect. Then later,  T announces he thinks we can learn Spanish pretty much over night if we just concentrate-so he regales me with a Spanish version of Nat Geo.....where we learn about the elephants of the Namibian desert- "Elefantes del Desiertos". And what he learns (I of course fell asleep..) is the secret to good relationships everywhere. It seems the climate is so dry and hot, that the only way to keep the babies alive, is for their mothers to give them shade with their own bodies. There are no trees; there is only love.

I hope I give you guys as much shade as you have given me...

Above is this amazing floral petal design put on our bed at night, complete with a mini broom to whisk it away. I of course did not want to; but that I suppose is the message...the zen perspective that nothing lasts forever. And that is ok. 

I'll see you Sunday!! That's another thing CAB loved of course: Easter. Renewal. Sun. Chocolate. xx

Hola

I'll write this afternoon; first some photos from yesterday...

Above, Thomas ridiculing my tanning efforts ... And Thomas swimming back and forth for hours (you can see him a tiny spec beyond the rocks) I was drinking espresso with the waiters watching his efforts.

More soon.

Because nothing says "poolside sexy chic" like an Exeter floppy hat...

Saying goodbye to Albert. 

LBD

Precious time is slipping away

But you're only king for a day

It doesn't matter to which God you pray

Precious time is slipping away

It doesn't matter what route you take

Sooner or later the heart's going to break

No rhyme or reason, no master plan

No Nirvana, no promised land

Say que sera, whatever will be,

But then I keep on searching for immortality

She's so beautiful, but she's going to die some day-

Everything in life just passes away

Van Morrison

Believe it or not the above song is quite peppy and I highly encourage it for morale boost. It expresses perfectly what Linda said to me on February 19th 1999: "Oh Boo, we are all right behind him." (I love the Irish..so ready for the next stage).

So I went to the funeral- resplendent in a previously unworn black dress and waterproof mascara. My outfit looked so ominous- like a flattened grim reaper- that I took its picture.

The black dress is the wardrobe equivalent of the zen mantra: 

"Do not tell people who you are, and they will know you." 

It might mean the first date or the funeral.  It is a blank canvas on which we project whatever we choose: joy, grief, mystery. The little black dress is paramount. It is the last thing we will ever give away. 

One could tell the entire story of my friendship with the Carneys simply by reviewing the black dresses we have shared. There was the one I loaned them for their mother's funeral when we were 20 years old: a drop waisted number with white piping that made Boo look like a little girl. There is the one they swiped from my closet for their little sister's prom. There were the black pregnancy dresses Laura loaned me; and even though she had four babies and I only had one, she never asked for them back. When the Carneys' Aunt Theresa came out from Boston just before their mother died, she wandered around the house with her one black dress on a hanger, dusting the lint off (she said a woman only needed one dress, one skirt, and one blouse in her closet). The dress was like seeing a vulture appear overhead; and after a few hours of this, one of the twins lunged for her throat. 

We wore black on the tops of tables to dance together, and we wore black to bury my father. We were told not to wear black to weddings; but sometimes we did. 

So I put on my blank slate of endless black and drove for the thousandth time with Laura and Mindy to a Catholic ceremony, even though Christine wasn't Catholic (you know us Catholics: no need to quibble once you are dead.) Laura was whispering in my ear that under no circumstances is she to be laid to rest in a Catholic ceremony. She has cooled on her childhood faith....so I promised her I would organize a Bacchanalia inspired extravaganza with sage and high priestesses and tequila. This mollified her. Then she whispered: "it doesn't matter anyway, because you are going first." 

The day was a movie we have all seen: cue the beautiful blond girls in black filing into the church- silent crows entering the proceedings. Behind them, crying children in braids leaning against their father; enter the old friends from college-boys we have kissed and forgotten; their new Spanish wives; their teen aged children. Here come the Catholics and the Atheists and the grieving parents. 

Here comes the rain in a drought plagued state.  

The priest told the children he would take away their pain if he could; and I think he meant it. 

But he said if he did, he would have to take away the love as well; because that is the price we pay for love. We must grieve. We must ache.

It reminded me of this quote: 

"....They say you have to earn the right to be loved. No. Love is unconditional. If you love someone, they don't have to earn it. 

But- The right to tell someone that you love them? That has to be earned. 

You have to earn the right to be believed.”

And as shitty a day as this was for those poor children; as shitty as it was for Christine to check out early; I know she earned that honor: her children believe her. 

How many people believe us? 

Kiss a good emailer today...

I woke to this letter from an old sorority sister who was the closet thing I ever met to a drill sargent. Her nickname was 'Boot': perhaps relating to the dramatic end to a long night of drinking, or maybe the drill Sargent/army angle. Point is, she hazed the hell out of us younger ones; and since I had the horrible luck of being picked for a secret drinking society with her-she literally almost got me killed on gin.  She is now a gray haired suburbanite (how the mighty always end up with the best parking...) 

But who knew she could write? 

Good Morning Sisters,

What a delight to hear from KatieRoss (one word, always) and see all of your names again (although in a very small font smashed into a little tiny box) on this gray day. Chris Casey's passing is simply damn sad, I know no other way to describe it, there is no silver lining and yet, I find myself smiling as I think of you all, and all of your hijinks and shenanigans and amusements of THIRTY years ago. Please know I do not smile at dB or JT's names, however, as they led me astray far too many times and have caused me to retain a near instantaneous and overwhelming nauseous response to the smell of tequila, gin, peppermint schnapps, and Southern Comfort which makes it difficult for me to go to restaurants where they are served. 

I know Chris Casey (not one word, but always said as Chris Casey not Christine or just Chris) would be very pleased knowing she provided us all a moment to reflect on the fun we had at 2325 Piedmont, the lifelong friends we made and the memories, that while hazy, continue to provide us proof that we really did it right, back in the day. I would like to take this moment to apologize for any hazing I subjected you to--and I mean that most sincerely--although I know Chris Casey loved it, every damn second of it. 

You guys were the best--not you JT or you dB--and I am very grateful for all of you today.

TTF and Go Bears,

Boot

One more day....

MMB took this on the TGV a few years back. It's so Fredrick isn't it? Hard to tell who is explaining something important to whom.

I loved dressing him in overalls without a shirt (ahh the power! ) because I could so easily touch that baby skin whenever I wanted. And I didn't want that shirt in the way.

Anyway it's like Christmas over here as we prepare the house with requisite nourishment for him... 

I am also so heavy hearted about my old college friend dying. She is hours away- last rites performed, goodbyes said; but it appears she is not that keen to go.

She is this beautiful and extremely (I don't say that lightly) witty woman who found herself with a particularly virulent case of breast cancer six years ago. And nothing but nothing has she found worthwhile about the process. She has never seen a silver lining; she is doubtful she is going anywhere good, and she is righteously pissed off. It breaks my heart, the poignancy of her saying goodbye to her children. 

As I was writing the above, I got the text that she had in fact died.

Pray for her will you guys? Christine- my beautiful hilarious friend. 

And ask God to bring my kid home safely tomorrow; so I can have one more day.

Happy Driftwood Day!

Photo circa1976 courtesy of MMB.

 I love this picture because I remember so much about that moment: the burn of the sand, and the lightness of the driftwood and the bliss of a little time alone.  

Not a brother in sight...

Lunchie Lunch

Believe in Love

I

Taking a picture with a teenaged Teuton- spawn of Thomas- is similar to getting the yeti on camera, but here is proof of life for his grandmother (and aunties and cousins). 

We got some very good intell out of him- oh but I cannot share it! even on the top secret blog.  I will say there are some shenanigans going on at Wentworth Hall, est 1925: wholesome expressions of rebellion in the very early hours of the morning that do not involve drugs or alcohol. Let's just say they are exactly the kind of things I would have done; and his father and I approve wholeheartedly.

Little F does not seem to be stressed: more like on high alert: and he does his homework before 8pm which makes him a bit of a nerd legend over there.

Most kids don't start til after 10 (!) pm.

He had a meeting with his advisor who actually said something about me, like "your mother isn't a worrier is she?" A reference I believe to the fact that I did not contact her all semester.  Oh don't judge! If the grades are good and he isn't crying to come home, what is there to talk about?

Anyway he seems to love it- the weekends are occasionally boring, (says he prefers the week); the classes are exciting, the kids are more stressed than the first semester; he misses us and Albert; he is going to bed early and has friends from China to the Bronx. He also seems to have more knowledge in his head much to his father's delight.

Little known Thomas fact: he won a kilo of gold krugerrand when he was in grade school for something called "general knowledge", basically a very Anglo Saxon award celebrating the ability to cite facts; presumably at parliament or a dinner party. Then 13 years later the gold price went through the roof and he sold it all. This is why, despite his parents comfortable situation, he paid for his own business school and was seen at Chez panisse while the rest of us were eating Cheerios for dinner. Anyway Frederick seems to be well on his way to a head full of fun facts.

For instance, did you know a blue whale can drink 100 bottles of vodka an hour and still legally drive? Or did you know the exact difference between a pond and a lake? Well ask Frederick.

Boo wrote yesterday and asked me how I was - (good old Carneys- they have always hated Sunday nights) and I admit  it is hard dropping him back there. We have a ritual now: I go up with him to his room and help him change his sheets and tidy up, and then I kiss him and go. But It's ok. It's really ok. We don't cry anymore. 

Anyway we are back at the hotel watching the super bowl in bed with mini bar treats, crying over the jeep ad. See below. ( omg!! Jeb! has a super bowl Ad??!). Thomas is watching the game like a foreigner-confused by the rules and making the mistake he has made for 20 years, i.e. thinking I know them. He smells conspiracy in the panthers defeat and thinks they will never let California host again with our "Believe in Love" half time sign. Very un-super bowl. By the way, did you know the military is irritated they have to do those fly overs for free? That it costs the military money for this idiotic NFL posturing?

 Ok enough of my liberal drone.

If you haven't already, you must watch the north face "this land is your land" ad - the long version.

No super bowl ad compares.

It is my all time all time favorite- and I cry every time. (Thomas too) Because you can say what you want about America- the richest country to have such poor people still inside; uninsured; obesity; bad urban schools; mediocre roads; high infant mortality; Donald Trump; poisoned water. 

But you can't dispute we are the most beautiful- our real estate, our actual land is so bloody beautiful, so plentiful and so diverse. Who has California and the grand Tetons and New York City? Who has desert and swamps? We do!  Now go buy some north face and play outside! 

See? I told you it's a good ad.

First Ever Mid-Air Post

I believe this may be the first of its kind-an entry from the air. Forgive me but I am too bored to do anything else- having contracted MSNBC poisoning from over use. Blame Thomas, who can give a long, running lecture through any political talk show I may be enjoying, but becomes mute the minute we get on an airplane. And on an airplane is when I need chatter the most. 

He claims that by ignoring me and reading his newspaper, he is gathering information for his next drone.

He is presently reading a magazine on "secrets to a healthy heart". First article looks promising: "Dont blame fat". 

I will send photos of prodigal son when I get my mitts on him. Below photos of how Boston looked when we landed, and then a few minutes later when the sun came out.

 (Ok I know this is boring, it's for MMB only, the rest of you avert your eyes..) xx

 

Few Photos...

Photos courtesy of CBB... We were up at 5 30 a.m. for the hike every day- no hair brushing, no mousturizing... I haven't gone that long without looking in a mirror in ages. 

As much as I sort of poo pooed the level of exercise at that place- I did have a weirdly amazing ski day following my trip. I'm telling you,  I was a Mexican Lindsay Vonn.. Maybe it was the m&ms.

Adios Chicas

The Ranch has a class called "taking the ranch home with you"; a seminar filled with tips on being healthy at home. This of course I did not attend, but as much as I hate to admit it, I am taking some knowledge home: First- canned garbanzo beans are good for hummus, you don't need to use dried and soaked. Also buy the trader joes pre peeled garlic for roasting. Spread on toast! You don't need to peel it yourself! The mind reels..

Anyway I learned that at the cooking class, which was great, and not just because they snuck in a little beer.

What I really learned while

under deprivation however , is I am a "radical moderate" (trade mark!) . I am radical in my moderation; and this is why I didn't last 24 hours without m&ms. It is also why I only ate 10 of them in three days (I bequeathed the rest to heather). 

I am moderate about sleep and exercise and booze and chocolate. But I am also incredibly steady- never too far off the middle. And do not- I repeat, do not ask me to veer from that path. The locals are still laughing at the gringa in spandex and a pith helmet wandering the dusty streets on day one for sustenance. (Fiona described me as having mosquito netting over my face but this is of course a total exaggeration.) 

The only thing I am not middle of the road on is love. And I do love those crazy girls.

Whenever we get together, it seems

one of us is in a mild crisis- financial or romantic or child related. And we put the afflicted on the couch for group therapy; until one of us starts cracking jokes about the bleakness of it all, or a shared memory, or someone (me) spills coffee on herself without cleaning it off, and pretty soon we are helpless with laughter. 

In Buddhist Pema Chödrön's wonderful book she says : 

"Never have expectations of other people. Just be kind to them."

And that's what these women have always done- expect nothing from me but a little of my time, and a partially hydrogenated, artificially flavored snack in my pocket. 

Done. 

Proof of life

I promise I will add more details later today... but using one's phone is semi verboten, as are chocolate and cheap Mexican vodka - none of which we feel applies to us. 

This is my first spa foray and I seem to have an instinct for revolution. Seriously - I am the Che Guevara of rancho la Puerta-fomenting revolution at every turn.

Under my leadership we have encouraged several women to give up their dream of weight loss and/or de toxing, to join our cause.

Fiona gave me the greatest compliment I have ever received when she implored me not to leave tomorrow- she said "but you are our glue! And you make us popular with all the other guests!" 

What's not to love? I have the stash of m&ms.... More in a few xx

Below: us on a very, very early morning hike; and us with a few frocks for four days in Mexico as we cross the border (!)