Intrepid Explorers

Our friends Russ and Phyllis, who trucked their little sailboat home to Washington earlier this year from San Carlos, turned up in South Africa this week, visiting another friend and fellow blogger, Ferroever. They'll be staying in Maria's flat for a bit, since Maria had to fly back to Japan to resume her English teaching job.

This couple is significant to me not only because of their warmth and spirit, but because they have done some very ambitious long-distance sailing with very few resources, on a small boat. They didn't wait until they had the big bucks to buy every safety feature and convenience on the market, they just went while the rest of us dreamed, and had a wonderful time. They may be "retired," but definitely not headed for any rocking chairs.

They've also kept us up to date on the exploits of S/V "Our Country Home" (which headed to the South Pacific) and S/V "Osage" which sailed through the Panama Canal.

Thanks, Maria, for sharing a shot of them, all smiles, in South Africa.

New Bells and Whistles

I couldn't resist Nancy's lead and picked up on a new widget, Spanish Vocabulary Word of the Day for my blog. If you aren't interested in Spanish you can get French or Italian, too. Scroll to the bottom of this blog to check it out.

And another feature I may come to regret: the Capt found TV on the Internet. Of course, we knew it was there, but we hadn't actively pursued it. "Come to the Dark Side, Luke" echoed in my head. At least when I'm watching movies on the big-screen TV in the living room, I'm learning some Spanish from the subtitles, so I consider it educational.

But this morning we both downloaded the software for Livestation, which offers TV from all over the world. We can keep track of hurricanes, see viewpoints on world events we'd never find on US broadcasts (Euronews and the BBC), and otherwise torment ourselves viewing disasters all over the planet that we can do nothing about. Oh, and you can get the Discover Channel (which started off with such promise years ago and now seems to following the same sensationalist line as every other station) and Fox TV, about which the less said the better. Be prepared for commercials, though they're clustered better (so you can tune them out, good time to check your email).

Livestation is in Beta, which means there are bugs galore, and the more users who log on the more bandwidth is used up. But I decided to share it with you anyway, dear readers. Please don't think of me as Eve brandishing the apple, it's up to you whether to partake.


What am I watching now? A feature on successful Iranian racecar driver Laleh Sedigh who happens to be a woman, on BBC News. She's winning races and getting the men's undies in a terrible twist.

The Wrath of Julio on Guaymas

Floodwaters rush past a convenience store, still open, in Guaymas Tuesday night

A man taps on the window of a flooded car on a Guaymas street, to see if anyone's inside

This morning on the local internet forum Viva San Carlos I found links to videos showing some of the damage done by Julio the bad boy tropical storm, in our neighboring city of Guaymas on Monday and Tuesday. I was grumbling about a few drips here and there in my house in San Carlos. In Guaymas there are people driven from their homes, people who can't drive their cars down the ruined streets. Guymas is situated at the base of several hills, and the force of the water running through town is formidable. I don't know yet whether there were casualties (what an odd word for death and injury--casualties? As if there were anything casual about it).

I have three friends in Guaymas, and I'm wondering how they are doing. Two live in elevated areas of the town, but the other, my amiga Ale, I'm not sure about. I hope she and her husband are OK.

And if Guaymas was hard hit, how much worse must it be in Empalme, where an ordinary rain will leave lakes in parts of downtown? The government aid agency ISSSTE led by Ana Sofía de Claussen and the governor's wife, Lourdes Laborin de Bours, are directing efforts to help flood victims in Empalme and Guaymas, according to "Expresso" (also from Hermosillo). And here in San Carlos Mike at the Captain's Club is collecting clothing, furniture and household needs for sixteen displaced families.

Good Show!

Our Brit friends John and Mary hopefully arrived safely home in Leister, England last night after their second long, hot summer working on their project boat, S/V "Emar" in the Marina Seca workyard. No sissy vacation lolling on the beach for them.

On my other blog, "Sewphie the Sea Dog" I just posted some photos of the work Mary did with Sunbrella, creating covers of all kinds for their vessel.

Here, she's showing the underpinnings that help keep her handsome new binnacle cover from blowing away in a gale.

The FRONT Fell Off?

I almost fell off my chair laughing when Cousin Gene (a genuine Texas oilman) sent me this skit from YouTube. Thanks, Cousin.

Tampico Seafood

I’d heard so much about Tampico Seafood that when I accidentally stumbled up on it during today’s misadventure to the post office, I knew we had to stop in. It was early enough – about 5:00 – so the restaurant was pleasantly crowd-free. Yay!

The server recommended the fried fish plates, so I thought I’d try the shrimp. Somewhere along the way, however, he decided that I should have tilapia, and that’s what showed up instead. Huh. The fried fish was decidedly mediocre, as was the fried rice that came with it. Ho-hum. Next!

Our first highlight was the ceviche tostada, a mass of light and tangy seafood piled high on a crispy tortilla. The crabmeat here was unfailingly fresh, and they added just enough vinegary sauce to tie it all together. A winner, for sure.

What really set our hearts on fire, though, was the grilled snapper, another server recommendation. Our fish came out well seasoned and beautifully cooked with a side of green peppers and sautéed onions. Inside the crispy outer layer, the fish was juicy and fresh. Snapper is what gulf coast seafood’s about, and this version is fantastic... and so pretty! I wish I had remembered to take a picture.

Do not come for the atmosphere. Or the service. Come for the whole grilled snapper.

Tampico - 2115 Airline Drive (near Cavalcade)

Wear Sunscreen

I'm not much for passing on things, but I had to share this:

It was what I was looking for, this day, this hour.

Gracias, Ale

Bowled Over by the Rain

I used to think I had too many plastic bowls, but never again. Thanks to a frog-strangler of a rain over the last 24 hours we have discovered leaks in every room, a new one just about every couple of hours. One over my new terrabyte hard drive, another over my laptop. One over Sophie's little bed, another over the Capt's keyboard. I'd rather set out plastic bowls instead of pots so we hear "plop plop" instead of "plink plink." There's one "plop, plop" going on near me now that I can't place, and it's driving me to distraction.

So we went next door (we're in a duplex) to talk about solving the roof problem together and found that compared to our neighbors we've had it easy. Joanne woke up last night, rolled over, and squish! She had to spend the rest of the night on the couch.

The photo here shows the water actually receding; it was up over the road about six inches at some point last night; we can see the high-water mark on our tires.

And on the morning net one fellow said he's got three feet of water in his basement, another reported that Guaymas is "a mess." Muchas gracias, Julio...

This rain could last until as late as Friday. Yesterday we were celebrating the coolness and the smell of fresh rain, today we're hunkering down hoping it'll abate soon.

And the great irony? We are getting no water from our taps. Guess I should put a few bowls outside, too, huh?

Meanwhile, back in Oklahoma: the Home Health Aide didn't show up this morning and my mom was found wandering the halls in her nightgown. Considering her front door is only a few yards from the building entrance, we could count it as another miracle she didn't end up on the street. That does it, we're going to the next level of care.

Tetas in the Rain

The La Posada Condominiums website shows the beach at San Carlos very beautifully, with the Tetas in the background. We live in that direction, on the other side of that first row of houses. The big palapa in the foreground is a restaurant specializing in, of all things, Greek food.

So now you can check out one of the best views in San Carlos, any day you like.

All Hat, No Cattle

Just as I thought I'd lose my own mind living 24/7 with a mother who resembles a docile two-year-old, my sister rescued me and took me on a tour my last day in Oklahoma.

First we visited Dewey, an old-time small town with a cluster of antique stores where I shot some photos for my other blog.

Yocham's is all tricked out to look positively pioneerish

Then we hit the highway toward Tucson to make a must-see stop at Yocham's, a well-known western gear store, still the place to buy and repair tack and saddles.

But the Yocham's folks saw where the big bucks are (not in the pockets of real cowboys) so now half the store has morphed into a fancy showroom for the faux cowboy set.


We're talking major display of dead animals, wild and domesticated, from hides to horns to the entire critter stuffed and mounted on the walls or posed dramatically, like this bobcat trying to catch a pheasant. Looks pretty good except for the flourescent lights and acoustic tile ceiling...


When you're ready for the western look you spiff up with ironed jeans, fancy new boots and a $500 cowboy hat, buy a little ranchito, and blow a few thousand at Yocham's to pimp it out with these fancy fixins.


Is it just me, or is it ludicrously bad taste to hang a price tag on a dead steer's ear?

A Sucker for Sunsets

Yesterday evening the clouds put on a dramatic, biblical show at sunset, promising rain with the approach of Julio, the latest soon-to-be hurricane now blowing over Baja. The NOAA map below shows its current position. It's expected to move up the Sea of Cortez and possibly reach our area sometime Wednesday. I'm not worried, but I'll make sure we have water and batteries.

We desert-dwellers are always grateful for rain, which often teases us with some lightning and thunder, cloud cover and fresh breezes but then bestows its moisture on Guaymas instead. But this time we're getting a sweet taste to brighten and energize our morning. Gracias a dios!

Cooking with the Kimballs

After being laid off from an advertising agency during the Tech Bust in 2001, I found myself with a rare spot of free time and decided to create a family cookbook. I am semi-obsessed with taking on gargantuan projects, and this one was mainly to make sure we recorded my maternal grandmother’s deliciously eclectic recipe collection for all to share.

Mamaw was born to Serbian parents, but spent most of her life in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Thus, she ate baklava and homemade pita bread just as often as she ate Southern beef stew and hoppin’ john. The initial cookbook found me borrowing dozens of recipes at a time, typing them into Word docs, and then having the final product color-copied and spiral bound at Kinko’s.

I thought it was beautiful.

But just as soon as the thing was “published,” we realized just how many recipes I’d left out... “What about the recipe for Mamaw’s lamb? Or that cold cucumber salad she makes?” “Where’s poteca bread? I don’t see it in here.” The second edition was already a glimmer in my eye.

Mamaw’s passing last year was the catalyst I needed for a major overhaul. Her enormous wooden recipe box was handed off to me, and I feverishly began to transcribe every recipe I could. In the box I discovered faded letters from the old country hand written in Serbian. I adored looking through the entire section involving jello molds. And I loved asking my mom to tell me over and over about how Mamaw used to make her own Phyllo dough, stretching it long and thin across the dining room chairs.

The final product arrived last week: 400 recipes from family, friends, and neighbors, soft bound with descriptions, stories, and hilarious old pictures: http://www.blurb.com/my/book/detail/380100

Shout out to Blurb.com, a brilliant software company that lets you self-publish your own books… The software is easy to use and FREE, and the final product is absolutely gorgeous. Create your own soft- or hard-cover books with travel photos, poetry, wedding memorabilia, or the next great American novel, which -- perhaps -- is next on my list of gargantuan projects for the undertaking.

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

I suppose I could beat myself up with all the second guessing, after hearing from my sister the day after I got home from Oklahoma, that our efforts to get our mother happily moved into a new facility have come to nothing. She'll have to be moved again, the sooner the better, because she can't be left alone...ever.

The Home Health Aide (HHA) hired to spend an hour with Mom every morning helping her shower, dress and get ready for the day, knocked and banged on her door yesterday morning, but Mother couldn't find the door. Luckily the front desk had a spare key. The HHA got inside just in time, as Mother was about to brush her teeth with an analgesic cream that bears a poison warning on the tube. The shower was running, the bathroom faucet was running, and Mom couldn't figure out how to turn them off. She did manage to close the plug on the sink, so water was about to spill over and flood the bathroom.

Susie the Care Manager decided when she heard all this that Mother is in need of 24/7 care. And she's right, my sister and I were just deluding ourselves that she could be left alone 23 hours a day. Judy's now busy looking for a private room in a nursing home, hopefully one that will offer a modicum of space and excellent care for less than $5K a month. She also has to make sure that MedicAid will kick in when Mother's savings have been wiped out.

She will also be stuck with the moving, getting rid of most of Mother's possessions and somehow convincing Mother that she'll be happy with the new arrangement.

Should I have extended my stay until I was sure she'd be OK with just the HHA? Was my whole trip wasted because we were pursuing the wrong course?

On the drive home from Tucson, the Capt and I talked about the pros and cons of offering to bring Mom to Mexico. The pros: There's a house available a few yards from our door that we could have for $500 a month, and we could probably hire excellent live-in care for $1K a month, or a real nurse for $2K. After years of looking after her, my sister would finally get a break. The cons: if she outlived me, she'd be better off in the US. She has a fear of people of other races, and has no Spanish. And my sister would probably oppose the plan, as she considers me a lifelong flake (with some justification, I guess). And the biggest obstacle, to be honest, is that I'm ambivalent about the whole idea.

"Give me ambivalence, or give me something else."

The Capt.

Taqueria del Sol

Happy was I to begin the school year anew, and only partially because I teach on the south side of town where there are taco trucks a plenty. I made it all the way to day three of in-service before bolting at lunchtime for my favorite taqueria: Taqueria del Sol.

Seeing how the lunch rush starts darn near breakfast time, finding a quiet time here is next to impossible. My group of four teachers walks in as the day’s only Caucasians, which clearly deters neither us nor them. Ever encouraged by the low prices, we order waaaaaaay too much, and they quickly fill our table with gorgeous plates of flautas, gorditas, quesadillas, and more. Leigh Anne the Adventurous had two equally brilliant gorditas: one de chicharron (cooked pork skin) and one de nopales (grilled cactus). Nancy’s quesadillas and Amanda’s enchiladas received top marks and clean plates as well.

My clear favorite, though, is the torta de barbarcoa, a Mexican sandwich of tender barbecued pork atop a soft, flavorful bun and bursting with lettuce, tomato, guacamole, and sour cream. Try as I might, I cannot tear myself from this dish when I go. It’s got the holy trinity of elements we teacher’s seek in a meal: it’s delicious, it’s huge, and it’s $2.75.

This place is four times better than your regular Mexican joint, and half the price. Service is friendly and helpful. And there’s a bakery attached if you need a little pan dulce post meal. Don’t let the hazardous parking lot scare you away, and don’t forget to try the lemonade. Buen provecho!

Taqueria del Sol - 8114 Park Place Blvd (near Hobby Airport)

Tonight's the Night

The JD Dancers gave a little show at BCC tonight

A line dancing show was the entertainment tonight at the Bartlesville Care Center, performed by a local group. They started out a little rough but got into the swing of it eventually. Two kids performed with them, looking like they'd been shanghai'ed for the event and wanted to be elsewhere.

Tonight's Mom's big test: I'm going to go sleep at Judy's and leave her alone until tomorrow at breakfast time. We're anxious, trying not to be anxious. It'll be her first night by herself since she moved in and it's as much a test of our efforts to get her settled in as it is of Mother's ability to manage and be independent.

Let's hope and pray it'll be OK.

A Cat Fix

After the stress of our evaluation this morning, Mother and I both had a jones for a good cat fix so we headed for ARF. Her apartment is only a couple of blocks from the Animal Rescue Foundation's cat shelter, open to visitors daily from 1 to 4pm. It's housed in a shabby little blue-fronted circa-50s storefront in a rundown strip mall, but they've got big plans for a million-dollar facility they'd share with the dogs (which are now the purview of the SPCA and subject to termination in case of overcrowding).

Inside, the facility is kept very clean, and more than 40 cats are made very comfortable with every imaginable type of cat furniture (much of it hand-built), toys and cushy sleeping spots. At least four volunteers work four hours a day, though they obviously don't consider it work. They chat, snack, toss treats to the cats whenever they want to start up a swarm, tease them with the laser toy, administer meds and make themselves very much at home with their little flock of felines.

There are so many we were only able to make the acquaintance of a few: Cindy was the fat gray who took over first my lap, then Mother's. Peaches is the huge gold tabby who lives by the kitchen tap waiting for somebody to turn it on for her. Ol' Whitey has been with them for at least five years and seems resigned to being unadoptable. The gray kitten sitting in the window is blind in one eye, but has been promised to some people who already have one half-blind cat.

Today was our second day to visit the cats, and Mother was beside herself with the pleasure of lapwarmers and kitten gymnastics. She cooed and burbled at every feline in petting distance and when old Cindy settled into her lap it was hard to get Mom to go home.

The volunteers told me if Mother wanted to foster a cat, they might be able to send someone over on a regular basis to help with the sandbox. We took an inventory and decided we'd choose one of the older, mellower cats, small enough for Mother to pick up, set enough in his ways he wouldn't be apt to wander much. I can't wait to talk to Judy about it.

Fretmeister

The high point this morning: we got Mother's CD player working and put on some music -- contemporary gospel -- and she started dancing around (Wish I'd gotten a picture of that!) and singing the lyrics. She remembered a lot of them. Then she started crying, telling me it was because she was happy.

The low point: Even with directional signs and marks lined up for temp control, she still can't use the shower without help. She gets up before dawn and wants a shower right away. If an aide comes in to help her, it wouldn't be that early. I can tell her I want her to wait for the aide, but she'll just forget.

I was lying awake last night thinking of all the ways she could hurt herself in this apartment and getting more and more discouraged. Knives in the drawer, an electric stove, a garbage disposal... Someone knocks and checks on her in the morning and evening, but is that enough?

What is she going to do with herself all day? My sister plans to visit twice a week, take her for outings and do her laundry. There are activities here at BCC, but unless she's escorted to them, she won't go. I know from personal experience how much damage loneliness can do.

Maybe I'm just being a fretmeister. Maybe the evaluation will bring some clarity. Maybe I'm just tired.

LATER: Susie the home care manager has been here and we spent a couple of hours talking over Mother's situation and options. It's looking better for her staying here. Duh, my sis came and disconnected the stove so I can stop worrying about that. The garbage disposal is hardwired in so we'll have to work on that. The aide will start out coming in every morning for an hour, and we'll see if Mom needs more than that.

Susie is even going to contact the church we went to yesterday and see if somebody could take Mother to church (a block away, should be easy) on Sundays, and bring her back home. I hope it'll be somebody warm and friendly. Mother's biggest need seems to be for affection: hugs, strokes, handholding. My sister is so efficient and capable it's scary, but the most that can be expected from her is a perfunctory hug at leavetaking. Nada más.

Giggle of the morning: I came into the bathroom just as Mom was about to squeeze sunblock on her toothbrush.

Hide your wives and daughters: Frank's unsavory pals are in town!

'Cattle Rustlers' by Russ Vickers

One thing I'll be sorry to miss when I go home Thursday: the 2008 Cow Thieves and Outlaws Reunion. Never heard of it until we were driving down the road and I saw a road sign for this unique event, organized by Frank Phillips (1873-1950), grand poobah of the Bartlesville oil industry in the roaring '20s, whose log cabin retreat, known as Woolaroc, has been preserved and enhanced with a museum and wildlife preserve.

My sister tells me Phillips, who founded Phillips Petroleum (later Conoco-Phillips) had a soft spot for cowboy thieves and outlaws, and used to invite them for a big annual shindig where they were guaranteed impunity and in return agreed not to practice their usual modus operandi on the premises. I can imagine the neighbors gave the place a wide berth when the festivities, which must have been pretty riotous, were in progress.

Nowadays the general public is invited, and many show up in cowboy gear brandishing faux firearms, according to my sister. She didn't know for sure if any genuine cow thieves and outlaws still participate. Although I can't imagine why not, what an opportunity for networking! Say you're looking to replenish your gang, after most of them were hauled off to the hoosegow...

The website says only that more information is available Sept. 13, and displays some photos from past reunions, showing folks in chaps and leather vests they probably bought at the local western wear outlet. Pretty tame looking cow thieves, I'd say.

Oh, well, I left my cowboy boots back in Mexico anyway.

A recent reunion of the Cow Thieves and Outlaws Reunion
(Photo from the Woolaroc website). Do these people look like they steal cows?

If You Still Have Parents...

This post is for people who may be concerned with the grim subject of nursing homes and elder care facilities. In other words, anyone in middle age with living parents. The rest of you would be bored to distraction and you're invited to move on to another blog.

Bartlesville OK is a hotbed of retirement options. My sis thinks it's because so many oil company workers retired here. Today we visited three, plus a home care agency, and learned almost more than we wanted to know about what's available for Alzheimer's patients.

Every nursing facility we visited charges around $125 a day for 24/7 care, in tiny rooms meant for two patients. (Compare this with Green Country, where a room is $4,000 a month! And Green Country has been raising their rates every few months.) Each facility offers rooms with two single beds, a dresser, a couple of chairs and that's about it. The administrators try to limit each patient's wardrobe to six changes of clothing. Did I mention Mother has a walk-in closet, and that it's full?

The first one seemed entirely too much like a hospital; Judy and I both were underwhelmed because even though it had the grandest lobby, the space alloted each patient was claustrophobic, and we didn't get the friendliest of vibes from the staff. We preferred the second, Heritage House, which even has some single-occupancy rooms available now and then, and the one we looked at had a big sliding glass window looking out on a green expanse that made it seem larger, and an in-room shower (an attendant comes in to help with the shower). At each facility patients are escorted to a dining room for meals, no meals in the rooms. The third facility would be the longest drive for my sister, and the building is the oldest and least elegant, but a cat and a dog have the run of the place, which would be a big selling point for Mom.

We also stopped at a nonprofit elder care agency, where day care is offered for $800 a month and home aid workers can be contracted to visit on a regular basis at a rate of $16.50 a day. Mother tried out the daycare once, and slept through the whole day (I suspect because she's shy and doesn't do well around a lot of strangers, although one-on-one she's almost excessively friendly.) A woman from the elder care is going to visit tomorrow and give us an evaluation so we can work up a plan that would allow Mother to stay here at BCC for a while at least. A woman would come in each morning, help her shower and dress, deal with the little issues that Mother can't handle anymore like trimming toenails, taking out the garbage, taking her vitamins (she's no longer on any meds), finding things she's lost...

Part of the problem has been trying to figure out what level of care she needs. She's ambulatory, not incontinent, still talking (sometimes she makes perfect sense), more mild-mannered than she's ever been, and not at all combative as many Alzheimers patients are. Almost pathetically grateful for the smallest favor, the least bit of attention. She can still tie her shoes, button her shirts, wash dishes, talk to us on the phone. Just about everyone I saw today in the four facilities we visited was sicker, more helpless and less in touch with reality than she is. I saw so many vacant faces, so many people who seemed barely alive. I just wanted to be alone so I could cry for them.

Having lost sleep every night since I discovered just how much she's lost of her capacities, I'm relieved that we might have an option she could afford, that wouldn't require another immediate move. We'll know more tomorrow.

Anyway, it's worth a try.

Tomorrow: Where the cats are.

Restaurant Week II

Great news: So popular was Houston Restaurant Week that some places have decided to extend it for another week!

Six restaurants have already committed (Arcodoro, Del Frisco’s, Max’s Wine Dive, SoVino Bistro, The Capital Grille, and Oceanaire), and the list should be final by 5pm today.

Here’s to hoping that many more restaurants jump on the bandwagon! Check the Houston Restaurant Week Web site (http://www.houstonrestaurantweek.com/) for the latest additions and menus.

UPDATE: 24 restaurants are on board! Happy eating :)

What's Bugging Us Now?

Mom with my sister's '69 VW bug

I took Mom to church this morning, first time she had been in more than a year. She was thrilled. I sang the hymns to her and during the prayer time three people came over, held her hands and prayed with her. I think she enjoyed the human contact as much as anything.

My sister and I are not convinced Mother will be able to stay here at Bartlesville Care Center. She needs so much help, and I can't make enough of a difference in three more days. If someone could come in two or three times a day and just spend ten minutes with her she'd probably do all right, but the agencies want $500 a month for that small amount of service.

I even thought about taking her home with me to Mexico, but the logistics are staggering, and I don't know what we could do for her when we go sailing.

Tomorrow my sis and I are going to investigate a couple of other care centers, and then we'll see...

Lost in an Oklahoma Time Warp

My mother is settling into her new assisted living apartment, where she now has meals delivered to her and still paying less rent than her previous place. There are welfare checks (not the monetary kind) every morning and evening and someone responds in emergencies. Built sometime in the sixties, it's not nearly as ritzy as her last place, but more of what she needs, for less. And, though she doesn't have a clue what it is, I'm thrilled to find they have free wifi.

My job is helping her figure out the complexities of unlocking doors, turning the shower on and off, changing clothes, using the washer, finding her way from the front door of her building to her apartment door, about 25 feet away. It reminds me of teaching a small child, except I can't be sure that what she's mastered today still be able to accomplish tomorrow. I worry about things like the knives in her kitchen drawer, the key she's bound to lose, the walk-in closet she might get lost in. She's so easily frustrated and so angry with herself for every failing.

For a few minutes she seems almost normal and then she asks, "Where are the cats?" She means the two cats she gave to the shelter six months ago. Doesn't believe me when I explain this. She wants to show me how well she cleans her teeth, but she's using a finger because she can't find the toothpaste and toothbrush in a glass next to the sink. She tries to unlock the door by inserting her key into the peephole. She tries to put both legs into one pantleg. I'm wondering how I can leave her alone after only a week of trying to help her master her surroundings.

My sister lent me her classic beige 1969 VW bug, a real act of faith considering how she's treasured it all these years. Three engine replacements, four paint jobs, three re-upholsterings. When I drive down the street people honk at me, lean out their windows and shout, "Nice car!"

Driving this car through central downtown Bartlesville, which looks much as it did in 1969, or even 1959, is like being in a time warp. Broad avenues lined with commercial buildings that haven't been updated in decades. It would make a great movie set, and I'll try to capture it with the camera, maybe tomorrow. But downtown was all but deserted on a Saturday morning because all of Bartlesville was down at Walmart, K-Mart and the other big box stores in outlying areas.

Last night my brother-in-law Maurice, a genuine Oklahoma oilman, took us out to dinner at a real cowboy restaurant, where we had steak (of course) and baked potatoes. Oh, and saw a few real cowboys. Maurice regaled us with all the latest dirt on Oral "God is my attorney" Roberts, Jr., who's gone down in disgrace. Then he told me that he had found a miracle cure for leg cramps in bed--place a cake of soap under the bottom sheet. He didn't believe it himself, but tried it and it worked. Last night I tried it because I've been kept awake by foot and leg cramps, and yes, it did work. I could feel them start to come on and then they faded away. Go figure. Oh, and he says Lifebuoy won't work.

Tonight Mom and I are having Braum's peach ice cream (one thing I've missed about Texas and Oklahoma) and watching Tomescu-Dita winning her 26-mile race in the Olympics.

I'm so impressed with Dita, who at 43, with a teenage son, could have justifiably considered herself too old to compete in the Olympics. But she won by a huge margin. And then within the hour Dara Torres, age 41, won her 12th swim medal for the US. Says Torres, "Don't put an age limit on your dreams." Someday will there be 50-year-old Olympic champions?

Tomorrow I'm taking Mother to church and then we're going to the park to see the ducks. Then we'll practice changing clothes, getting out of the shower and answering the door. And we'll watch the Olympic gymnastics. A day at a time...

Guaymas to Tucson to Tulsa

Tufesa bus from Guaymas to Nogales is $410 pesos, about $41USD one way. I had seen a ten-peso discount offered for prepayment so I had bought the ticket two days earlier, but even though the website and a sign at the depot showed the discount, I was charged full price.

The bus was an hour late, which would have had me worrying about missing my flight except that I was catching the 5pm bus for a 6:35am flight. Surely, I thought, 13 hours would be enough time. As it turned out, just enough time.

The first leg of the trip, to Hermosillo, was uneventful other than the excessive wideness of the man sitting next to me. I spent an hour meditating on narrowness. At Hermosillo he got off and another fellow with two sons (18 and 13) got on, the father next to me, the boys (both muy guapo) sitting across the aisle. They live in LA, and their English is very good (the boys don't even have an accent). Lorenzo and his family had been visiting his mother-in-law in Hermosillo, and he had to go back to work. At 43 he has lived in the US for 24 years, is a naturalized citizen and has bought completely into the American Dream: a $750,000 house, the older son headed for law school, his own business that keeps him working from 6am to 8pm every day. Interestingly, what he wanted to talk about was his plan to buy a little house on the beach in Kino Bay, Mexico where he and his wife could retire when he turns 55.

At Hermosillo we were asked to disembark so the bus could be cleaned. Caramba! I left a little grocery bag with crackers, cheese and a water bottle on the floor of the bus and the cleaner must have thought it was trash and took it away. Lesson learned. In the waiting room I met one of the other passengers, Leonora ("call me Leo") who has a business buying used clothing in LA and bringing them down to sell at tianguis.

When we stopped at the army checkpoint around 10pm for a "revision militar" the procedure was more involved than if we'd been driving a car. With a car, we pull up next to a teenaged soldier sporting camos and a big gun, who asks where we're going and/or where we're from and waves us on. With the bus, we disembarked, the luggage was pulled out of the compartment and gone through half-heartedly while we stood around for about 20 minutes, stretching our legs, some of us taking advantage of the large supply of snacks for sale nearby.

At the Nogales border we disembarked downtown around 2am. We thought the bus would be searched but this time they only examined our passports and other documentation. Back aboard, I dozed for what seemed like a minute and then I was in Tucson, trying to wake up, looking for a taxi in the rain, and very glad I was traveling light. The taxi ride to the airport was $15, shared with two other passengers.

I indulged in a very good double espresso at a 24-hour coffee kiosk downstairs at the baggage carousels, brushed my teeth and sat reading my book for a short while, hoping the check-in line would be shorter if I gave it some time. The line was comprised of dozens of excited young teenage girls (all chaperoned by their parents) from all over Mexico, wearing red t-shirts and matching jackets, all headed for Toronto for an intensive English study course. By the time I got to the check-in machine, scanned the barcode on my passport and got my boarding pass, it was time to hurry off to the plane.

When I got off the Continental flight at Houston at Terminal E, I thought I couldn't be far from Terminal B so I started walking. Along the way I checked in with the Capt on the cell phone, stopped at Starbuck's for a double espresso and (shame, shame) a cream cheese danish, which wasn't even very good. I was carrying my own pillow, like a little kid with her blankie. Otherwise I was encumbered by only a very heavy backpack.

But I soon found that Houston Airport is so large, I had to catch a shuttle bus to Terminal B. So I got to Gate 84B, sat down and pulled out my laptop hoping I could get a blog started, when the desk agent called: "Anybody here going to Tulsa?" Luckily I was there to hear her, because the gate had been switched! (This happens almost every time I fly.) I had to go downstairs and half a mile down a long corridor, and I could hear my name being paged as I ran. At the new gate I was ushered outside, and actually walked across the tarmac to board a very small jet. I checked, thinking it might have propellors. I haven't boarded a plane outdoors since sometime in the sixties. A blast from the past!

Tune in tomorrow for the next exciting episode.

Glass Wall

Due to a last-minute dental problem I had to bail on Wednesday’s Chowhound dinner at VOICE [sad puppy]. Rather than wallow in self-pity the *entire* night, I waited for the anesthesia to wear off and went in search of food.

Situated just two blocks from my home, Glass Wall was clearly the lazy choice. And I had yet to try it, so at least it had that going for it. Gingerly I picked up the phone to see if it was possible to a) get the HRW menu, b) at the bar, c) by myself, and d) in gym clothes, and to my delight, they welcomed me with open arms.

The first course was a wonderful salmon bisque – not overly salmony, like many iterations, and with just the right amount of cream. The second course was the jalapeno-potato-chip-crusted chicken fried steak from the regular menu. Now I haven’t had a chicken fried steak since, um, middle school, and really have no business judging one, but this one was good enough, with just the right amount of heat. Add the mashed potatoes and gravy, and you have the dude-food trifecta. Sigh.

Alongside my dinner came a glass of rose, and while I never choose to order rose wines, this one was nice. My server mentioned they were trying to make sure the meal was a good value for the $35… Amen, brother!

Dessert was the white chocolate and raspberry bread pudding. Though it was fantastically over rich, I got half of it down before crying uncle.

The Good: The salmon bisque and the included glass of wine.
The Bad: Zero choice in menu items.
The Ugly: There’s a huge glass wall in the center of the dining room that says GLASS WALL in 18-inch letters. Really?

Would I go back to Glass Wall? Meh. Am I glad I went last night? 100%.

Glass Wall – 933 Studewood (in the Heights)

Fear of Flying

I'm about to get on a plane...actually, two planes in a row. I'm nostalgic for the excitement I used to feel when I flew years ago. It's been replaced by a sense of dread, and not because a couple of planes hit the World Trade Center in 2001. Not because I'm afraid of crashing. The skies just aren't very friendly anymore, and the airports are grim scenes reminiscent of high-class penitentiaries, but what do we have to be penitent about? We just shelled out hundreds of dollars for this experience!

Just to add to that feeling of detention, airlines are actually considering clamping "safety bracelets" on every passenger, so if someone makes a threatening move they can be stunned instantly by any flight attendant carrying a remote control. Use of the bracelet will also eliminate the need for boarding passes, so we can all be more efficiently herded onto the plane. They'll probably be sleek devices with the airline logo on them, and the kids will be fascinated. "Can't I take it home with me, Daddy?" But the idea gives me the shivers.

Big deal, you might say. If you behave yourself it should be no problem, right? But all it takes is one thin-skinned flight attendant who decides to play cop, and one mouthy passenger... I know a former flight attendant who used to dope the drinks of passengers who offended him. Everybody was doing it, he said with a shrug.

Anyway, I'm getting this flight over with before they cuff me. Wish me luck.

The Outer Limits of My Comfort Zone

Cyberweirdness abounds. Before I could start tackling my bloglist (see yesterday's post) it miraculously straightened itself out. A reminder that sometimes (well, rarely) the mistake isn't mine.

At Cancun Canuck's post today I discovered a new website I'm going to really enjoy referring to: the Double-Tongued Dictionary. As much as words and the tricks we humans play with them fascinate me, this is like being handed a new toy. Thanks, CC!

Her post, though, is a little grim: there are kidnappings going on in Cancun, what they call levantones. The most recent incident was only a half-block from her house.

Here in Guaymas kidnappings are still rare, but there have been four muggings reported on the Viva San Carlos forum in the last couple of weeks, the most recent victim being a gringa who was near the Mercado in Centro. No details, so I don't know if it amounted to a purse-snatching, brandishing of a weapon, a knockdown or what? I was mugged once decades ago on my way to a night class and the guy stole my homework, which happened to be my final exam! Caramba! Picture explaining that to the prof!

It's a jungle out there for someone like me, cozily ensconced in my comfort zone.

And tonight I'm going to have to venture out into it. At 5pm I'll catch a Tufesa bus which will travel up to the border (yes, here I go again!) where I pray I'll be able to get my FM-3 book stamped without the bus leaving me behind (this happens to passengers all the time, apparently). The bus is very comfortable, I'm told, with movies and air conditioning and comfortable seats. I'll arrive at the bus station in Tucson somewhere between midnight and 5 am. That's quite a time discrepancy, but I've been warned that the bus can be delayed at the border as much as 5 hours. Not Tufesa's fault, but because of the US checkpoint.

From the bus station I will take a taxi to the airport and wait until 6 am when I'll board a plane to go see my mother and sister who live near Tulsa, OK.

The lovely, refined assisted living home she moved to last year has notified us that her dementia now makes her an unfit resident. She's losing her table manners, getting lost in the lobby, falling asleep in the lounge and alarming other folks who are not yet ready to be confronted with the symptoms they themselves may be dealing with in another five or ten years.

My stoic sister has found a new place where the majority of the residents are in Mom's state or worse, where considerably more care is available and it's actually cheaper! Today Mother moves in with considerable assistance from my sis, and when I arrive tomorrow my job will be to help her adjust. She gets panic attacks in new situations. I'm hoping that giving her lots of hugs, holding her hand, singing to her and tucking her in at night will help soothe her. Mothering my mom.

I was feeling sorry for myself about having to make this grueling journey and having to see my mother so helpless, but everyone I've vented to has had similar situations. The fact is, if you still have a parent or two at my age, the parent has issues.

*17

Last night I kicked off Houston Restaurant Week with ten Chowhounds at *17. While I used to shun restaurants inside hotels, a new generation has popped up, and I’ve since rethought my stance on the issue. Indeed *17 has gotten a lot of play in the local media, and I was aflutter upon walking into the Alden Hotel downtown.

The space is deceptively small, but lovely-ish, and we begin the meal with a quick amuse bouche: tuna tartar atop a watermelon radish. The bite was beautiful in presentation, and the tuna’s flavor was nice, but the watermelon radish proves overpowering. But no reason to be alarmed, right? Bring on the epic three-course menu!

The first course is a choice between tomato soup (with pork belly, we’re told) and a baby lettuce salad. Given my affinity for both tomatoes and pork belly, the soup is an easy decision. Unfortunately, though, it arrives plain, acidic, and SANS PORK BELLY. Like, none. Hmpf. We are unimpressed, but hold onto hope that the next course will win back our hearts.

Oh, brother. Second course is a choice between halibut with corn pudding or a NY strip steak with potato puree, spinach, and a bordelaise sauce. I choose the fish, which arrives fine and all… yet it was the only thing on the plate! That teensy squirt of corn puree does *not* a side dish make. Where is all my food-glorious-food? Pangs of jealousy creep in as I watch the three who ordered the steak devour a full plate of vitals. [Sigh.]

Whatever. On to dessert: a choice between a chocolate fondant cake or homemade ice cream. I go with the cake, which proves to be bittersweet and too dry. Though still hungry from my lack of sustenance [grrr!], I decline to waste the calories.

- GOOD: the bread and whipped butter were fantastic, and we had a Beringer 2002 reserve cabernet that knocked my socks off.
- BAD: the meal, in general, and still being hungry afterwards.
- UGLY: we debated going out for sliders post dinner. No, really.

Not the winning experience for which I’d hoped, but perhaps redemption will come at VOICE on Wednesday. Don’t just take my word for it, though... Check out what Jenny who’s never full and Misha of Tasty Bits have to say.

*17 - 1117 Prairie (downtown)




Big plate, small food. I was crying inside. And why is there a huge crevasse in my fish?


Now THIS is a plate of food. Looks can be deceiving, though -- Reviews for this entree were mediocre as well.

Pardon My Dust (and mixed metaphors)

Dear readers, please bear with me while I make my last adjustment to straighten out my linkage mess, and a dismal mess it is, too. After two weeks of tweaking I succeeded in getting 1st Mate links to actually go to 1st Mate. But now my bloglist links go to pages of code nobody would want to read except a code warrior. So I'm removing my bloglist and re-establishing it, name by name. Hope this doesn't just open another can of worms.

Dents in My Digits

I can do this. It's only been four decades since I last played guitar, it should all come back to me, right? I don't expect to play like the Capt, but if I learn enough basic chords and a few simple strum patterns I'll at least be able to accompany myself, and widen my choice of songs to include some nobody else wants to learn. My taste in tunes is sometimes a little...um...esoteric. For instance, it would be fun to do Tom Waits' "Cemetery Polka," "Tango 'Til They're Sore" or "Singapore" (a gnarly sailing song).

My two best friends: Chica and the guitar (should I name it too?)

What's different is that I played a classic guitar before, with nylon strings, much easier on the fingertips. This time it's a steel-string Ibanez acoustic with electric pick-up, and I'm going to have to develop some callouses on the left hand. But although it may inflict pain for a while, this guitar is going to have to be my best friend and constant companion if we're going to make music that anyone else can bear to listen to.

Three of my friends have been telling me they want to learn to play, too, and Jesse, a very talented guitarist with thousands of English and Spanish songs stored in his cabeza, is willing to teach us. One of my goals: learn to play Spanish style boleros. My reach is exceeding my grasp, but what's a heaven for?

Don’t Forget: Houston Restaurant Week

Don’t forget about Houston Restaurant Week, coming right up from August 11-17! Starting Monday, 53 restaurants across Houston are offering a specially created 3-course menu for $35. It’s a great opportunity to try that new buzz-grabber while the price is right-ish.

The menus for each restaurant have been posted, so you can peruse the goods before you commit. $5 from your meal goes to Houston’s End Hunger Network. And if you reserve your table online, OpenTable donates even more.

I’m headed to *17 on Monday and VOICE at the Hotel Icon on Wednesday… And could *easily* be convinced to hit Gravitas next weekend (Hello? Slow roasted pork shoulder!). GET FIRED UP!

Feast with the Beasts

The Houston Zoo’s venerable Feast with the Beasts is coming up on October 10. Past participants tell me it’s a wildly fun evening (21 and over only). For $70 (or $65 for Zoo members), you can sample cuisines from 30+ restaurants among the Zoo’s most famous residents. This year’s food line-up includes Arcodoro, Crapitto’s, Cyclone Anaya’s, D’Amicos, Joyce’s, Molina’s, Ouisie’s, Sorrento’s, the Strip House, and plenty more.

Sounds great... Just keep me away from the snake house [shudder].

Chrys Page: 'Have You Opened Your Gifts Yet?'

Chrys Page may be the most inspiring person I've never met: she's my age and still singing professionally and recording. She has coached more than 500 singers and now I've just found out she starting blogging in June! And though we've never met in person, I feel a bond with her. After decades in LA, she now lives in Corpus Christi, where I grew up. (She grew up in New York City!) Maybe it's my imagination, but I even think we look alike. And she doesn't think it's too late to open my gift and use it.

Here's what Chrys says about 'Why We Are Here:'

I believe we human beings come into this world each endowed with certain gifts. Some of us discover very early on what those gifts are, and for some of us, they can take a lifetime to reveal themselves. While others may never find them, many will discover their gifts in the latter period of their earthly experience and wonder why it took them so long to see them...

One thing IS certain though, and it is that every one of us DOES have gifts, and from my view, our only job on earth is to use them for good.

Visit her website, "Sing Your Life," which is where I first got to know her, and see what she has to offer, even if you don't think you can sing a note.

And on that note: I went by myself to the Captain's Club this afternoon, something I'd normally never do. A bar is the last kind of place you'd find me, but Open Mike Sunday at the CC is not your usual watering hole scene. It's a place you can go to try out new songs, blend your voice with others, show some support with your applause. Kak invited me to do a couple with her, Jesse the guitarist accompanied me on three of my favorite Spanish songs and even harmonized with me (what a rush!), everyone joined in on a riotous version of Janis Joplin's "Mercedes Benz" and I got a promise from Jesse that he'd give me some Spanish style guitar lessons. Al gave me a pep talk that amounted pretty much to "Just do it."

Note to myself: next Sunday, take the tambourine.

Brain Takes Break, Imagination Takes Over

My horoscope today:

You can be your own relentless slave driver as the Moon joins taskmaster Saturn, encouraging you to stick to your agenda. But happiness won't come from forcing your activities into a carefully prescribed day. Once you let go of your old schedule, you may be ready to join in the fun. If someone offers you an opportunity to do something very cool, just say "yes."

I have been my own slavedriver the past week, doing little but work, eat, read and sleep. I've been getting acquainted with software I used last year, GoLive, and learning the new version of PhotoShop and my overtaxed brain has been trying to grasp the lingo in the online manuals, the hardcopy books, the discussion groups... it's English, but none of the words mean what they used to mean. Like stitching, healing and vectors and slices...

Anyway, it's Sunday and I thought I'd indulge in a bit of fun. The Capt is burned out on lugging his equipment down to the Captain's Club every Sunday to play, in terrible acoustics, music he's not really interested in. He's a jazzman at heart. But I'm going to wander down there this afternoon and see if my amigos Jesse, Jesús and Omar are there with their guitars, maybe sing a couple of songs with Kak and Steve. And continue my search for a guitar teacher...Oh, did I mention that? My friends Ale and Alma are also interested in learning, so we might be able to start a class.

The Capt and I don't actually talk much lately. He's off in his room, I'm in mine, both doors shut to keep in the AC. We Chat a lot. So he sends me this info over iChat, on solar-powered boats. I love the idea of not having a noisy, filthy, dangerous, polluting gas-powered outboard on the dinghy. We used to have a dink with a little electric trolling motor, very quiet and agile but not much power and I kept hoping something with a little more oomph could be developed. Solar panels could be the perfect answer! You need shade, right? Solar panels need sun and should be installed overhead, right?

Here are a couple of solar boats he came up with, one dinghy-size, one big enough to serve as a small water taxi. How cool is this?

You'll notice both vessels are built with two almas like catamarans, for stability. Our Livingston dinghies are both made the same way. The Capt is thinking the best batteries for the job would be the ones used for rechargeable electric scooters. I'd just say "yes!" to this idea...



This is not new outer-space technology we should have to wait decades for. A 93-foot electric boat was operating in France in 1905. And we've been using solar power on our boat since 1998!

Someburger

The first time I went to Someburger I had just come from the Saturday “tour” at the St. Arnold’s brewery, so my taste buds might *not* have been their tip-top most discerning [sigh]. But daaamn, that cheeseburger was tasty. Now that I live in the area, I’ve made my way back a few times to soberly confirm that the little shack does, in fact, make a dynamite burger.

It’s a burger in the old fashioned way – just like I like ‘em – skinny patty on a toasted bun with warm fixin’s drippin’ out the sides. No juice will slide down your chin, and it doesn’t require two hands. And while the fries, I thought, were only so-so, the onion rings are outta this world. Last week (after my lil’ niece got beaned in the face by a foul ball at an Astros game) we tried the milkshakes. They, too, were pretty spectacular.

My favorite burger growing up was at the original Otto’s on Memorial. Since Otto’s is forever rumored to be closing (anyone have details?), I’m relieved to have found an traditional burger joint that doesn’t pride itself on a 3-inch thick patty or try to linen up its service. It’s cheap, it’s cash-only, and it tastes great whether you’ve had the beer sampler or not. Enough said.

Someburger – 745 E. 11th Street