Making it work.

It's hard to get around when you don't speak the language. Really hard. Before I go anywhere, I print out maps, in case people don't understand me when I give the address. And so I know approximately where I am. I'm starting to find a few neighborhoods that I know reasonably well, and I have a favorite cafe, so at least I have an answer better than "Starbucks at the mall" if someone asks me "Where do you go in Guadalajara?"

I've also just found a little guesthouse near the center where I can stay for about $15 a night, which means I can start coming into town much more often.

Next step: Spanish Tutor.

A little tense.

I don't mean tense like "stressed out" (I live at a spa, remember?). I mean tense, like verb tense in grammar. You remember: present, past, future, future perfect, past perfect, present perfect progressive...

Yeah, that.

I am writing. I started a story five years ago, and after six months of furious progress, I made the mistake of rereading what I had written. I know this is necessary in the writing process, but it was a mistake because even though while I was writing, I knew it wasn't perfect, I wasn't quite prepared to confront my less than perfect prose. I decided that the whole thing was crap and stopped working on it. Apparently I'm ready now, because I've dusted off the story and instead of being bothered by the roughness of the draft, I am enjoying the process of revising and improving. I'm writing again.

But I am having that little problem with tense. I'm not sure what tense to write in, and when I pick one, I find that within two or three paragraphs, I've shifted to something else. I'm trying not to worry about it, but I feel like I need to get it set so that I am thinking in the right tense while I'm working on this draft.

Is it supposed to be this complicated?

Civic Duty

Even though I'm a semi-expat, I'm doing my civic duty in spades this month. I sent away for my absentee ballot, which arrived this week. It was very different from the last absentee ballot I used in 2004. (That year I was in Boston on election day.)

The packet included instructions in English and Spanish, a list of candidates, and an "official blank ballot" that had lines for me to write in my choices:

For the office of ______________________ I vote for______________________.

Kind of weird, but at least it seemed more official than the photocopy I filled out in 2004.

I also got my mail that's not being forwarded from the US, which included a Jury Duty summons for November 4th. Isn't that election day? Kind of strange that I got my first jury summons dated for election day right after I requested my absentee ballot. Coincidence? I called to postpone, so I'm off the hook until May.

Aye aye, Captain!

A few pics from my Sunday cruise on Rick's 38' Catalina. What a gorgeous day. I had fun behind the wheel, but I don't know if I'm ready to give up the luxuries of power yachting. I'm definitely going to go sailing again, the next chance I get.

Tonala Market Day

An artisan's table at the market in Tonala.

Fall in New York City

The pumpkin display at Manhattan Fruit Exchange in Chelsea Market. Gorgeous. Perfectly fall.

Looking for Miss Muffet...

Required Drinking for Project Managers

Okay, I'm not working as a project manager at the moment, but I'm still a project manager. What's that saying...you can take the girl out of project management, but you can't take....

Well anyway.

I found some wine the other day that should be required drinking for project mangers: it's called Herding Cats.

Everyone should have...

...a crown of flowers on their birthday. Today was Mary Pat's birthday, and after cake, I made her a crown of flowers from the bougainvillea and some tiny white daisy-stars.

Mary Pat is one of the guests at the spa--I actually met her two years ago when I was here for the first time. Funny how people return again and again.

Happy birthday to Mary Pat.

How the mall is like a Russian doll.

I am not normally a mall person. I think I was when I was younger--but back then I didn't have my own transportation, so going to the mall was a good way to get a little autonomy. But as an adult, I've developed an aversion to the mall--I would much rather go to a few cool thrift stores, or TJ Maxx, or...well pretty much anywhere.

But here in Mexico I feel like I've reverted to adolescence in some ways. For example, I don't have my own transportation. I don't speak the language. Someone else decides what I'm having for dinner, and cooks it. I'm not complaining, mind you. Life is pretty darn good.

But I do like the mall. I can get dropped off by one of the spa's vans in the morning, and they can pick me up on the way back at night. And in between, I can go anywhere I want. And I know where the bathroom is. And god bless the gracious people of Guadalajara, a lot of people speak at least a little English, so I can make myself understood.

Right now I'm sitting in the City Cafe, which is inside the Sport City Gym, which is inside the mall. It's kind of weird to have a cafe inside a gym, but there don't seem to be many people working out, and the internets are fast.

Learn something new...

Did you realize that the term for an upholstered long chair, what is commonly known as a "chaise lounge" is actually a "chaise longue"?

Seriously. Would Wikipedia lie?

Sábado Encantadora

I am sitting in Lulio's cafe in downtown Guadalajara, just off of Avenida Chapultapec. It's this absolutely adorable cafe with leather-and-shim chairs and tables, a little bar, good food, and some wonderful jazz playing. The tables are filled with locals and at least one other American. Two old men behind me play chess. Some people sit alone at tables, not thumbing blackberries, not guzzling their beverages, not intensely looking like they're trying to be casual. They're just sitting, enjoying the day. People hug when they greet each other, men too. There's a table of old men at the door who leered appreciatively and harmlessly at me when I walked in.

I am wearing a yellow flower behind my ear.

I will be going back to the spa by taxi this afternoon, but for now I am enjoying the jazz and the people and too many coffees. You come to Lulio's to see and be seen after "last night." Last night we went to La Santa for martinis and Thai food (more of one than the other) and then to Barbura Negro to listen to Janice Joplin's long lost sister sing Doors covers. And we had to stop at Bar America to dance to some pounding techno before we crawled home at 4:30. Well, plenty of time to sleep at home.

New music.

I just downloaded Jesse Cook. Pretty good. Especially this song.

----------------
Now playing: Jesse Cook - Fragile
via FoxyTunes

I meant to write tonight.

Oops. Instead I gave Biscuit a bath, listened to the Car Talk podcast, and wrote a bunch of e-mails to some old friends. I just started an enormous Jenga fire in my fireplace, which puffed out thick white smoke for a while before it finally got going. I'm not sure if that means I'm supposed to take another vote or....

You CAN teach an old dog new tricks.

Biscuit came with a trick. When I got him, he knew how to "sit, paw, other paw, lay down."

One of the ladies at the spa is an editor and she pointed out to me that there was a minor flaw in the instructions Biscuit understood.

Now he knows how to "sit, paw, other paw, lie down."

Good boy!

What people mean.

You’re so brave!

That takes guts!

You’re fearless!

When I decided to move to Rio Caliente, I was told this by many people. My parents’ friend said I’m her hero. My direct reports at work said they admired me even more when they learned where I was going, the brave thing I was doing.

But it doesn’t seem that brave to me, or that strange. I have moved around a lot in my life, more than most people. By the time I was 12 I had lived in eight states; by the time I graduated from high school I had been to 13 schools. That’s more than one a year. Three in 4th grade alone. I did my Master’s degree in London, so this is not even the first time I have moved to a different country.

But no matter how I demurred, people said “you’re brave.” And then I realized what they were really saying: ”You’re crazy.”

I am doing the unthinkable. To leave a job in Manhattan as Associate Director of Project Management for Publicis Modem. To leave a rent-stabilized apartment in the Meatpacking District. To leave my Republican friends, the ones who live on the north shore of Long Island and have big boats. To leave the condo I own in Connecticut. You’re brave. You’re crazy.

I am not crazy—my mother is crazy, actually, so I know about crazy. The best way to answer people who tell me I’m brave/crazy is to tell them I have a backup plan.

Which I do (I’m not crazy after all). Here is my back up plan: if I want to go home after six or eight or ten months, I will go home. I am not banned from the country, I still have my US Passport (unless McCain wins, in which case I might consider voluntarily relinquishing it). I have a tenant in my condo in Connecticut, but the lease is up in March. I have a friend who runs Project Management at an agency about 10 minutes from my condo. He will give me a job any day of the week that I want to walk in the door. That’s my back up plan. I can go back to the way things were, to my last life.

But I’m not going to. When you change your life, like I have changed mine, you never need a back up plan, because something new happens. When I moved to New York in 2002, I think my back up plan was to take a job as a nanny for an American family in China. Who can remember? Instead I got a job at an agency in Connecticut and bought a condo. That wasn’t my original plan, and it wasn’t my backup plan either. It is what happened in my life.

So I’m not brave, I’m not crazy, I do have a back up plan. But more importantly, I’m going to see what will happen next in my life.

In the big city...

I spent the weekend in Guadalajara, thanks to Mary Louise, who gave me a certificate for a free weekend at the Hilton and babysat Biscuit while I was away. It was good to be out in civilization again, even if civilization is dirty, hot, busy, and illegible to me.

I made a couple of friends on Craigslist, so I had some companions to meet up with and explore the city. I also met up with a friend from the spa. Overall it was a very fantastic weekend.

Here are some pics:

Happy camper (mostly).

Biscuit has really never been happier. In the morning we go for a (leash free) stroll down to the pool area and Biscuit checks to make sure all the rocks and bushes that he peed on yesterday are still where they're supposed to be. Mostly, they are. Then we go back to the casa for breakfast (Biscuit's--home made chicken, rice and carrots). I usually check in on the internets to make sure they're where they're supposed to be (mostly they are) and then get dressed.

Biscuit tolerates this delay, but he can hardly contain his excitement until we are on our way up to the dining room for breakfast (mine--usually melon, eggs, and potatoes, or sometimes oatmeal). You should see him race up the hill. I've never seen him run so fast; he's like a new dog. In the dining room, Biscuit checks on all the guests to make sure that everyone is up, enjoying breakfast.

The only thing here that bothers Biscuit is the thunder. He shakes with terror when it thunders, and there is nothing I can do for him. It thunders pretty much every day, so I would have thought he'd get used to it, but apparently, he's not going to.

But when it's not thundering, Biscuit is loving life. Maybe it's the lithium water.

Fireflies

There are fireflies here, which surprises me. When I first saw them it took me a minute to realize what they were. I think I associate fireflies with hot, humid, hazy nights and it is anything but hot and humid here. I have only been hot once or twice...the rest of the time, the afternoon rain keeps the day from boiling over. And my casita is at the base of a hill, and shaded, so it's always nice and cool.

Speaking of my casita, I know I have been promising some pics, so here are some pics of the inside. I really haven't done it justice, and (shockingly) it's not as tidy as it might be. But then again, I was never much of a housekeeper, and that's not likely to change.





It's been a good week and a nice and lazy weekend. I slept most of yesterday and I spent today devouring a book called The Doctor's Wife. It was intense and well-written and I enjoyed it a lot. I've had a lot of time to read, which is nice--I'm even thinking about flexing my own writing muscles again. I mean, beyond Blogger, of course.

The fireflies have gone to bed now, and I won't be far behind. Just going to set the computer up to download a TV show over night...it takes about 3 hours to download a one hour episode, so I do it at night.

New sign language needed...

Biscuit LOVES Rio Caliente. I mean, what's not to love, whether you have four legs or two? But for this four-legged little guy, life just got dramatically better, and his life didn't really suck before.

I'm still cooking for him (mostly chicken, rice and carrots--or pollo, arroz and zanahorias) and I'm going to make him some special dog biscuits on Wednesday with the help of the spa's bakery. (I forgot I didn't have an oven in my casita...a minor detail!) But now Biscuit gets to spend every day following me around which is about as close to heaven as he can imagine.

He usually sticks pretty close, but his favorite room is definitely the dining room, and once in a while he'll just beeline for the kitchen and dining room. He's also gotten so comfortable here that he isn't too worried about where I am, so yesterday when I let him out, I found him down at the pool 20 minutes later, collecting affections. Even now he's whining to go up to the dining room, and we just came back from there!

I can usually get Biscuit to pay attention to me by whistling and snapping my fingers, but in the past few days, that hasn't worked so well. I'm not sure if he's going partially deaf too, but he's not good with identifying the direction a sound comes from, so I clap my hands to help him find me sometimes. But when he's not listening, I try for a louder sound...so I smack my thigh or my butt in the universal sign language for "come on! let's go!"

Well Biscuit has not been listening too well, and my butt is starting to hurt!

I need new sign language.

Well, that answers that question.

Of course there are snakes here. It's the mountains. In Mexico.

Here's a pic of the charming fellow who was just peeking in my casa window.

And by "charming" I mean "eek! that is a real live snake! Biscuit come inside!"

Ai yai yaiTunes

Okay, so my Microsoft Office programs haven't worked on my MacBook Pro for...oh, maybe a year. I have tried everything I can think of: uninstall and reinstall, upgrade, downgrade, delete permissions, use a different registration key (my copy came with three keys--yes, I have a legit copy). Basically, I've just lived without Word, Powerpoint, Excel and Entourage on my home computer, making do with Google Docs and Gmail (thank goodness for Google!).

But down here in Mexico, as I've mentioned, the internets are not that fast, which makes relying on online programs less than desirable. So I was poking around said internets, looking for a solution that I hadn't tried, and I found a brilliant one! Create a new user account and see if the program works in the new environment. Because separate user accounts have their own preferences, MSOffice would have a chance to start from scratch in the new account.

So I tried it.

And it worked.

Rejoicing over my triumph, and kind of embarrassed that it took me a year to figure this out, I started trying to transfer all my files over to the new user account. And here is where I made what may turn out to be my fatal mistake. I tried to move my iTunes library.

A quick Google search (thanks again Google) showed me that it was a pretty simple matter to drop my iTunes library into a shared file so that the second account could access it, and then open iTunes under the new account and viola! all would be well.

Well, all was not well. I moved the file, opened the program under the new account, and...nothing. I knew the music was still there, because I could see the files in my Finder, but there was absolutely NOTHING in the iTunes library.

Back to Google. There were some instructions for modifying the ACL (which sounds like a part of the kneecap, and not something I'm interested in meddling with), and other tips on how to start iTunes from an external drive, but I couldn't find help for my particular problem. Somehow, moving the iTunes library into the shared folder scrambled the xml file that holds all the iTunes data. I tried importing the music, but with over 30GB, my computer choked and stuttered after just a few. Then I tried importing just a few folders, and it choked and stuttered on the album artwork.

After restarting four or five times, I got so frustrated with the whole thing that I turned the computer off and went to the pool for a soak in the lithium hot spring. There are advantages to having technical problems at a spa.

When my hands got pruny enough, I was driven back inside to try to deal with the problem again. Of course I can't just leave it alone. This time I started by setting up some other apps, like Firefox (installing my Pink Hope theme and Delicious toolbar), changing the desktop background (with images from my downloads which are located in my other account's images folder), and setting up iChat. Although it seemed doomed at first (when I first opened Firefox it was hanging the way Word used to hang, which was the reason I started this project in the first place!) but after a few minutes, it seemed to sort itself out and work normally.

I still wasn't quite ready to tackle iTunes, so I Googled again for info on how to get to iPhoto from the new account, and found a very simple solution. When you open the program, you can hold down the alt/option key and force iPhoto to ask where the library is. You then browse to the old location and viola! And this time it really was viola!

I tried the same thing with iTunes, but somehow when I moved it, I think I deleted the whole library. Fortunately (and unbeknownst to me) I had a very recent backup stored in a folder called "Previous iTunes Libraries." I was able to load this library THANK GOODNESS!!!!!! Then all I had to do was import the few songs that I've added since that back up. I really don't have any idea where it came from.

Now the only problem is that I seem to be storing music in two locations...some in the shared folder where I moved my entire 30+GB library, and some seems to have been copied to a new music folder inside the "Previous iTunes Libraries" folder. I don't like that situation, but I think I will wait till tomorrow to try to resolve it.

Now I am going to go open a Word doc!

The internets...

Biscuitprefers browsing the web with...

Into every life a little rain must fall...

"A little rain" doesn't say the half of it! It's a deluge. Absolutely pouring! And thunder cracking around like nobody's business.

Caroline called for one of the men to pick us up and take us from the dining room down to our casas, which are opposite each other. Several other guests also needed a ride, so five of us plus two dogs, Biscuit (mine, of course) and Panchito (Caroline's) piled into the back of one of the spa's VW buses. We rolled down the hill, windshield fogged up and wipers not doing much to help matters. At the bottom of the hill, we discharged two passengers near their door, then rolled forward a few feet to the next guest's room.

Unfortunately, the driver overshot the doorway a bit, and it took about five minutes of pulling forward and back, at various angles, before we could impress upon the man that where we were was close enough. Just after the woman closed the door, she opened it again quickly and pointed to the gym, where a lone figure waved frantically from inside.

After several further lurches forward and backward, we managed to pull around to the door of the gym and pick up the yoga instructor, who had been preparing the next day's class. From there, we drove down to Caroline's casa. We tugged the door open and Caroline stepped out and tried to put up her umbrella, but was hampered by the bushes, which we had practically parked inside of. Since she couldn't manage the umbrella, the bushes, the car door, the keys, and Panchito, I grabbed the pooch and made a run for the door.

Of course, I got thoroughly soaked. And of course, the first thing Panchito did after being deposited dryly on his doorstep was step back into the rain to look for Caroline.

By the time we pulled out of Caroline's drive and back onto the road, the driver had already passed the shortest route to my doorway, so I asked him to back up. It took a few tries to get the VW into reverse, but he finally managed it. I took two trips to the front door, first to carry my computer and the provisions I was bringing home (popcorn, oil, honey, butter...YUM), and then to get Biscuit, who was, after quivering on my lap for 20 minutes, starting to make himself quite comfortable in the bus.

We finally made it inside, and now Biscuit is cowering in the bathtub and I've got a fire going in the fireplace. It's still raining a little, but the thunder has stopped.

I think I'll make some popcorn.

33 on the 3rd day of 8/08

Yesterday for my birthday, Caroline took me and some of my new friends to Teuchitlán to see the round pyramids of Guachimontones. These beautiful structures are set high on the hill, with a lovely view of the town and the lake below.

There is a very soft and peaceful feeling in this place, and I loved walking around the grassy shapes. Although we couldn't climb the smaller structure, which has been restored, we were allowed to walk up a switchback path to the top of the larger structure.

Because of the trees covering the mound, and because tomb raiders dug deep tunnels into the center weakening the structure, this pyramid can't be restored.

We went to lunch afterwards at a lovely little restaurant called Soky, on the lake. Our table was right at the edge of the water. The food was very rich after a week of eating the light, vegetable-based meals at Rio Caliente. First we had queso fundito and marlin stewed in tomato sauce and vegetables (I think). Then I had camarones al coco, which I thought would be shrimp in some kind of chocolate mole, until I remembered that coco was not coca, and it turned out to be coconut shrimp, which was delicious.

Of course, no lunch is complete without a serenade from a passing Mariachi band, and I was serenaded by two of them! A ten piece group in full Mariachi regalia with guitars, bass, violins, and trumpets played Las Mañanitas. The second trio of guitars followed up with La Bamba and a few other fun songs! Videos coming as soon as I can upload them, which might take a while, the internets being what they are down here.

Top that all off with a little birthday cake, a little margarita, a little glass of vino...not necessarily in that order! Thanks for a GREAT day, Caroline!

Las Mañanitas

Las Mañanitas is a traditional Mexican song that is sung on birthdays and other important holidays. It is often sung as an early morning serenade to wake up a loved one. At birthday parties it is sung before the cake is cut.


Las Mañanitas Lyrics:

Estas son las mañanitas, que cantaba el Rey David,
Hoy por ser día de tu santo, te las cantamos a ti,
Despierta, mi bien, despierta, mira que ya amaneció,
Ya los pajarillos cantan, la luna ya se metió.

Que linda está la mañana en que vengo a saludarte,
Venimos todos con gusto y placer a felicitarte,
Ya viene amaneciendo, ya la luz del día nos dio,
Levántate de mañana, mira que ya amaneció.

Translation:

This is the morning song that King David sang
Because today is your saint's day we're singing it for you
Wake up, my dear, wake up, look it is already dawn
The birds are already singing and the moon has set

How lovely is the morning in which I come to greet you
We all came with joy and pleasure to congratulate you
The morning is coming now, the sun is giving us its light
Get up in the morning, look it is already dawn.

Shoes on the horizon.

I took my first trip to town yesterday. This was not a trip to expand my horizons and explore my new environment (I'll be doing that tomorrow). This was a trip to acquire some basic necessities that I wasn't able to bring with me in my luggage. Like conditioner.

I didn't pack shampoo or conditioner because I was trying so hard to keep my suitcases at exactly 50 pounds, and the shampoo and conditioner and lotion and sunscreen and bug spray and self tanner and contact solution that I wanted to pack weighed about 6 pounds. I was not about to pay a $100 overweight baggage charge for $40 worth of creams. I realize now that I should have packed them anyway, because the guy weighing the bags didn't care at all if things were a couple of pounds over.

When I got here I asked theoffice to procure some shampoo and conditioner, but I had a feeling that I was going to get 2in1 shampoo plus conditioner. That's what I got from the front desk the last time I came here on vacation. I am not a fan of 2in1 haircare. One step at a time please.

Sure enough, they picked up some Pantene 2in1 shampoo plus conditioner. I suffered with this for a few days, much to my hair's detrmiment. I was so glad to get into town to shop at (of all godawful places) Wal-Mart. Of course, selecting my own shampoo and conditioner was a bit challenging, because everything is in Spanish. I ended up getting some shampoo that was in a pink bottle. I like pink. I think pink is the right formula for my hair.

I also picked up a pair of decent, cheap hiking boots. Apparently these were the only pair of hiking boots for women available in the entire town of Guadalajara. We went to two giant malls and two standalone stores with no luck. We even went to a place called the Shoe Mall...or at least that's what I call it. If I had known a place like this existed, I would have moved to Mexico ages ago.

This mall consists of about 30 stores, and all they sell is shoes. I am a big fan of shoes, and I came to Mexico with FEWER THAN 10 PAIRS OF SHOES. That was not easy. Because I was on a mission for hiking boots, and because I live in a place where I walk on dirt, cobblestones, and grass, I did not indulge in any of the fabulous shoes. I didn't even look at them too closely, so they may not be all that fabulous. But I love just knowing the Shoe Mall exists.

They did have a small selection of very women's hiking boots at one of the stores, but they were ridiculously expensive, and my mission was to get cheaper boots than I could get in the States. Shoe Mall was to leave me unfulfilled in that respect. I also spied a pair of amazing cowboy boots that I might have to go back to get. They were gorgeous, hazelnut colored snakeskin (fake, I think) with green and yellow vines. They zipped up the sides. They had very pointy toes. They had perfect cowboy boot heels.

They were meant to be mine.

Thunder

It is thundering here. Loud booms of thunder that roll from one side of the sky to the other, trailing the atmosphere behind like an echo. It hasn't started to rain.

I think I've finally managed to coax a fire in my cute brick fireplace. It's built in the shape of half of an upside-down ice cream cone, with u-shaped openings into the bedroom on one side and the living room on the other side. It's big and oval inside, maybe four or five feet from one opening to the other, and about two feet wide, and tall, about three feet from the bottom to the top. The openings don't face each other, they each point into the room they occupy, so at first you can't tell that there is only one fireplace. It might be two separate fireplaces, back to back.

I grew up in Montana, and I have probably started fires a thousand times or more. Not just campfires for s'mores, but real fires in a black cast iron stove just like Laura Ingalls Wilder, who every good pioneer girl wanted to be like. The fires I started heated the house, kept us warm in the bitter Montana winters. I have carried armloads upon armloads of wood, from where they fell from my dad's ax on the chopping block to the woodpile outside, then from the woodpile to the bins near the stove. I have laid fires in the stove, ready to light with a single match when we come home. Though I hated all chores, I didn't mind carrying wood, except when it was freezing outside, and dark.

You'd think with all this experience I would have no trouble starting a fire with heartwood kindling and small, almost identically cut eight inch by two inch by three inch heartwood "logs." By all reasoning, I should be able to light a fire like that with a single match, after it has been perfectly stacked in my fireplace every day by the staff at Rio Caliente. I should be able to light a fire like that with a look and a snap of my fingers.

But I think something about the oval shape and the way the two openings are not directly across from each other has done something to the oxygen in the fireplace. There isn't any, or at least not very much. The fire has to be set in the dead center, right under the chimney, because even though the ceiling of the fireplace is domed to point to the chimney, smoke can't find its way out and air can't seem to find its way in. And they've built up the floor of the fireplace with spare bricks, so that it's eight inches shallower than it was built to be, and four inches narrower.

I've been feeding heartwood kindling into the center of the stack of logs, lighting each piece of kindling from a candle on the mantle. It has taken me almost an hour to get the fire going, but I finally did it. At first I didn't think it would catch, but maybe the chimney got warmed up, or the barometric pressure changed, or maybe the wood just decided to spontaneously combust. I can't see the flames from here in the living room, but I can see that they are there, flickering just beyond the opening, bright and cheery. And I can see the reflection in the window because I haven't closed the curtains yet.

The thunder has stopped. It's still not raining.

The Journey of a Thousand Miles

I know the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. My journey yesterday was more than a thousand miles, and it took several steps to get started.

The first step was finding out how I could spend more time here at Rio Caliente. I came in September of 2006 the first time, and I knew that I loved it. The second time I came, I took the first step and spoke with the owner about my desire to be here. From there it took just a few short conversations to determine that I would be moving down here in July to run marketing. And what happens after that...well, we'll see.

The second step was preparing to leave my glamorous life in New York (yeah right). I spent months sorting, packing, selling, and storing my things. That was a journey of a thousand miles in itself. I like things. I'm not materialistic, but I like things, and I had a lot of things that I really liked. Some I sold on Craigslist (boy was that interesting). Some I put in storage--the interesting part there will come when I open up that jam-packed storage unit and see what was so important to me that I had to cram it into the 5x5 space till it was full to bursting.

The next step was quitting my job. After four years at Publicis Modem (nee Modem Media) that was a very hard decision to make. But the time was right, and even though it was difficult, it felt like the right thing at the right time.

I've spent the last two weeks staying with different friends (thanks Phoebe and John, Mario and Su Li, Aurea and Lino, Rich and Chris) and really enjoying my time in New York. It was like the city was determined to show me its best side before I left. I had some very memorable evenings, fun parties, drinks, dinners. I do love New York.

And then the day finally came to leave. The whole time, building up, it hasn't quite seemed real. My ride showed up at 6:30 am (thanks for the Towncar, Steven!) and I took one last look out over Oyster Bay and then I was on my way. The driver was convinced I was someone famous, even when I kept insisting I wasn't. He told me some very bad, very corny jokes, that I will not repeat here. But he was friendly and talkative, and he didn't mind when I told him to take a different route from what the GPS said. (Who takes 495 at 7 am?? We took the Northern State and made it to the airport in 45 minutes.)

Once at the airport, I had to stand in a VERRRRRY long line, which really didn't bother me, except that there were three people behind me who were incensed at having to stand in the same line. I was about to let them go in front of me just to shut them up, but they were so disagreeable that I couldn't bring myself to do it. I finally made it through the line, then went for some breakfast down in the food court. The guy asked me ten times if I wanted cheese on my veggie burrito, and I said yes every time, but when I got my burrito, no cheese. Oh well.

I tossed my coffee before I went through security (oops, should have bought that after I went through). Biscuit and I made it through just fine. The only thing I was still agonizing about was whether I should drug Biscuit or not. I've flown with him before and I've never drugged him. He's generally pretty good, but he does bark and I really didn't want to have him upset for hours on such a long day of traveling. Just before we boarded the plane, he started his little bossy "let me out of here" yip, which is how he gets started. I bit the bullet and fed him half an acepromazine inside a stale Auntie Annie's pretzel. The drug was a good choice. Biscuit mellowed out right away and was basically stoned for the rest of the trip, but he has recovered completely already this morning.

When I got to Chicago, I learned what a nightmare O'Hare is. I had to leave security, find a train, and ride to another terminal to find my connecting flight. I am not sure, but I think Terminal 5 is somewhere near Detroit, because it sure isn't convenient to Terminal 1, where I landed. After dragging my drugged dog through security a second time, I was pulled aside to have my bag searched. The security screener was less than pleasant and told me that my bag was "very messy" and didn't even zip it up before returning it to me. Um, maybe it's messy because you just rifled through it.

The worst part of Terminal 5 is that there were NO monitors displaying flight info. I had no idea even where my airline was, so I went to the nearest counter where they basically said "we're not Mexicana, good luck, I think they're over there." Thanks so much for your help.

I finally found a counter for Mexicana Airlines but at first I thought it wasn't my flight because the board was displaying "Mexico City, 2:55." I certainly didn't want to go to Mexico City! Then after about 5 minutes I realized that the board was alternately displaying information for two different flights, and mine was the second one. (Kind of confusing if you ask me.) But at least I was in the right place. I waited in line, because I had to exchange my United boarding pass for a Mexicana one, and that's when they dropped the bomb on me.

"Oh yes, we see that you have booked a dog on the flight, and we see that you have paid for the dog, and confirmed the dog, and even traveled with the dog from New York, but it's up to the captain if the dog will be allowed on this flight." Um. No one mentioned this to me! I'm afraid I kind of lost it for a few minutes, picturing me and my drugged dog wandering around Terminal 5 of O'Hare airport until some Mexicana Airlines captain would allow us on the flight. But...and here was the real shocker...the Mexicana Airlines staff was SOOOO nice and helpful. They assured me that it wasn't usually a problem, and they would do everything they could to convince the captain if he needed convincing. One of the flight attendants said she knew the pilot and that she was sure it would be fine.

And it was. The even let me board right after first class, and someone helped me carry Biscuit down the aisle and get him situated under the seat. Biscuit was so stoned this whole time, I'm sure he didn't really care what was happening, but I was kind of a wreck and so relieved that they were so nice.

The flight wasn't bad, although we had to circle in Guadalajara for a while because it was pouring rain when we tried to land. Once on the ground, I went right through immigration and easily secured a 180 day visa by asking for a 90 day visa. I waited at the baggage carousel for a while, and of course there was no sign of my bags. But someone came up to me and said "Are you Gardenia Willoughby" and told me that my bags were still in Chicago. I kind of had a feeling that would be the case. It was no problem, though. They took all my info and stamped me with lost bags at customs and promised to deliver them this morning. The woman who helped me gave me a receipt and her name and a phone number to call with any questions. I'm telling you, Mexicana airlines is GREAT!

Biscuit passed quite easily through customs. The vet came over, glanced at the dog, and took the third copy of his paperwork. No sweat.

Mario from the spa was waiting for me when I came out, and we drove to the spa through a Friday night traffic jam. It still only took just over an hour to get to the spa, and when I arrived, Caroline was waiting with the pink keys to my little casita.

The casita is adorable, all brick and tile, with an awesome round fireplace that opens into both the bedroom and the living room. I have a sturdy wooden desk, a phone, wired internet connection (we couldn't get the wireless to work, but maybe I'll figure it out later), and a small kitchenette with an adorable gas hotplate. Everything outside my windows is green and lush, and there are tiny flowers and birds all around. Biscuit loves the grass and doesn't want to come inside because there are so many interesting smells.

So far, day one hasn't really started. I had breakfast in the dining hall, and now I'm just waiting for my bags to show up so I can change my clothes and go for a swim. Or vice versa.

I'm here. I'm in Mexico.

I heart Craigslist...and I'm psychic.

I decided to sell my stuff on Craigslist. This has been very hard for me, even though I'm only selling things that I don't need and haven't used since I moved back into the city. But I don't like getting rid of things--what can I say? I'm a pack rat. I like my stuff.

So far I've sold about a dozen items for a total of $165. Not bad huh?

The most recent thing I've sold is my old RCA VCR. I really didn't think anyone would buy it, but it's not like I'm in any hurry, so I posted it two weeks ago, and then posted it again tonight. Well I got a response right away, and the first thing that popped into my head was "someone wants to watch porn." So these three guys just came to pick it up, laughing and giggling.

"Why do you want to sell this?" they asked.

"Well, what am I going to do with it?" I said. "What are YOU going to do with it?"

"Uh, that's a funny story," one guy said.

"Let me guess...you're going to watch porn."

"We'll, it's a funny story..."

Turns out, one of the guys just moved into some building in the East Village. Apparently it used to be a whorehouse, and they found this stack of unmarked video tapes. But they can't find a VCR anywhere in this city.

I should have charged them more than $10. Those guys would have paid anything.