There Oughta Be a Law!

Posted on March 25, 2006 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the last frontier!

 

Too much in my brain this week…hard to decide on topic…must have some chocolate…

 

Aaaaahhhh, much better. Now I can think. Yes, there are a multitude of thoughts swirling around in the grey matter this week but foremost in my mind is the upcoming visit of Miz Liz – owner of our little grass shack and our dear friend. I’m counting the days until her arrival even though it means we will have to cancel the Friday night raves and Saturday night naked Jell-O wrestling; oh the sacrifices we make for friends! Liz’s email announcing her intention to come down was unexpected (though very welcome) and has quite a bit to do with a topic that’s been nagging at me for quite some time.

 

I’m thinking of writing a letter to someone in the U.S. government suggesting that the name of the country be changed from the United States of America to the United Sue-ers of America. That way they won’t have to change the acronym but the name will more accurately reflect the nature of the country. Well, at least the nature of the state of California. Honestly, there oughta be a law against some of these lawsuits!

 

Case in point: Miz Liz v The Stupids.

 

Ten years ago Big Wave Dave found himself being sued by a couple he had never met over an incident that was silly and frivolous to say the least. Big Wave and his wife, Miz Liz, had to essentially put their lives on hold for nine years because of this lawsuit. And for the last year Liz has had to cope with the loss of her husband with the black cloud of this legal matter hanging over her head, threatening to take away everything she and Dave worked their lives for. I won’t bore you with the details of the case but anyone who’s had the good fortune of meeting Dave or Liz would eagerly agree, I am positive, that they were two of the most ethical and socially conscious people on the planet. That this could happen to them, that the legal system could so utterly let down two model citizens, is a travesty…is a crime.

 

The good news is, the matter has finally been settled and Liz will be coming down to Posada very shortly to celebrate the end of this ordeal. But I’m still angry. Folks you know I don’t advocate violence but I sincerely want to find these people and their lawyers and anyone who’s played any part in bringing this upon my good friend and beat them within an inch of their lives.

 

What has happened? How has a legal system designed to look out for the little guy turned into a litigious monster hell bent on squeezing every last nickel out of any Joe with a dollar to their name? Truly, Dave’s only crime was working hard and having some money. And if Liz and Dave’s story was an isolated case, a fluke, then I’d chalk it up to bad luck but it’s not, frivolous lawsuits are rampant. That coffee was too hot and it burned me…I’m suing!!! Hello? What about testing the coffee first, maybe blowing on it a little until it cools down? What ever happened to personal responsibility?!!!

 

At a recent dinner party down here, Diane, a former bar owner, told me that she has been sued four times. Four! She gave me the details of each case and each was a blatant example of some stupid human doing something stupid and looking for a scapegoat to pin the blame for their stupidity on. The sad part was that, at the urging of her insurance company, she actually had to pay a couple of these morons off because if the matter actually made it to court the moron might find way too much sympathy from the jury.

 

Here’s another good one: another friend of ours here is a nurse and while driving home one day she witnessed an accident. It seems that yet another one of the intellectually challenged out there decided that the “bike” lane should also be for motorcycles – hey, we call them “bikes”, right? Mr.Smarty Pants is revving up at the stop light and when it turns green he guns it; problem is the car on his left turned right at exactly the same time. Had Mr. Smarty Pants been in the correct lane, he would have seen the turn signal, as it was the last thing he saw was the car’s passenger side door shortly before he rammed into it. Ouch. Our friend the nurse, being the good Samaritan that she is, rushed to help the injured gentleman who looked up, bloodied and battered and said these immortal words of gratitude…”I’m gonna be rich!”. At this point the helpful nurse exited the scene hoping, no doubt, that the ambulance would be slow to arrive and this piece of scum would be filtered from our gene pool.

 

Many of my American friends are surprised to learn that we do not have this problem (yet) in Canada. Instead of suing, the injured party agrees to a 200km dogsled race through the arctic tundra to decide the winner of the case. It’s less expensive this way and dog sledding is an excellent cardio workout! OK, seriously, if you want to sue then there is a legal body that actually decides whether or no you can first. Call us communists but, comrade, I like the fact that my neighbour can’t sue me for “pain and suffering” caused by my cat hacking a hairball on his Lexus or some other nonsense.

 

To us Canucks, the sue-frenzy to the south of us is baffling, not to mention scary. While in Key Largo, Florida, I went to a McMedical clinic to take care of a flu that would not die. I was greeted by a warm and welcoming, locked, frosted glass window with a notice to take the clipboard, fill out the information, sit down, and shut up. On page five of the required paperwork, in bold 36 point font was the declaration, “BY SIGNING THIS FORM I ACKNOWLEDGE THAT I KNOW THIS CLINIC CARRIES NO MALPRACTICE INSURANCE” with a line below for me to sign my name. Suddenly my flu didn’t seem too bad! Oh I can’t complain, the treatment I received, after a mere three hour wait, was top notch, and I barely miss the right arm I gave as payment.

 

I have said before that I believe that everyone should come to Baja (remember, not all at once, not enough room) and that goes doubly for these people who choose to solve life’s challenges by abusing the law.

 

In places like Mulege, and many, many other parts of the world, if you don’t look out for yourself, if you don’t exercise common sense and personal responsibility, then tough-titty kitty cause there ain’t no herd of lawyers with 1-800 numbers standing by to protect your legal rights. You are on your own amigo. Two days ago there was a big fire in town. Five very nice gringo homes were lost, burned to cinders, and one Mexican home. The cause was, most likely, someone burning trash and not ensuring that the fire was completely extinguished before leaving the scene. There will be no CSI team in to hunt down the culprit through state of the art DNA testing. Those who lost their homes, if they do not have proper insurance, will get no compensation. Is this fair? Perhaps not, but if you don’t protect yourself then that’s what you get, suck it up and move on. Do I sound harsh? Well, considering that the Prez’s first Baja home was uninsured and burned to the ground (along with his boat, all his fishing gear, and all his diving gear), and he sucked it up, learned his lesson and moved on with me by his side, I feel qualified to speak on the issue.

 

What it comes down to is responsibility. We are becoming a finger-pointing society, and I say “we” because Canada seems to be two or three steps behind our southerly neighbours in most respects. It could be just a matter of time before you read that Tim Horton’s is being sued because someone broke a fingernail while r-r-r-olling up the r-r-r-rim to win (Not sure who Tim Horton is? Spend five minutes in Ontario, you’ll figure it out). Stop blaming everyone else, just stop it! Take control!!

 

And I’m spent.

 

In closing, I’d like to say that Prez and I are definitely not ready for a dog. It was a joy babysitting Max the black lab for two weeks but it is hard to snuggle and be romantic in the morning when the canine is staring at you non-stop in anticipation of his morning walk and crossing all four of his legs. Yes, I know this has nothing to do with the topic but it had to be said.

 

Miz Liz, we cannot wait to have you back in the 30th Palm – Prez is cleaning the Jell-O from the floor as I write this. You need not bring anything but yourself.

 

But if a bar of 70% cocoa, Swiss, dark chocolate should happen to fall into your bag, well; I’d help you eat it! That’s just the kind of friend I am!

 

 

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy and lovin’ life!

 

The Princess

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in News and politics | 2 Comments

Defending Eve

Posted on March 18, 2006 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the last frontier!

Girls, women, chicks, broads, dames, ladies, females, bitches, a rose by any other name yadda, yadda, yadda, right? No matter what we do, no matter how often we prove ourselves there will always be a certain segment of the non-female population that will see us as weak, second-class citizens. I’ve said before that I consider myself an “equalist”, not a feminist. (Hey, men don’t call themselves “masculinists” do they?) Men and women are different, and always will be, but that does not mean we are not equal.

At this point you may be thinking, C’mon lady, give us a break, everyone knows that women have all the equality they need now. Ha! Sexism may be down but it is definitely not out. Not by a long shot.

Two recent events have brought this to my attention. The first occurred around a dinner table and the second around a card table.

Not long ago, Jake the Grape and Chef Wendy hosted a truly scrumptious party. The food was divine, the company pleasant, the conversation controversial but fun. At one point I made a half-joke about how I’d like to see Oprah Winfrey as the president of the U.S. and listed my reasons for this. I then said that it would be great to have a president who is black and female. A fellow guest snickered that there was one big problem with that – and it wasn’t the “black” part.

This guest then went on with, “Can you just imagine once a month how crazy the president would be?”

I looked around for the king, the castle, and the peasants in the field, in case I’d somehow been transported back to the dark ages.

I’m the first to admit that my hormones run rampant once a month. For goodness sake, I once caught myself starting to cry over a Hallmark commercial. But I also spent ten years as a professional stunt performer, doing a job that requires extreme physical and mental focus — a job where one little mistake can seriously injure or kill you or someone else. I did my job well and not once did those pesky hormones get in the way of that.

Us stunt chicks had to perform all the same rough and tumble gags that the boys did, except that they got to wear suits, with elbow, knee, shin, and hip pads underneath, while we would fall down the same flight of cement stairs while wearing six inch heels, a tank top, and a mini skirt. Oh yes, and I often had to do this while I was cramping and PMS-ing. So please do not tell me that women are incapable of making rational decisions in positions of authority because they have a menstrual cycle.

Alright, we women can play with the big boys, so why don’t more of us do it? This is a question I asked myself while dealing cards at Posada’s new pastime: Ladies Texas Hold ‘Em poker.

The Prez started running Hold ‘Em tournaments shortly after we arrived in December, and they have been a weekly staple ever since. Of the eleven available spots at the poker table, only three are regularly filled by women — myself, Ruthless Ruthie, and Wendy the Queen of Diamonds. Yet, when Ruthie offered up a chance for women to come out and learn how to play without the men, it was standing room only.

Why this discrepancy? Some of these gals are pretty good, even some of the beginners. Why wouldn’t they come try their hand at the mixed game? Heck, it’s only twenty bucks, and a lot of fun, why not take a shot?

 Easy for me to say, I’ve always played with the boys.

At the age of eighteen, I decided to learn martial arts. I was living on my own in the city and wanted to know that I could look after myself. The school and style I signed up for was not some “crouching tiger” kind of thing. The emphasis was on practical, hard moves and lots of fighting. I was one of four of girls in the entire school.

With gritted teeth, I fought my way up the ranks – no easy task. My natural response when a fist was flying toward me was to flinch, close my eyes, back away. As I’ve said before, I’m not a natural athlete but I stuck it out. I stuck it out while the men who trained beside me dropped out one after another, after another, after another, and so on.

After about a year, I started to fight in tournaments, and won quite a few. After a few more years, my Sensei asked me to instruct the beginner classes. That’s when things got really interesting.

As a martial arts instructor in the 90’s, I had to deal with two male prejudices:

  1. Girls are the weaker sex and so I should not hit them.
  2. Girls are the weaker sex and so there’s no way I’m going to let this little chicky try and tell me how to fight!

While sparring, the first group would dance around, throwing little rabbit punches at me, apologizing if anything connected. They were tolerable and their attitude would usually change quickly after I landed a few good punches or kicks.

The second group was a little more trouble to spar with. They were out to teach me a lesson and even though this was only supposed to be “practice” they would come in with guns blazing. Laurie was the most memorable of all these bad macho eggs. After the third warning to stop kicking me in the knees, I unloaded a hard right into his gut and sent him to the floor, gasping like a fish out of water. I felt bad for 2.3 nano-seconds.

These days, women have the opportunity to do things that were traditionally male-only, but many don’t. Why? Because of the attitudes they’re likely to run into. I didn’t ask for any special treatment on my way to black belt but I didn’t ask for extra challenges and obstacles either. As it was, I had to do all the same stuff the guys had to do and more; I had to prove myself over, and over, and over in situations where a man would have immediately been shown respect. I’m not complaining, I love the challenge, but I do understand why I don’t see more ladies at the poker table.

It’s easy to forget that in the thousands of years that men and women have been around, it is has only been eighty-six years since women have had the right to vote. Despite all our achievements, we still make less than men for doing the exact same jobs. In 1970, seven years after the Equal Pay Act, women were making an average of 45% less money for doing the same job as a man. We may have come a long way baby but we still have a long way to go.

I must pause here and say, I love men. Men are great. Men, pat yourselves on the back and please don’t mistake my rant for women as a rant against you. I don’t want to be a man. I like being a girl — wearing girl clothes now and then, crying over Hallmark commercials, being able to fold towels properly. It’s true that women, on average, are physically weaker than men but this does not make us unequal, it only makes us different.

Besides, per capita, women hold more IGFA fishing records than men, so there!

Some days I am encouraged. More women are pushing the envelope and pursuing their passions regardless of sexual stereotypes. My old karate school is about 60/40 women over men now. When I first started in stunts, the majority of gags for women were scenes where the woman was getting beaten up or raped. Now, women are actually portrayed as action heroes, sometimes coming to the rescue of the man – hooray for us! But some days it is all I can do to keep myself from grabbing and shaking some little teeny bopper I see on the street, while screaming, “Is this what we fought for? The right to wear pants so low our underwear shows and walk around giggling like some vacant Barbie doll?”

Patience Grasshopper.

In closing, I’d like to clear up one big lie about women that has gone on for far too long: this whole Adam and Eve thing.

Most of you Nutters know I’m not religious and don’t believe in this Adam and Eve story anyway. Lots of people do believe it, however, and it’s done quite a number on the female reputation. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the deal that god told the young couple to have a great time in Eden but whatever they did, they COULD NOT take any of the fruit off the tree of wisdom? Supposedly, Eve was suckered in by the devil in the form of a talking snake (uh huh, that sounds plausible), who convinced her to chow down on the forbidden fruit. She then talked poor, unsuspecting Adam into also taking a bite. This is why we now have to live on this dumpy planet, wearing clothes to hide our disgusting nakedness, instead of sipping pina coladas at the Eden swim-up bar.

Let me ask you something: In any relationship you’ve ever been in, how often is it the woman who breaks the rules and then talks the man into doing something stupid? Something that inevitably gets them both in trouble? I think the Adam and Eve story might have gone more like this…

Eve: Adam what the hell are you eating?

Adam: What? This? It’s an apple. It’s delicious, have a bite!

Eve: Um, didn’t god specifically tell us not to eat the apples?

Adam: He said not to eat the apples off the tree; this one was handed to me. So, technically, it wasn’t “on” the tree.

Eve: Really? Well, we’re the only two people here, so who handed it to you?

Adam: A talking snake, I think his name was Bucifer, or Buford? Yeah, that’s it, Buford. Cool guy. He explained that god just didn’t want us to eat all the apples on the tree. One apple is fine, Scouts honour.

Eve: A talking snake? You’re kidding me right?

Adam: Why do you always have to be such a downer? C’mon have some fun for a change.

Eve: You said the same thing about that stupid Amway sales job.

Adam: But this is different. I PROMISE!

Eve: Okay, just one bite. But I swear if you’re lying I’m going to ask god for the power to never forget any conversation we’ve ever had, even if it took place twenty years ago!

And the rest is history. Sort of.

Yes I am wise, but it’s wisdom born of pain. Yes I’ve paid the price, but look how much I’ve gained. If I have to, I can face anything. I am strong. I am invincible. I am woman. ~ Helen Reddy

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Life | 2 Comments

The Greatest Gift

Posted on March 11, 2006 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the last frontier!

 

She gave me life and then she gave me away; a sacrifice few women could even consider but one I am eternally grateful for. This week I learned that my birth mother, biological mother, Debra, died on February 19th. Though I knew her only through letters and email, she was very special to me and I will miss her.

 

I am adopted, if you haven’t already guessed. Going through life as an adoptee was neither traumatic nor difficult in any way. I was a baby when I arrived at the home of Bob & Lorraine, my adopted parents and so have no memory of it. My adopted parents, as well as my sister Kelly (not adopted) were, and always will be, the people who I think of when I say Mom, Dad and Sister. So let me tell you about adoption…

 

First of all, why is it such a big deal? I shake my head every time I hear about couples going through expensive and painful treatments, over and over, all for the sake of having a baby. What’s wrong with adopting? There are all kinds of children out there in the world who would love to have a mom and dad so why not spend the time and energy on finding one and giving them a good life?

 

I couldn’t love my family any more than I do, regardless of the lack of genetic link. In fact, growing up, I thought being adopted was cooler than being a regular kid. My parents always told me I was special because I wasn’t just born I was “chosen”. OK, yes, I’ve heard the horror stories – birth moms who change their minds, health problems related to the birth mom, scam adoption agencies – but giving birth naturally is also a lottery with just as many pitfalls. Like everything else, you do your homework, prepare as best you can, and cross your fingers.

 

The key, I believe, to raising a happy, well-adjusted, adopted kid, one that you won’t see crying on Oprah’s shoulder someday, is honesty. I personally know people who didn’t find out they were adopted until they were an adult – Ouch! Wow, talk about the world as you know it being turned upside down. I’ve always known I was adopted. I can’t even remember being told, that’s how young I was when I found out. Attitude is also important. My being adopted was never made into a big deal, around me anyway. It was merely a fact of life and at no time were there any negative connotations expressed about it. Never once did I feel that I had been “abandoned”, mostly because my parents never let me feel that way.  And I know it’s the trend but I’m not a big fan of open adoption. I know I wouldn’t have liked having a birth parent in the picture; it would have been confusing, weird. Mom is Mom; Dad is Dad, end of story.

 

Now among the reasons many people do not choose adoption is, I think, a bit of insecurity, a fear of rejection. Let’s face it, at some point, the kid’s going to get curious. I did. At the age of twenty-five I put my name on the passive registry. If I’d never heard back from anyone then I would have been OK with that but I did hear back, from my birth mom who had already been on the registry looking for me. Now, again, because I was brought up in a loving home with a positive attitude toward adoption, I was not looking to find a new family. No, I was only curious. What I wanted was to see a face that maybe looked like mine, find out a little bit about what my birth mom and/or dad was like, and learn what my heritage (nationality) was. That’s about it. And the truth is most adoptees who meet their birth parents are sadly disappointed. I wasn’t but I was lucky. Debra and her kids, my half brother and sisters, turned out to be really great folks, plus I am a realist, I figured if someone gives their child up for adoption there’s probably a good reason – and it’s usually not because they are a multi-millionaire who has a brief yet passionate affair with a handsome, struggling artist and has to cover the pregnancy to keep their husband from social disgrace. Ah but that’s the dangerous fantasy many adoptees have, that’s where the honesty comes in again. My mom told me, when I asked her, that my birth mom had given me up because she was very young, a teenager, when she got pregnant – and that was indeed the case.

 

Yes, I know everyone wants to have a baby that is theirs, to experience a life inside of them, but I know if I wanted children I wouldn’t hesitate to adopt, especially if I was having difficulty conceiving naturally. I wouldn’t even care what nationality it was, black, white, yellow, green, whatever, what matters is love. What a better world this would be if we all started cross adopting between races and colours. Think of how much more tolerant we would learn to become. And think of all the karma points you’d rack up!!

 

So how do I feel, now that she is gone, the woman who brought me into this world, the woman I barely knew? Sad but sad in a distant way. From what I know, Debra’s life was not an easy one. She battled (successfully) alcoholism, struggled with MS, Lupus and Bi-Polar depression, and had a few marriages that didn’t quite work out. But I also know she had three amazing kids (besides myself), LeAnna, April and Glen that she loved to pieces, she was an artist (thank you genetics), loved to paint and play guitar, she had a big heart, loved to help people, and she was brave, very brave, brave enough to tough out a teenage pregnancy and do the right thing, give her baby a chance at a better life. That baby was me. A million thank you’s will never be enough. Prez says thank you too.

 

The universe is a strange place isn’t it? Even in bad there is good. My half-sister April, who I have not been in contact with for about three years, worked like crazy to track me down and tell me of Debra’s passing. I’m glad she did. She says she and other family members would like to meet me, which I think would be terrific. Who knows, this could be the start of some good friendships. And as for me, the adopted, “abandoned” kid, the universe has showered me with loving mothers, more than I deserve I’m sure. First was Debra, who made my life possible. Next came Lorraine who loved me with all her heart and raised me as well as any mother could. Both of those women are gone but I am not without a mother. Eight years ago the Prez brought me to this tiny slice of paradise in the desert where I met Ruth-Ann, a woman we both call “Mom”, a woman who I love as deeply as any ‘real’ Mom. Lastly, on Sept.18, 2004 I married the man of my dreams and inherited his Mom, Nancy, who welcomed me into the family with open arms from the moment we met, and a woman I am proud to call Mom.

 

I wish I could travel back to that day in the hospital when a terrified, sad teenage girl said good bye to her baby forever. I’d hold her hand and tell her about all the joyous and amazing things that await her little girl. I’d say thank you for giving me the greatest gift of all. I’d say…I love you Mom.

 

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy, and lovin’ life.

 

The Princess

 

 

 

 

Posted in Family & Children | 4 Comments

How to be Old and Cranky – 4 Easy Steps

Posted on March 5, 2006 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the last frontier!

 

Today is Mom-in-law Nancy’s birthday (Hi Mom! Happy Birthday!), she’s over the age of seventy though you’d never guess it. How old is old? I remember as a kid that old was anyone roughly over the age of thirty. That border has been pushed further and further along as I have aged. But what’s odd to me is that I know folks who are forty who I consider old and folks in their fifties, sixties, seventies, even eighties that I think of as ‘spring chickens’. So what makes a person old and how does it happen? Well, as a kind of public service, I’ve compiled this handy guide entitled…

 

How to be Old – Four Easy Steps

 

Step One – Stop learning

 

Have you ever heard this before, “Well, that’s just the way I’ve always done it”? I love this one. This is what people say when they know their way of doing something is outdated, inefficient, unsafe, or downright stupid but they refuse to learn another way. If you want to get real old, real fast then throw your hands over your ears whenever someone tries to show you something new.

 

All of the young old people that I know have one quality in common – they are willing to learn, willing to try new things, willing to say, “Hey, maybe there’s a better way.” Tap Tapley, longtime Baja visitor, co-founder of NOLS and the guy who brought Outward Bound to North America, is about eighty-seven years young and happily accepts new ideas. I’ve heard the Prez give him tips on the tennis court (yes, he still plays) and Tap listens intently then says, “I’ll have to try that!”…and he does. He is the youngest old person I know; his enthusiasm for learning is the reason why, I’m positive of that.

 

I’m not sure why we decide that we know enough, that no more input is necessary. Yes, learning is work but the rewards can be so great. Just ask Miss Sue who played her first game of Texas Hold Em Poker last week, drew a straight flush and kicked all our butts (including that of her husband, All-in-Jim).

 

Step Two – Stay in the Box

 

Now that you’ve figured out the universe and realize there is nothing further that life can teach you it’s time to hunker down well inside of your comfort zone. DO NOT travel to new places! DO NOT try to meet new people! DO NOT do anything to upset the status quo!!! If learning is bad, the unknown is a hundred times worse.

 

I’m so proud of my sister Kelly. After years of plugging away at the same job, in the same place, she leapt outside the box and moved to a new store and a new position. Now she tells me that she’s applied for another, better, position and has a good chance of getting it. WAY TO GO KELLY!! I must confess that I thought she’d be working the same job, unhappy but chained to her pension and vacation time, for the rest of her life. Since her big change, I’ve noticed a little spark in her emails, an excitement long missing from her life. My sister seems to have grown younger right before my very eyes!

 

It is easy to settle in, to get comfortable and never stir even when you’re miserable. Yes, you can’t stand your ________________(fill in the blank with: job, love life, house, weight, appearance, social life, etc.) but better the devil you know than the devil you don’t right? Yes, you could change but then there’s all those “What ifs” and they are terrifying.

 

Step Three – Take It All For Granted

 

This is perhaps the easiest step along the path to oldness. Even I, adventurer and regular box-stepper-out-of-er, fall into this one time and time again. Having Sis-in-Law Becky here visiting has made that abundantly clear to me. So much of Baja has become so everyday to the Prez and me that we don’t even notice it anymore. After a few weeks you just get used to the fact that the sun shines every day, the water is at your doorstep and your life is a kind of permanent vacation. Then along comes a woman who is on a real, and much needed, vacation, and who is practically bursting at the seams with wonder and excitement over every little detail.

 

“Look!! Look!!” Becky squeals as a school of Sergeant Majors swim under the boat; neither the Prez nor I so much as raise an eyebrow – we’ve seen thousands of them. Are we jaded? Well, we’re certainly not going to jump up and down every time we see one of those tiny striped fish or we’d be jumping up and down every time we went near the water but it’s good to see it all through new eyes, to take a moment and acknowledge how cool this stuff is.

 

The truly old don’t look for beauty and wonder and so they never find them, even when they are all around.

 

Step Four – Expect the Worst

 

The glass is not just half empty folks, it has a leak and pretty soon all the water will run out before you have a chance to drink it, and knowing your luck the glass will tip over and break and you’ll never get another one again as long as you live and so you will spend the rest of your dreary existence thirsty. The old have an uncanny ability to see the negative, to expect the worst in any situation.

 

It’s true I am a bit of a black-hat thinker at times but mostly that’s because the Prez is so damn yellow-hat he never even considers the possibility that things could go wrong or what the consequences might be (I love that about him, don’t get me wrong), and I don’t let my knowledge of what might happen prevent me from moving forward.

 

If you look at my little profile on the top left of the screen, you will see that I’ve quoted Helen Keller, “Life is a daring risk or nothing at all”. Think you’ve got it bad? Imagine going through life blind, deaf and mute! Every moment, even the smallest tasks, were a risk for this woman.

 

Focusing on the negative is like sitting in a box of wet cement – it’s only a matter of time before you’re stuck, watching life pass you by. But all really old people know this.

 

 

**

 

Well, I hope you enjoyed my little guide, now you too can become old and cranky!  If I’ve missed anything or you have some other ideas on how to be old, I’d love to hear them. In the meantime, take a moment to raise your glasses to my mom Nancy, one of the truly young!

 

p.s. – I also have to insert a shameless congratulation to nephew Scotty who won two golds and a silver in his very first tae kwon do tournament! Good going Scooter!!! And also to niece Reva (Becky’s daughter) who won first place for her skit and designed some fabulous costumes at Cos-Play, a kind of anime/manga convention (hope I got that right) Hooray Reva!!!

 

p.p.s – I won first place in our weekly Texas Hold Em Poker tournament! Yippee for me!

 

p.p.p.s – Emily has done nothing worth writing about at all.

 

p.p.p.p.s – Check out the new photos in the Baja 2006 photo album

 

p.p.p.p.p.s – Prez was stung by a scorpion. He is expected to live, the scorpion was not so lucky.

 

Until next week, I hope this finds you all healthy, happy and lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Life | 1 Comment

Giving You Your Spaces

Posted on March 1, 2006 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the last frontier!

 

There are spaces in our life. Some need to be filled, others are best left empty.

 

The first space we are given is the time between the day we are born and the day we die. Most of us hope that space will be vast and that we will fill it with something meaningful, or at least pleasant. But we really don’t know, do we, how many minutes, hours or years lie ahead. There is a “retirement age”, a time when we are supposed to finally lift our noses from the grindstone and enjoy the ten or twenty relatively healthy years left to us, but that number is artificial, based on an average lifespan. We’ve all heard the horror stories of hardworking men and women who saved and planned then either died or fell seriously ill just before that golden day of promised freedom arrived. And yet we all still believe, most of us anyway, naively, that it will never happen to us.

 

My mother always wanted to learn how to golf. Golfing was part of her retirement plans. When she died, at the age of fifty-seven, her new, unused golf clubs were still sitting in the closet. She spent the last five years of her life often so ill or crippled she could barely walk. Great retirement huh? I vowed, watching her waste away in front of my eyes, that as long as I can stand, I will walk; as long as I can walk, I will run; and I will not pin my hopes on “someday”. That vow is a big part of the reason I am living the life I am, and why Baja flows so strongly in my blood.

 

In an effort to help fill our own little spaces between life and death with something wild and beautiful, the Prez and I, along with his sister, Becky, who is visiting for two weeks, and a troupe of fellow adventurers including Mom II & HQ, Jake the Grape & Chef Wendy, returned to Estero Coyote for four days of camping fun. Robyn and Glen, fellow BC’ers, would join us later en route back to snivilization.

 

Estero Coyote is another kind of space. On one side, the desert, a broad, flat plain, the great nothingness, reaches out for miles and miles halted only by distant mountains and mesas; on the other side the gaping, blue mouth of the Pacific Ocean yawns to infinity. And above (who can forget about that space?), a pale blue sky waits empty, like a painting where the artist forgot to add the clouds. This is a place where my soul gulps in deep breaths; where no obstacles hinder my vision, where I can take my imagination off its leash and let it run with the coyotes and the jack rabbits. This space is limitless.

 

Prez decided that, because we only had one small boat between nine people, and because there were so many areas we had not yet explored around the estuary, that fishing would be kept to a minimum this trip. This turned out to be an excellent idea as, due to incredibly large tides, the fishing was not very bueno to say the least! So there was a little morning fishing and a little late-morning kayaking, lots of beach walks and book reading. The Lobster Contingent trekked into Punta Abreojos, the closest town, and bought a bushel of bugs for dinner; while the Oyster Collective drove down the beach to secure several pearl-making crustaceans from the local oyster farm. Humans played and feasted and dogs ran free; life as it is meant to be lived.

 

Unbeknownst to us, this trip would have us all crossing into a space few dare to enter – the distance created by language and by age.

 

From practically the first minute of our arrival we were adopted by Saul, the five year old son of Campo Rene’s cook. What a childhood this kid is having, tearing around the estuary and the desert, free to explore, meeting people from all over. He and I had many conversations where he’d blabber away in Spanish and I’d blabber away in English, neither of us really understanding the other but having a great time nonetheless.

 

Then, on Saturday, a busload of kids from the local secondary school arrived for a field trip at the estuary. These kids were incredible, enthusiastic and outgoing. They immediately latched onto the Prez, who, in his best Franglish (English mixed with Spanish as only Fred can do it), shared his passion for protecting the estuary and all the life within it. I couldn’t suppress my giggles as I heard them, unabashedly, teach Prez the Spanish words for things and correct his mispronunciations. They spent most of the day at Campo Rene, interacting with us old fogies, even letting the Prez and Jake the Grape join in a volley ball game. A small group of kids proudly showed us an octopus they had caught. They were a little perplexed when we asked them to return it to the water (Octopus, pulpo, is considered gooood eatin’ here) but happily obliged us crazy gringos. As they pulled away at the end of the day, they stuck their head out the windows, waving and cheering until the bus was a speck. I’ve never been so sad to see teenagers leave! And so I thunk awhile on how different this would have been back home, how ‘cool’ the kids would have behaved, how uninterested they would have to appear to be in such a magnificent place all for the sake of being accepted by their peers, and how they would never, ever, consider hanging out with a bunch of boring, old adults – ick! Here is a space that needs to be filled, I decided, or a bridge built across it at the very least.    

 

Sunday was a long hike along a deserted beach, accessible by boat only. I dubbed this outing the “Day of the Dead”, not because we were all exhausted at the end, but because of the large number of dead things, in various states of decay, that we found along the way. Now before you say “Oooo! Ick! Gross!” let me explain that finding skeletons or carcasses in the desert is like real-life CSI; you don’t always know what you’re looking at, you have a mystery to solve. And the desert cleans and bleaches the bones until even they are a piece of art. Among the cadavers were dolphins, pelicans, a prehistoric-looking fish we’ve yet to identify, several smaller fish, two skulls which may or may not be coyotes, whales, a turtle shell in perfect shape (Robyn won “find of the day” for that one), and a body we are sure belongs to Jimmy Hoffa. OK, we didn’t find that last one; I had a Geraldo Rivera moment, sorry.

 

One of the highlights of this hike, for me anyway, was the dunes. Glen called them nature’s art and I cannot think of a better description. What absolute masterpieces these ever-changing mountains of sand are! Jake the Grape read me a passage from Edward Abbey’s “Beyond the Wall” about sand dunes and I was surprised to learn that they are as interesting from a scientific standpoint as they are from an artistic one. Abbey is known as the ‘Thoreau of the desert’ and I plan on getting my hands on some of his pages as soon as I get to a place with a library! Did you know that the largest sand dune is seven hundred feet high?! And that the only thing which will stop the forward movement of dunes is a large obstacle, like a mountain range. Dunes are actually a very rare phenomena, there are very few in the U.S. and Canada. And, you can make some really trippy sand art by drawing shapes with your fingers on the leeward side of a steep dune (must be seen to be appreciated, trust me on this!).

 

Perhaps though, the most perfect aspect of the dunes is that, even after we have walked, run, jumped and rolled all over them, the wind will brush her forgiving hands across and wipe them clean. We will be erased from the desert as if we were never there. And that is good. This is a space that should not be filled.

 

What was filled, through our entire trip, was my brain. How on earth was I going to put all that we did and all that I felt here into one little Chronicle? The camaraderie of good friends, the smell of the ocean, watching a flock of white egrets zooming right at you, eating the world’s freshest oysters cooked over mesquite, the immense feeling of gratitude for it all, especially being able to share it with Becky who is still mending from surgery and chemotherapy. Impossible. And yet, am I not supposed to be a story teller?

 

I laid in the tiny bed of the old travel trailer we rented, just awake (yes it was after 8 am) and trying to decide what my topic would be this week when I was soon distracted by the trailer itself. Looking around at the split fake-wood paneling, the peeling linoleum, and stove that may be more rust than metal under the tin foil covering, I tried to imagine how it must have looked to the very first owners, brand new and gleaming on the lot. Did they oooh and aaah over the tiny fridge and the kitchen table which can fold down into a bed? Did they take their two young children to see the redwood forest, or perhaps to the sea with this trailer? When did they sell it and how did it get down here, so far away from its start in California? In about half an hour I’d created an entire life for the dilapidated trailer, down to the argument of the couple who abandoned it by the side of the road near San Ignacio (with a flat – he told her to watch out for that pothole!) and didn’t speak all the way to Loreto where she caught a flight home. Then it hit me, even the best stories, especially the best stories; leave spaces for us to fill in, room for our imagination to create. My story of the trailer may be far more, or far less, interesting than the real story but it is mine, and that is important.

 

Here is my story of Estero Coyote – the school kids, the dunes, the birds, the skeletons, the wide open ocean, the lonely desert, the friends and the food. The spaces belong to you, enjoy.

 

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

 

The Princess

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Travel | 5 Comments

The Next Corner

Posted on February 18, 2006 by clubfredbaja
 

Hello again from the last frontier!

 

Baja is a dichotomy; that’s the thought I had yesterday while in Mulege for the weekly Grocery Shopping Olympics. For example, you may pop into Saul’s store one day and find a lovely big box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates, a package of tofu wieners, and a selection of every flavour of Blue Diamond smoked almonds, but no cheese of any kind. The entire shopping experience here is very much like a sporting event. I must concede that shopping has gotten better in Mulege over the years but it still involves going to at least three stores, avoiding siesta (1pm-3pm or thereabouts) and Sundays, as well as a certain ‘flexibility’ in your grocery list. And Saul who arguably has the best selection and does the best business in town also has the most cramped and poorly lit venue. One shopping cart can block an entire aisle in spots (luckily there are only three carts). I was once blocked into the cereal section by a careless shopper’s abandoned cart and spent four days there before anyone noticed me. To this day the word ‘riboflavin’ brings me to tears.

 

OK, maybe I made that last bit up, well, the four day thing that is; riboflavin does give me the creeps. But Baja is a land of contrasts, no doubt about that.

 

Two days ago we rustled up a gang of hearty adventurers for a drive up “Calle Naranjo” (The Orange Road). This is a dirt road the Prez and I discovered on our dirt bikes a few years back. After about 12km of bumpy, scrubby, arid desert, you come around a corner and are met with a lush oasis of orange, mango and date palm trees. Your brain does a little hiccup as you try to figure out how all that greenery got there. Prez and I sleuthed around on our first trip and discovered black tubing coiled around all the trees with a steady trickle of water coming out, so we deduced there must be a natural source for all this water. And there was, an underground spring, one of many on this peninsula but, and here’s the really mind blowing part, whoever started this fruit grove built an aqueduct system by placing bean cans end to end and cementing around them. This “Frijole Highway” was originally at least 100 meters long or more! That is a lot of work, not to mention a lot of gas!!

 

See and here’s the thing that gets me about Baja, the people here are so ingenious, they epitomize the entrepreneurial spirit, and yet, in some respects, are so backward. I mean, the guy built an aqueduct with bean cans! Amazing! So why is it that something as simple as putting garbage in a garbage can instead of chucking it on the ground, on the street where you walk, is as difficult to comprehend as quantum physics to the average Baja citizen? Well, actually, that’s gotten better lately too, surprisingly better, but you get my point.

 

And I love the people here, despite the fact that if you wiped down the sweat off the men and wrung it out you could probably bottle and sell the most powerful machismo in the universe. Yesterday at the Pemex gas station and…let me just pause a moment to tell you about the gas stations here…Pemex is government owned and operated under the strict, well enforced guidelines that the Mexican government is so famous for. In some Pemex’s they have actually figured out a way to get 15 litres of gas into a 10 litre container. This is obviously a momentous step forward in physics and I’m sure Mexican scientists are hard at work to learn more about this miracle of science. Anyway, so there I am at the Pemex station getting the tank topped up and the window washer guy is busy doing his thing. Most of these guys are from the local drug and alcohol rehab place and it’s customary to pay a little tip to them, which goes toward funding for organization. Window Washer Guy finishes up with a flourish of his rag, that looks suspiciously unclean, and I offer up ten pesos to his outstretched hand. “Thank you” he says in perfect English and then adds, “You must work out a lot, you’re in really great shape. Running? Do you run?”  I thanked him and told him that yes, I did run, and played tennis as well. “Well, it shows” he finishes with a sincere wave. As I pull away, I realize that I’ve just been chatted up by the alcoholic window washer at the Pemex station and that it was quite pleasant, not even slightly as annoying as any guy in any North American bar would be if he was trying to put the moves on.

 

The women have their own ‘thang’ going on here too. A steady diet of lard laden tortillas will put a lot of junk in your trunk my friend. And these Latin Divas are not afraid to display the merchandise. Unlike their North American counterparts, if you tell a Mexican woman that those pants don’t make her ass look fat she probably won’t buy them. If Teri Hatcher showed up in Mulege they’d probably rush her into the medical clinic thinking she’d been lost in the desert and was starving. Can’t you just hear poor Teri screaming, “No, I look good! I look this way on purpose!!” and the Mexican doctors shaking their heads thinking, ‘Oh no, she’s delirious from hunger.’

 

 

What was my topic this week? I am totally off track I’d better have a beer.

 

That’s better, now where was I?

 

Oh, we were in the orange grove and I was talking about how dangerous it is to go hiking around here because you keep going and going just to see what cool thing waits around the next corner. And Prez said that would make a great Chronicle, and I said I was inspired and that I would use his idea, and he said I wouldn’t, that I’d think of something else between then and now, and I said no I wouldn’t. And he’s kind of right after all but I hate it when he’s right so now I’m going to talk about that.

 

It is a fact that no matter how cool the stuff is where you are right now, the stuff around the next corner will be so much cooler. It is one of the great dangers of Baja.

 

Did I ever tell you about the time that the Prez found a dead body here? This story is BP (Before Princess) so it all may be a total lie so don’t sue me if this story traumatizes you in any way (but it’s not a lie because Prez just isn’t like that). He was out fishing with his brother Dave and nephew Brett when he spots a seal on top of the water. Wanting to show off a little and impress his young nephew (I’m not sure if that was his motivation, I’m just guessing), Prez zooms over and notices, just in the nick of time, that, hey, wait, that’s no seal, that’s a bloated human corpse!!! No this is true, I swear. He whips the boat around so young Brett is not scarred for life and radios Posada to ask what the procedure is for reporting a “floater”. Long story short, he quietly slipped away after he saw the police arrive, along with a bunch of looky-loos. It turns out the dead guy’s wife had a couple other husbands die from “mysterious circumstances”. Ooooooooo.

 

I almost saw a dead body here once. We were driving down to Posada and were somewhere in Ensenada when Prez said, “Hey look, there’s a dead guy on the side of the road!” and just as I turned to look, Emily, who had been acting a little antsy, dropped a log in the back seat, forcing us to pull over and deal with the mess. By the time the truck was clean and de-smelled, the coroners had taken the body away. Mind you, I have seen every other thing that can possibly be dead on the side of the road during our drives down here.

 

And it seems only fitting to finish with story of the Zonkey – which I’ve never seen dead by the side of the road but is pretty interesting nonetheless.

 

We’d just crossed the border into Tijuana, this was a few years back, and Prez says, “Hey look, there’s a dead guy by the side of the road!” oh no, wait, too many beers, that was the last story. No he really said, “Hey look, a zebra!”  And I was like, “OK, time to put down the crack pipe and drive” and he was like “No, look, up there on the hill!” It was a zebra, with a guy walking it on a leash. But as we got closer we saw that it was in fact not a zebra but a donkey painted to look like a zebra for tourists to take pictures of. And this makes a lot of sense because every time I’m on vacation somewhere I think, Well, this place is nice but man I sure wish they had some zebras around here. But I’m sure you know how that feels. So now Prez and I put two and two together – Zebra + Donkey = Zonkey. And then, about a year later, Prez and I are watching the movie “Traffic” back in Canada. Parts of the movie take place in Tijuana and it must have been filmed on location because who should come sauntering on screen during one of the very serious scenes but our friend with his painted donkey. We start screaming, “Zonkey! Zonkey!” and get kicked out of the theater. Or maybe it didn’t happen exactly like that. Maybe the Prez saw it on video and then told me about it later, but that’s not quite as exciting as my version.

 

So I think we’ve all learned something today. I know I have. And if you email me about this week’s Chronicle please make sure that you mention something about that whole “around the next corner” bit, Prez was really proud of that and I hate to let him down.

 

OK, until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

 

The Princess

 

Posted in Travel | 1 Comment

Battle on the Beach

Posted on February 11, 2006 by clubfredbaja
Hello again from the last frontier!

I witnessed something I found very disturbing recently. More on that later, for now I’m going to take you on a little visit to the tiny beach community of Posada…

This little seaside oasis is primarily a retirement community, home to snowbirds escaping the winter. At 44 and 36, the Prez and I have been the “babies” since we arrived here. Fine by us, the “old fogies” of Posada are far more active than most people we know of our own age. Being a small community, everyone knows each other and there is, for the most part, a neighbourly spirit sadly missing from most North American suburbs and cities. We play tennis, there are camping trips and cribbage games, bocce ball and poker, fishing, kayaking, hiking, a variety of parties, not to mention charity organizations like “Friends of Los Niño’s” which helps support one of the schools in town. Yes, there is a lot to love about Posada.

I often think of this little dot in the desert as a microcosm for the larger world and so, like the larger world, Posada also has a dark side.

Isolation, a small number of residents, and physical proximity of the residents who have huge quantities of leisure time, combine to create the perfect environment for gossip & petty feuds. Also, there is the fact that the people you live with here come from all walks of life, that is to say, people who would not ordinarily reside together. I have watched with fascination (and sometimes disgust) the miniature dramas that have unfolded here over the years. Unlike the big city where your personal life gets lost among the multitudes of people, here in Posada your business is everyone’s business.

Colourful characters abound in Baja. Names like: Mission Jim, Killer Cain, Tequila Johnny, Corona Dave (not related to Tequila Johnny), Pancho, Little Jan and, my new favorite, All-in-Jim, are common. (Oh, did I forget ClubFred and the Princess?). One of Posada’s resident characters goes by the moniker of “Dangerous Doug” although he is also known, in some circles, as Mr.Clampett. I have some strong feelings about this guy and his character but it’s just my opinion and he’s not here to defend himself so I’ll keep zipped on that subject.

Not too long ago Dangerous Doug got into a little spat with a neighbour. It was over something fairly trivial, something that could have been worked out logically between two reasonable adults. Well, the spat turned to hard words. Next thing you know, Dangerous is throwing punches at his rather rattled neighbour, who, wisely, retreats into his house. It is not the first time there have been fisticuffs in the park, sad to report.

I don’t get it. I really, truly don’t. Is there anything that goes on here, in paradise, that’s worth hitting another human being over? What ever happened to simply walking away?

The Prez and I have a very simple philosophy about conflict, both here and in the larger world – we avoid it whenever possible. When conflict is unavoidable, or necessary, we do our utmost to be rational, logical beings. We like almost everyone in the park. Yes there are many folks that we don’t actually do things with because we have little in common, but we still like them. Honestly, there are only a very few people that we dislike. With the few we do dislike, we keep our distance, limiting our contact to a friendly nod or a hello. And in all our years here, we have had only two confrontations, both of which were quick and ended peacefully. That’s not to say that we could not physically attack, or defend ourselves from, another person, only that it is inconceivable that we would need to do so in this place.

So now, let’s pull back the viewfinder from Posada, to all of Baja, to the Americas, and the entire globe. There are conflicts large and small, violent and terrible, raging across the planet. It is so and always has been so. Man just cannot seem to rise above his urge to throw punches. Whether the battles are noble or brutal, whether it is a battle between good and evil or a senseless feud, it is all, in the big picture, humans hurting other humans. And it goes on, and on, and on.

Each side in a battle believes they are right, believes their cause is just. Did Dangerous really believe that punching his neighbour was the right thing to do? I’m guessing he’d answer “yes” to that question.

I have heard a plethora of arguments both for and against the “war” in Iraq. I know that each side has their mind firmly made up and I’m not even going to begin to try to sway anyone in my direction. My feelings about this war and the situation in the Middle East in general, are complicated – I don’t think anyone wants to spend the next eight hours reading this Chronicle (no matter how fabulous it is). So I’m going to say, for the sake of argument, that this war in Iraq is a necessary war. If it is necessary, so be it. Do what needs to be done and go home.

But all conflicts seem to inspire side-taking, cheerleading, and, in the case of war, rampant, blind patriotism.

Now about the disturbing incident…

Not too long ago, the Prez and I were over at Ray’s, a little restaurant on the beach, palapa style with a crushed shell floor. On weekends Ray has a DJ and folks come to drink and dance their cares away. It’s a fun little place with an equally fun crowd, and usually I would be among the throng of swiveling hips and waving arms but I was not feeling so bueno this evening so I sat and watched with the Prez. The DJ stopped between songs and announced that he was about to play a song that he always played, a tradition of sorts. On came a country song I’d never heard before, it was about American Patriotism and the conflict as a result of 9/11. The lyrics didn’t bother me so much, I’ve heard much worse; it was the reaction of the crowd that I found so disturbing. Fists pumping, singing along with “we’ll put a boot in your ass ‘cause that’s the American way”, the dancers, good people, people who would likely not dream of hurting another human being, celebrated the power and the glory of their great nation. Yet the scene was hauntingly reminiscent of the footage you see of fanatical extremists celebrating a successful car bomb or hijacking. I saw the smiles on their faces and at the same time I saw the wounded and the dead, the widowed and grieving, on both sides of the war. Not much cause for celebration, as far as I’m concerned. It gave me the creeps.

One of the military characters in Tolstoy’s epic novel, “War and Peace” has a great little speech during the height of a long and bloody battle. He espouses that war should be less civilized, that if we removed the niceties and protocols, took it down to it’s most savage form, people would be less willing to engage in it. I would add that we should stop singing celebratory songs about it too.  If it is necessary, if we must wound, maim and kill, let us do so with the seriousness and solemnity the act deserves. Let us not celebrate the worst part of ourselves.

“War is so unjust and ugly that all who wage it must try to stifle the voice of conscience within themselves”  – Leo Tolstoy

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy and lovin’ life.

The Princess

Posted in News and politics | 3 Comments

What kind of loser are you?

Posted on February 4, 2006 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the last frontier!

I never did tell you all about the big tennis tournament we had in January. There’s a reason for that.

With tomorrow’s big Super Bowl Party at Jim & Sue’s, plus a few other incidents, I’ve been considering the whole notion of competition, specifically, how we deal with losing.

When it comes to sports my feelings regarding competition are a bit of an enigma. I am not a naturally gifted athlete, not even close. An ex-boyfriend of mine once joked that if you set me loose in an empty football stadium and placed a single, full, open can of soda somewhere on the field, I would walk right toward it, trip over it, spill it all over myself, and injure myself in the process. Sad but oh so true. Yet, despite the fact that I am athletically challenged, I love to win when I play sports and I am not always a very good loser.

Now some of you who know me might be thinking, no way, I’ve seen you in action, you’re very athletic. Ah, appearances can be deceiving my friends! Any grace, coordination, strength, or flexibility that I possess were paid for with a whole lot of sweat, tears, and occasionally blood. Seven years of dance lessons as a child (and, I let me tell you, I practiced and practiced), endowed me with the physical prowess of… the average person. In fact, one of the most traumatic moments of my life happened in my acrobatics class – I cannot see a horse to this day without feeling a profound sense of shame.  

My dance class was rehearsing for our big end of the year show. The song was “Pony Boy” and about twenty of us girls would be dressed as horses and performing stunning displays of acrobatics. Stunning! Now, I’m about as flexible as a stick. The only acrobatic trick I truly excelled at was handstands or walking on my hands–proving that I am equally good at being straight and stiff whether upright or upside down. The high point of this number was a waterfall sort of move. We were all in a line, all went into handstands together, and one by one we’d fall into walkovers (picture dominoes falling). A “walkover” consists of doing the splits and “walking” yourself upright. Folks, I gave it my best, I truly did, but I sucked. Imagine a line of graceful young bodies doing these walkovers and then – THUD – me falling flat onto my back. Kind of spoils the effect. After months of this, our teacher was determined to help me (and to keep the audience from laughing). She lined us up and made us do the waterfall move over and over and over and over, until I got it right. THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD. You can imagine how popular I was by the end of that class. Defeated, she moved me to the end of the line and told me to just do something that looked like a walkover.   

I’m not bitter. The only reason I am even moderately good at any sports is because of those dance lessons. Well, back to the tennis tournament…

Prez loves tennis. He would play tennis around the clock if his poor old battered body would let him. (He is also one of those sickening natural athletes, blech). Every time we visit Posada, he tries to organize at least one tournament. Prez is also a quintessential good sport. He does his utmost to ensure that the teams are fair and balanced. Each year, he has cheerfully taken on the lowest level player as his partner and every year, with the exception of one, he and his partner have won. (My partner, Harry Walker, and I won the first year – entirely thanks to Harry). This year, Prez sat down and paired up the contestants, and when it came to me he put me with the visiting Rotary dentist because even though we’d never played with him this fellow went on at great lengths about how tennis is his favorite sport and he’d played for years. FOR YEARS! He neglected to tell us that he hadn’t actually played in years.

The day of the tournament arrived and I was pumped. I knew from the first couple of volleys that I was on! And I knew, from a few more volleys, that my partner was off–way, waaaaaay off. He could have been on a different planet, he was that off. I held my composure through the first two matches, offering Mr.Dentist helpful hints and words of encouragement, believing that he would improve as the day went on. By match three I was fighting the urge to pelt him across the head with my racquet. And, shamefully, by match number four I’d lost all semblance of civility. I cracked. The ball would come across the net and I’d just swing without even looking or caring where it went. Where it went was usually up, up, up… and out of the park. I was a very bad sport.

You may now take a moment to “tsk tsk” me.

I could tell you it was largely Mr.Dentist’s fault for not giving us an accurate description of his abilities. I could also tell you Prez is not without blame for pairing me with a partner he’d not properly assessed. But none of that matters. Sportsmanship is about playing as hard as you can and having fun. It does not include pouting and throwing temper tantrums when things don’t go your way. I made my partner feel bad. I threw the last match, which cost another team their place in the final match. I embarrassed myself (and Prez) with my bad behaviour. What kind of loser am I? A bad one.

The funny thing is I’m always railing about what poor-sports other people are. At every tournament Prez has organized, someone is always whining about the rules, or their partner, or the time of the matches, or whatever. We’ve had a few Texas Hold ‘Em tournaments in the park and, once again, some folks aren’t happy unless they’re complaining. Prez and I don’t even like to watch professional sports on TV because of the message so many athletes send to the world. You make millions of dollars playing a sport you love, you have fans spending their hard earned paycheques to see you play, and you don’t even have the decency to refrain from getting into fist fights, swearing, or whining like a baby? Grow up.

But sport isn’t the only arena in which our competitive natures are unleashed. Consider all the facets of your life in which you feel that you are competing against one or more people. It could be as overt as fighting for a promotion over your co-workers, or as subtle as making sure your lawn looks better than your next door neighbour’s. You may not realize that you are competing but none of us are immune from the urge to do more, have more, look better, or simply “be” better than someone else.

The stunt biz is highly competitive and I hated that part of it. Sitting in a room full of other stunt women, some of whom you really like and respect, knowing that only one of you is going to get the job, is an unpleasant and almost surreal experience. Competition among women, especially when it involves men, is the subtle art of pretending not to care while doing everything in your power to win. Which brings me to another recent “incident”.

Let me start by explaining that, when it comes to the Prez, I never for even a second doubt his love and loyalty to me. And as for other women, well, I know there are few who could fill my sandals where my husband is concerned. By that I mean that there are very few women out there who a) honestly don’t want children b) enjoy moving from place to place every few years or months without having stable jobs or incomes c) don’t wear make up, jewelry, or who own only one pair of high heels d) love fishing and a variety of other sports e) don’t bat an eye when given ten minutes notice that there will be 15 people coming for dinner f) etc., etc. It’s not that I am any great shakes; I just know that the Prez and I are custom made for each other. Still, I’m only human, I have my moments.

Enter: The Woman in the Small White Shorts.

This is the first time we have ever been in Baja, or anywhere for that matter, that I have not been Prez’s playmate. We made a deal before we came down here this year that I was going to write and he was going leave me alone, removing any temptation I might have to “skip out” and go hiking or fishing or any of the fun things we normally do. He has been true to his word and the writing is going splendidly. So he was overjoyed when a new visitor arrived in the park looking for someone to do things with. She’s friendly, athletic, attractive, fun, she loves tennis, and she’s really, really good at it. Isn’t that great?

I popped by the court to say hi during their first game together and there she was, in these very small white shorts and matching small white t-shirt, looking fit and sexy, leaping around the court like a gazelle. My heart sank. An unwanted image popped into my mind of me, in my baggy old-lady shorts (the only pair of tennis shorts I own), shanking balls out of the court, and Prez shaking his head in frustration. Why oh why did I put off buying new tennis shorts for so many years? Why didn’t I practice more? Why can’t I be a naturally gifted athlete? Why am I spending all day writing while my husband is running around with Small White Shorts?? I told myself I was being silly. The little voice in my head chided me for being so insecure. I quickly gagged that voice and made sure to hunt down a new pair of shorts the next time I was in town. Like I said, I’m a bad loser.

Prez soon caught on to my feelings of inadequacy and assured me, then reassured me, then re-reassured me that I am the one and only love of his life and that no matter how great any other woman is, or how small her shorts are, he only has eyes for his Princess. Aaaaaaaawwwww. Didn’t I feel like a loser,and a winner, after that! 

So my New Year’s resolution for 2006 is to be a better sport. To always try my best but to also always be happy whether I finish first, last, or anywhere in between. Also, to quit saying “sorry” on the tennis court. Hell, who cares how I play when I have such a great new pair of shorts to play in!

So, what kind of loser are you?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Sports | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Crazy Men and Coyotes

Posted on January 28, 2006 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the last frontier!

On our recent camping adventure to Estero Coyote, with fellow adventurers Sue, Jim and Max (Max is the furriest of the two males Sue lives with), we had the displeasure of running into a representative of the International Society of Crazy People. One of the more interesting aspects of Baja, which I’ve noticed during our years here, is that it attracts the “fringe” of society. In large part, the fringe consists of people like the Prez and I, those who are somewhat disenfranchised with the structure and rigidity of North American society, those who feel the rewards of a life without the illusion of security is well worth the risks. There is another faction of the fringe, however, who are drawn to Baja because it is the perfect place for the socially inept, legally challenged and the utterly wacko.

Now Estero Coyote is well off the beaten path, although with the paving of the road in I’m sure it will become beaten very shortly. Seeing this fellow, who I’ve dubbed “Wahoo Ricky”, camping all alone, the four of us, quite naturally, strove to be as congenial and welcoming as possible. He seemed nice but definitely a little “off” – my Spidey senses were tingling. Soon he was hanging around our campsite like a bad smell. Regaling us with frequently contradictory or downright unbelievable tales of all the amazing things he, Wahoo Ricky, had done. The best one, and the reason for his nickname, was the one about his prowess as a free-diver/hunter. After teaching us about Wahoo (that’s a very large, fast, pelagic, ocean dwelling fish by the way) and the fact that they are reef fish (huh?), he then proceeded to recount his many diving experiences where he speared not only Wahoo but also Marlin as well. When we asked him how he managed to hang onto such massive fish while holding his breath under water he replied, “You have to hit them in just the right spot and then they just quiver” and demonstrated the quivering motion with his hand. Well of course, why didn’t we think of that?

OK, Reality Pause here. Yes, it is possible to free dive for large game fish, I’ve seen it done. It is also very difficult, very dangerous, and done by only highly experienced free divers with a support boat, etc. Even then, your chances of actually spearing a Wahoo or a Marlin are slim. I’ve seen some of these divers, they have chests the size of oak barrels and are amazingly fit – Wahoo Ricky with his pot belly and doughy legs just doesn’t seem to fit the bill.

So the guy told a few tall tales, oh well, right? Well, bedtime comes around and we all shuffle off to our respective sleeping areas when suddenly the thunder of drums and guitars rips through the still night air…”EXIT LIGHT, ENTER NIIIIGHT!!!!”. Wahoo Ricky has his truck stereo on full tilt, not just that but he is sitting in the cab of his truck with the doors closed (I wasn’t there to see but I’m positive his ears must have been bleeding it was that loud). The Prez takes a stroll over to politely ask him if he will tone down the music a smidge as we are all trying to sleep. The answer was a firm “NO, I’m listening to my music.” And we were all rocked by the melodic stylings of Nirvana for the next hour or so. Which brings me to the next subject, one which may not seem related but, boy oh boy, prepare to be amazed at how I tie this all together in the end folks!

 Conservation. Environmental Protection. The Green Movement. Eco-Friendly.

Read those words again and note what your gut reaction is to them. Did you perhaps utter a small but sarcastic sigh? Did you feel unexpectedly angry? Did you think, “Oh god, here she goes again”? Yes, here I go again, but with a twist this time…

 Estero Coyote is one of our favorite Baja camp spots. The estuary is gorgeous, teeming with bird life, and fun to explore by tin boat or kayak. The previously nasty road to get there ensured very light human traffic so you can (could) almost always have the place to yourself. Estuaries are incredibly important ecosystems providing habitat, not just for birds, but for juvenile fish – a nursery much like the Bahia de Concepcion. Estero Coyote is being wiped out and I’m fairly certain nothing is going to be done about it. While the estuary is a decent size, there are only two channels that hold fish in any great numbers and for two months out of the year, three commercial pangas (fishing boats) are allowed to gill net (6 nets per boat) as much as they want. With two channels, gill nets and sixty days– do the math – the estuary is emptied out with frightening efficiency. We have witnessed the rapid decline of the fish stocks over the years; it’s a crime, truly. This sort of thing happens all over Mexico and all over the world.

As we drifted along in our tin boat (borrowed boat – thanks Ken), soaking up the sun and watching a coyote wade through the water on the edge of the estuary, I contemplated why it is that more people don’t care more about protecting places like this. OK, I mean I know that I haven’t done nearly as much as I could, or perhaps should, but I do donate to environmental groups including Sea Watch which is working to save the Sea of Cortez, and the Prez and I always practice sustainable fishing, never keeping more than our limit and often much under it. We also try to spread the word wherever and whenever we can – but “the word” is often met with defensiveness, anger, disbelief, and a lot of head shaking.

Why are people so anti-environment?

To me, sustainability is not just some fancy buzz-word of the new millennium tossed around by the Green Party to win votes; it is simply plain old common sense. My philosophy regarding conservation can be summed up as follows: I like fish, I like birds and animals, plants and trees, and I want them to always be here, as long as I live and long, long after that. So keeping the planet healthy just seems like a common sense thing to do.

Inevitably though, when I bring up any aspect of conservation, most people jump immediately to the negative – “Oh ya, well you can’t even build on your own land now if they find a spotted owl thanks to those stupid tree-huggers!” Why is it that so many of the good (great) effects of the environmental movement are never, ever mentioned? I know lots and lots of folks who pay big bucks to go out and watch whales; they love whales, seeing a whale is the highlight of some people’s lives. Guess what? If it weren’t for all those stupid tree huggers and eco-freaks there wouldn’t be any whales to look at! The Atlantic Grey whale is extinct and the Pacific Grey whale would be too if members of Green Peace and other grass roots groups hadn’t risked life and limb (not to mention the ire and ridicule of the rest of society) to stop the whaling boats. And that’s just one example and a big one. But you may hear that a local housing project has been denied because the proposed site would destroy the mating habitat of the rare Muffle-Nosed Giraffe Shrew and think, “What the hell is a Muffle-Nosed Giraffe Shrew and why should I care? Build the damn houses!” without realizing that the Muffle-Nosed Giraffe Shrew is actually a critical part of a fragile ecosystem which will collapse if said shrew becomes extinct. This ecosystem may be a river you enjoy fishing in or a forest you hunt in. I’m not saying that in some cases the pendulum hasn’t swung waaaaay too far to the green side, what I am saying is that people are quick to become angry and slow to check their facts (all the facts, not just the ones the housing development people put out on glossy, non-recyclable brochures).

So I racked my brain, while I was busily out-fishing the Prez, to figure out why lovers of the environment have gotten such a bad rap. This is what I’ve come up with: People do not like being told that they are bad or being told what to do.

Life is complicated and I believe most of us are doing our best to try to live decently, yet there always seems to be someone telling us we are bad because we watch too much TV, or eat too much crap, or don’t exercise enough, or smoke, or don’t recycle, or don’t send money to starving children, or mix our whites and our colours…gasp! Environmentalists tend to be very passionate people (probably because most recognize they’re fighting a losing battle); I know that once I get on a roll I can be…a tad…well…pushy perhaps…irritating maybe.

The glass-half-full part of me believes that if enough people really care, if enough people understand the importance of being good to Ma Nature, then this crazy planet has a chance. Maybe, just maybe I’ll return to Estero Coyote in five or ten years to find the hordes of Snook, Snapper, Corvina, etc. that once were there. However, the glass-half-empty part of me knows that there are just too many Wahoo Ricky’s in the world. That even though you can tell them that turning down the music which is shattering everyone’s eardrums is the good thing to do, the right thing to do, the common sense thing to do, and, actually better for him in the long run, the answer will always be “NO!” Knowing this makes me sad, for me yes, but mostly for your kids, grandkids, and great grandkids who’ll never catch a snook, on a sunny day in Estero Coyote while a coyote wades through the water near the shore.

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess
Posted in Travel | 5 Comments

What’s the Worst Thing That Can Happen?

Posted on January 19, 2006 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the last frontier!

 

It’s ten-thirty p.m., the familiar hum of the generator has ceased, and I’m writing on battery power. Thoughts seem to keep no rational schedule. Tomorrow we are off on a camping adventure for three or four days so I want to get this out before the idea evaporates like ideas tend to do when left unattended. Let’s talk about The Chronicles.

 

Today I received an email from a friend accusing me of being, well let’s just say kind of “wussy” in my last posting. The suggestion threw me for a bit of a loop but I mused over it for a bit and saw where he was coming from. This business of writing is a very intimate act between us. I pull thoughts from my head and send them off to you not knowing how, based on your own life experiences and perspective, they will be received. From time to time reactions to what I write are quite negative. Some of you are familiar with the infamous “Jim” (not, repeat NOT, his real name) who brought about the demise of the last series of Chronicles after taking serious offense to a posting which I thought was mostly poking fun at yours truly. All of the offended parties have had different complaints and, here is the interesting part, they always take me utterly by surprise, never from the Chronicles I would expect to make people angry or upset. Not to suggest that the email I received today was an angry one, not at all, but it made me wonder about our reactions to other people’s expressions of their ideas, thoughts and feelings.

 

Is it wise for me to share with you what most others choose to keep in the secrecy of their own minds? What’s the worst thing that can happen?

 

These three things: ideas, thoughts and feelings, tend to be temporary in nature. I’ll lump them all under the heading of “thoughts” for the sake of simplicity. Our thoughts are meant to be evolutionary, changing as we grow, learn, experience, and discover. Can you imagine if everything you thought at the age of ten remained constant for the rest of your life? Well we’d all eat a lot more ice cream and own far too many puppies, that’s for sure. So even now, as I write, these thoughts of mine are temporary – I may feel quite differently ten years or even ten minutes from now. As you read this, you may be reacting to something which I do not believe anymore. OK, back to earth, let me give you an example…

 

 

My ex-husband, I’ll call him “Mr.M” (I considered other names but children may be reading this), and I got engaged in a short period of time and I was over the moon about it. I was twenty-one. I gushed to everyone who would listen to me about how ecstatic I was about my upcoming marriage and everyone (to my face) seemed happy for me. Everyone except Barb, a fellow Karate student. Barb told me, flat out, no holds barred, that I was making the biggest mistake of my life and should reconsider. She made it abundantly clear that I was too young, too immature, and not thinking clearly. Naturally, I thought Barb was an idiot. She was jealous because I was happily in love while she was single and miserable. She envied my youth. She didn’t know me, or Mr.M, well at all, probably hated men, and was just a generally grouchy person. That is what I thought, adamantly believed even, at that time. What I didn’t know was that Barb had been me once; she had the advantage of years and experience behind her opinion. And now, here in the future, my thoughts on the subject of my engagement to Mr.M are the absolute opposite of what they were when I was twenty-one. My thoughts on that topic evolved based on my experience. I now agree with Barb, a woman I once considered an idiot. Life’s funny like that.

 

So the Chronicles are not just a chronicle of the events of my life but also of the life inside my head – my thought life. I’m feeling a little existential this evening FYI.

 

Something else to consider is that my thoughts, although they are sent to you, are not directed to you. If I say, for example, that I HATE vanilla ice cream I’m probably not thinking “Oooooh I know how much Frank loves Vanilla ice cream, boy I’ll sure show him! I’ll fix his wagon!!”. That’s a pretty tame example (well unless you feel as serious about chocolate as I do) but if I replace the noun “ice cream” with “children” or “religion” or “war” or “Democrats”, then suddenly it feels a lot more personal doesn’t it? It isn’t, trust me. And those are only examples, I do not hate any of those things, except war, but you already know that.

 

Still, no matter how much I may try to convince you that what I write is merely an opinion, and usually a humble one at that, I know that what I have to say is probably going to raise your hackles and have you scratching my name off your Xmas card list at some point. Don’t laugh when I tell you that writing my thoughts and exposing them to almost everyone I know and love is the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I’m a “pleaser”. My ridiculous goal in life is to make everyone happy and offend no one. Stop laughing. Yes, I know it can’t be done but it’s hardwired into my system along with truckloads of guilt and insecurities. On the half dozen or so occasions when something I’ve written genuinely insulted or otherwise damaged one of my friends I was sent hurtling into a spiral of depression. Through tears I vowed never to put fingers to keyboard again and berated myself for being such a thoughtless and cruel human being – it’s true, ask the Prez. Then, I pulled myself together and wrote the next week’s Chronicle.

 

Am I crazy?

 

Maybe. But the voices in my head that tell me to write are louder and more insistent than the voices that tell me I’m a bad person.

 

I read once about an author who taught a high-level writing course and, upon receiving yet another batch of mediocre stories, would ask his students, “Are you waiting for your friends and family to die before you write something good?!” The point being that good writing is truth, truth often offends and so to be a good writer you must risk offending those you love. What’s the worst thing that can happen? I can write something that makes you hate me, that’s what. And is it worth the risk? If it’s not then I should close this laptop forever and start looking for a real job.

 

 

By now you may be wondering, was my good friend correct, did I pull my punches on the last Chronicle? Hmmm. Well, from my perspective, I wasn’t trying to throw any punches which leads me to wonder, did I get my point across? I thought I did but maybe…well… maybe I didn’t do it well enough. And here we go, into that other realm of self-loathing, the Am I Good Enough Zone. I’ll just skip the formalities, lie down on the couch and start talking about my mother. Kidding. I suppose there are writers out there who burst with confidence, secure in the knowledge that they possess a supreme talent – I haven’t met one yet though. When I struggle with my words I think, What am I thinking? How can I be a writer, I can’t even write one stupid sentence?? And when the words flow like water I think, Oh my god, that was too easy, it must be total crap!  Thank goodness I have a husband who takes none of this seriously and keeps it all in perspective for me.

 

Now before my battery dies or the Prez wakes up and hollers at me to get back to bed, how can I sum up for you how I feel about writing? Robert Frost said that, “Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat”; that’s always stuck with me. When I write, whether it’s fiction or these Chronicles, I feel a bit like Pinocchio waking up to discover he is no longer a puppet, he is real, he is alive. Taking the swirl of invisible thoughts in my brain and turning them into written words is that kind of magic for me. I feel real, I feel alive. And when someone reads one of my stories and tells me that it made them cry, or that they felt strongly about a certain character; or when a reader takes the time to email and debate something I’ve written in a Chronicle; or when a reader emails to say, “I never thought about it that way”; or when a reader tells me in person how much they look forward to reading the Chronicles each week, well, those moments are the reason I’m sitting here, right now, typing these words.

 

You are the reason I write. Thank you.

 

I hope that didn’t sound too wussy.

 

Vanilla ice cream sucks!! There, that’s better.

 

 

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

 

Posted in Life | 5 Comments