Kindling

Buying a Kindle made sense.

Living in 120 square feet means my home's short on space. Hell, I already pay for a storage unit in Arizona which is filled mostly with books - signed first editions and advance readers copies.

Because those 120 sq feet are movable, towing weight is always a factor (books weigh a lot).

There are no bookstores in this little fishing village.

The trailer park office has bookcases filled with paperbacks the snowbirds leave behind - mostly Tom Clancy and Nora Roberts - which, even in desperation, are not to my liking.

Without a local bookstore I've had to learn patience but mostly I'm an instant-gratification reader: when I want a book, I want it now.

So the Kindle made sense. Even though I felt like a traitor, a whore, a politician, by selling out independent booksellers to amazon dot com.

I've had the little bugger now for three days and if I were to write a review on Amazon I'd give it three stars.

Right out of the box I did not like the way the ink stayed on the screen when moving to the next page. I sent an email to a friend and asked if this was normal or a glitch. He said it was normal and it never bothered him. Now that I'm 22% into my first book (no such thing as page numbers in the Kindle) I've grown accustomed to the screen change.

I can't quite get the grip right. Maybe it's because my hands are small that they sort of cramp up. Also, I keep accidentally hitting the page back and forward buttons on the lefthand side of the reader.

The 3g version is nifty. The book I bought - Devil by Ken Bruen - arrived in seconds even though there were only 2 bars for signal strength.

I'm worried about dropping the thing should I doze off. Reading in the tub is not a problem because I don't have one. How do you keep the screen clean?

When I ordered the Kindle I worried that all my old books would wind up as kindling, that I'd be so in love with the thing I'd burn them in the fire pit to save that 32 bucks a month. Not so. There's still nothing like holding a book - flipping through the pages, reading the jacket cover. And there are books I will definitely buy in their hard cover editions when they come out like Luis Urrea's followup to The Hummingbird's Daughter (Queen of America) and Wild by Cheryl Strayed.

When I move back to the States, I'll go back to my independent bookstores - if there are any.

On that note it's not surprising that the bookstore in Tubac closed. The people who bought Tortuga Books in Tubac put in an espresso machine, made the place comfy. But their big big mistake: They shrink-wrapped the books!!!! No reading the inside jacket or the book's first line. (Whenever Bob at 23rd Avenue Books in Portland had a book he knew I'd love, he'd shove it in my hands and say "here, read the first sentence.") Why in the world have coffee and sofas when you can't browse the books? I knew I'd never buy a book there. I guess I wasn't the only one who felt that way.

31 x 2

This Aimee Mann song has been my anthem for 2011. The thing is, this song is about turning 31 and I'm nearly twice that age.

I thought my life would be different somehow
I thought my life would be better by now


(it's kind of an odd video but the only one I could find)

From LYRICSMODE.COM lyrics archive

Lyrics | Aimee Mann lyrics - 31 Today lyrics

Bisbee and Me

Ahhh, Bisbee. You and I have such a complicated relationship.

In my [as of yet unpublished] memoir, I write about Bisbee. About how I thought I might move there so I took a drive over from Amado and how it was obvious, from just a few minutes in town, that Bisbee did not want me. I won't go into all the whys and wherefores of that here. What I recently remembered was I had the same feeling about Bisbee a few years before that when I'd taken a road trip from Portland to see if the desert southwest was where I wanted to be (it was). As I came through the tunnel and saw the pretty little of town of Bisbee, I was unnerved. Rattled. Almost scared. And that was before I even reached the open pit mine. I don't know why it affected me in that way. As I drove through town I couldn't bring myself to stop. That night I stayed at the Gadsden Hotel in Douglas.

So it's a little strange that I ended up living in Bisbee for a year after leaving Amado and after a year in Kino.

In a lot of ways it was not a good year. My newfound self-confidence and joie de vivre vanished. I lived in Warren, in a warren. No wide open spaces, no grand vistas. It was a bug-infested lot without porch, patio, enticing outdoor space. I spent too much time inside my tin can writing and working. Both good things but unhealthy when it came to fitness and weight. I drank too much. Even did cocaine on a regular basis. After a year I knew I couldn't/shouldn't/wouldn't stay there and, not knowing where to go, I headed back to Kino.

All that being said, Bisbee was good to me. I needed to be there - or in the States at least - to get work. I met some truly wonderful people mostly through my friend and landlord Jack. But the best thing to come out of Bisbee was the Cochise Writers group.

I was pretty fucking scared the first time I went to the meeting at the library. I didn't know what to expect, having never been in a writing group, and when it came to sharing my own writing I was terrified. I'd had a friend or two read early drafts of my book but would I have the courage to have writers read what I'd written?

All in all, the feedback I received from members of the group was positive, helpful, encouraging. It was the spark I needed to close myself up in that tin can and write, write, write.

It's been three years since that year in Bisbee and each year (usually late summer or fall) I've returned for an extended stay. As with that up-and-down relationship, good and bad things happen to me in Bisbee. Friends die, bugs attack, my health fails. I reconnect with friends (who haven't died), listen to Terry Wolf at the Copper Queen Hotel, and once again sit in with members of the Cochise Writers group (who just started a secret blog which ain't no secret no more).

It's Saturday in Bisbee. I've spent the morning doing what I do in Bisbee - writing, working. And this afternoon I'll do what I like to do most in Bisbee - head over to hear Terry Wolf at the Copper Queen Hotel. My bug bites are about gone and I'm adjusting to the altitude. A friend has died but he wasn't from here; he was a friend from over Santa Cruz way.

Relationships are not perfect. That's a hard lesson for me as I've left so many people and places because they weren't "just right." So, Bisbee, a toast: Thanks for the good times and even the bad. As much as I say I'm never coming back, I'll probably see you again next year.

Vamanosing to Took-sohn

We caravanned north - Demo with me in Vanna, following PJ in her truck. Smooth sailing. At both checkpoints - the military/truck and the federales - they wanted to pull us over and examine the van but they knew we were with PJ and they had waved her through so out of consideration they sent us on our way too.

What did Demo and I talk about on that five-hour drive to the border? Food. All the food we were going to eat in the states. She was even looking forward to the generally uninspiring cuisine on the Big Island of Hawaii where she would be staying for two weeks. We talked Thai, Italian, Japanese, even Mexican - the kind of Mexican food us gringos are used to, dishes loaded with sour cream and peppers and tomatoes and guacamole.

We had a 45 minute wait at the border. Not too bad. Can the vendors there find any gaudier items to hawk? Those bracelets and paintings and hair clips shimmered and glowed in the afternoon sun. The guy in the wheelchair wasn't there but the blind man was so we gave him pesos. (Shoot, now that I think about it, he probably preferred U.S. money. Try to spend a peso in Nogales, Sonora...it's nearly impossible.)

And suddenly I was....home. Santa Cruz County is my heart's home. No other place has ever touched me in such a way - not even Portland, a city and people I love dearly. That stretch between Nogales and Tucson is where I belong.

Just north of Nogales we exited I-19 at Tumacacori so I could stop at the Santa Cruz Chili Factory. Then we continued on the frontage road to Tubac. A lot of restaurants close in August but Shelby's Bistro was open so we stopped there.

As with walking into the Galleria Mall in Hermosillo for Movie Monday, Demo and I once again fell into each other's arms out of sheer joy. Food! Wine! English! Poor PJ could not relate. There is nothing she likes more than caramelos and carne asadas and coctiel de camarones. And speaking Spanish. We probably embarrassed the hell out of her with our giddyness.

Salads! Pinot Grigio! For lunch we ordered a beautiful salad with gorgonzola and other fancy food doodads, a pepperoni pizza, a burger. In August, Shelby's bottles of wine are half price. We had two.

The beauty of living simply is that the simple things - friends, food, wine - carry more beauty than we realize. Or appreciate. Go without Barilla farfale pasta for ten months and suddenly those bow tie pastas are the most treasured items in the world.

It ended up being a long day. It was after 8:00 when Demo boarded the shuttle for Phoenix. I went in search of a hotel, found a mid-range place with a very nice bartender and a very lovely pool.

Now I'm in Bisbee. I have friends here but this town is not my town. I'm already looking forward to being back in Kino. And figuring out how I can make my home - even part-time - in Santa Cruz County Arizona.

Maria and the Mariachis

I had a lot to do to get ready for my month-long stay in Bisbee. Not just packing clothes and computer but cleaning the porch and putting as much into the bodega as I could - grill, chairs, hammock, beading supplies - anything that would tempt a thief. Sunday morning the heat was stifling but I worked nonstop. My face was flaming red and occasionally I'd drench myself with water from the hose which fluctuated between hot and warm, never reaching the cool state. Around noon I walked over to say good-bye to PJ and that's when I ran into Maria. So much for best-laid plans. PJ decided to postpone her drive to Tucson for another day and I figured I could finish packing Monday morning.

Maria's whole family was partying and picnicking under the palapas - her sons and their wives and kids, her daughter, her husband, and Antonio who we thought was a son but who works for her and is like family. As PJ and I walked over to join the family we heard a drumming sound. When the palapa came into view, there they were: the mariachis from Hermosillo who play at restaurants along the beach in New Kino, hired by familia de Maria to play ten songs.

We were greeted by hugs from family and mariachis alike, handed nice cold Bud Lites. (Yes, Bud Lites.)

The mariachis were in top form. The bass player was new - Ramon, a tall thin gray-haired man who flirted with Maria and during his solos he turned the bass and rode it as though it was a horse. Manuel, the handsome guitarist, sang songs to Antonietta and Pamela. Maria danced sexy - sometimes with the palapa pole. Antonio expressed his love - over and over and over - for me and PJ. His wife just rolled her eyes. More Bud Lites!! It was hot but there was a breeze. Sons, daughters-in-law, grandkids played in the surf. We danced. And danced. And drank more Bud Lites.

In my four years at Islandia this is the first time I've seen mariachis here. Things changed this summer. Every weekend the park is packed with families on holiday from Hermosillo, Juarez, other towns in the states of Sonora and Chihuahua. All the casitas are rented. Some Mexican families even have RV's, a very new trend. Yes, it's hot in Kino but not as hot as big cities and there's always the sea. Families jump in the water early in the day, then around noon the grills fire up for lunch followed by siestas then back in the water. Wet clothes are draped over the barbed wire fence atop the seawall. Music blares from boom boxes or car stereos. This is one of Kino's many faces that I love.

Dancing, flirting, drinking. How many Bud Lites did I down during those ten songs?

After the songs were sung the mariachis packed up and headed to New Kino. The family began preparing for the ride home. The kids were showered and then dressed in fancy clothes. It was the birthday of one of the little girls. The whole family was going out to eat - probably at Pargo Rojo - before making the drive to Hermosillo. Antonio's wife asked if I had bags for trash. Now, I always bristle at stereotypes but it is true that many of the families leave trash all over the place. Manny told me he will point out the trashcan just a few feet away and they'll basically tell him to go fuck himself. But Maria's family picked up all the Styrofoam cups and plates, the plastic juice bottles. The beer cans were separated out and just as we had them all bagged Tio - the old guy who walks the beach looking for cans - showed up and we filled his gunny sack.

I really love Maria and her family. But, man, can that woman curse! She calls her grandkids "pendejitos" (basically little fuckers) and she came up with a new description for Antonio: cochina sin huevos (a pig without balls). She got a kick out of teaching me that one. Maybe some day PJ and I will visit them in Hermosillo. We will certainly see them again in Kino.

What a wonderful last day in Kino before beginning my 30-day stay in the states. It was worth the frantic Monday morning packing - with a hangover.

This funny little fishing village isn't to everyone's liking. But on a day like that - a day with Maria and the mariachis - even the most jaded would fall in love with Kino.

Doing Good at Attracting Bad

It wasn't even as long as a thought. More like a palmetto bug tickled my brain with an antenna then scurried away, the image was that brief. I want the flu. No one wants the flu. What I wanted was an excuse to stay in bed all day and eat fudge (the thing I crave when I'm really sick). I wanted to take NyQuil and get that funny feeling along my scalp. I even thought I liked that tingly achy feeling.

I knew as soon as that mini-thought flashed in my mini-brain I'd get sick and sure enough, the next day at noon it hit. That achy feeling started in my fingers, my toes and then wham! all through my body. I was pretty much confined to bed and bathroom (thank god they're in such close proximity). I had no fudge, no NyQuil and my body hurt more than I remembered it would. I was too hot, too cold. Having the flu sucked.

That is how the Law of Attraction works for me. I usually get what I want but with some glitch. Years ago when I first moved to the Oregon Coast I drove down a tiny dead-end street on the cliff overlooking the Pacific. One of those fleeting image thingies: I'd like to live here. Then not too long after that I was lying in bed and I thought I'd like a lover who shows up for a few hours then leaves. Guess what I got? The longest on-again/off-again relationship of my life with the most non-committal man who lived on that tiny dead-end street.

A few years back I put images of things I want to manifest in a box then put the box away. I wanted an adobe house and a published book and a man with a cowboy hat. The only thing to materialize (so far) was the man and he happened to have a meth addiction which made him schizophrenic and therefore not very good boyfriend material.

Maybe, just maybe, life-changing events take longer to materialize. It took almost twenty years for me to finally go off and experience life in the desert, a craving that was sparked in 1987 with the movie "Bagdad Cafe." It was a desire I carried but it wasn't in the forefront of my thoughts. More like it was tucked away in some back pocket and then when the time was right my desert script was resurrected and there I was living out that desire.

But I also have conflicting feelings about this whole Law of Attraction thing. It seems not to be readily available to people living in third world countries. And I have a problem with the idea that you may have caused your own cancer or somehow wanted that head-on collision. On the other hand I do believe if you change your thoughts toward a positive direction, your life will follow. Attitude is one thing I know we have control over, the one thing we have power to change.

I finally made it to the computer and sent Manny a message. His pattern is to finish work, shower, log on to Facebook. When he showed up I sent him to Flo's with a note asking if she had NyQuil. She didn't but she hopped in her quad and drove to the farmacia for Tabcin Noche. Manny filled my water pitcher, locked the bodega because with you-know-who out of rehab and back on drugs I can't leave a key in the bodega door.

The worst was over within 24 hours. When I got the flu I said okay, guys, thanks for this but it's gonna be the 24-hour variety, okay? And it was.

Hurricane Season

The morning is overcast but I doubt it will rain. If it does, it'll be a test for Vanna's newly-painted roof. There are lots of Ford Econoline vans here and they all have rusted roofs. I wonder why. Why the top? Anyway, El Vikingo ended up doing a pretty good job. The first day he sanded through the metal and that night it rained even though it never rains here. It was a message from the gods: make him stop. I was going to fire El Vikingo but then he got expert advice from The Welder who told him not to sand so hard. El Vikingo took Vanna to The Welder's shop where he fiberglassed the bad spots, bondo'ed everything else and then applied rubber paint - the kind used on the top of mobile homes - only this is a dark blue and not white. Although a different blue than the rest of the van, I like the color.

So if it rains today, I'll find out if the roof still leaks. If it doesn't rain, the roof will get tested when I'm up in Arizona. Hopefully.

Last night the town got sprayed for mosquitoes. This morning they're worse than ever. It's hurricane season.

This part of the Sea of Cortez does not normally take direct hits from hurricanes. The last hurricane to slam Kino was Lester in 1992. When I first got here I remember the shell and sausage lady telling me that she stocked her shell shop from Hurricane Lester (not the sausages). The other night a man talked about living in a house on the beach when Lester hit. He described how frightening it was. He said it was too dangerous to leave the house because of all the cement blocks and roofing materials flying through the air so they had to stay indoors and pray the house could withstand the crashing waves.

Now he lives at this end of the beach. I told him that after Hurricane Henriette I found the best shells in front of his house. Some were painted blue. After his house got swamped by humongous waves he threw out shells he'd  collected over the years. Some he let local kids paint blue.

Even though hurricanes don't normally come this far up the Gulf of California, we do often feel their impact.

Islandia seen from the water. Notice the sea wall, the people at the top of the stairs.

This from Henriette in 2007. Huge sea swells and surges send waves over sea walls, up the boat ramp, flooding homes on the beach and a few blocks into town. Fishermen pull their pangas a safe distance from the water. The whole town becomes a flooded, muddy mess. The beach turns into a cornucopia of scallops and clams. Before dawn people are out with flashlights and gunny sacks gathering all manner of scallops and clams including chocolate clams which are generally agreed to be the best.

Waves crash over the wall, even over the palapas.

The sea reaches the top of the stairs..

...and comes crashing through.

Water surges up the boat ramp and into the park.

Islandia after the storm.

It's hurricane season. I should replace that flat tire on the trailer so I can pull her out of Kino should a Lester show up. Should a hurricane hit, I won't be here - I'll be in Arizona - so new tire or not, the Airstream won't get towed anywhere. With enough warning I could come back and get her, my home, the only thing in the world I own besides Vanna and her newly painted roof.

A headline like this...

...will send me on a rant.

Mo Brooks, R-Alabama, "will do anything short of shooting them" to keep illegal immigrants out of the United States.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/07/13/mo-brooks-illegal-immigrants_n_897210.html

I'm waiting for El Vikingo to show up. He's been working on the roof of my van which is a real bitch because there are areas where it has rusted through. The Viking is not an expert body worker and he made that known from the get go. So what he did was take my van to the welder's shop and there he got some pretty good advice and the use of the welder's tools. In this mosquito-infested heat he's labored away for 100 to 150 pesos a day. That's 8 to 12 bucks. A DAY.

The Viking needs a cell phone and a car so he can do this work. Gasoline is around $3 a gallon. He drives a Volkswagen which is economical. (I wish I had that Volkswagen. The front passenger seat is gone which allows whoever is in the back seat to stretch out their legs, like cabs in Mexico City. And he's glued fur to the dash - a real Viking!).  At his house he pays for electricity, water, propane. Food isn't all that cheap unless you're living on tortillas and beans or eating at a taco stand. Some tools are less expensive here but most are more. And don't even think about buying electronics which is why so many people ask us to bring TVs, laptops and MP3 players from the States.

The Americans and Canadians go positively apeshit if you pay more than 150 pesos a day or if you leave a good tip at a restaurant. "You'll spoil them," they say which is condescending in itself but what they're really saying is "you'll spoil it for us." They'll lose their cheap labor pool.

Yes, the cost of living is less here compared to the U.S. but could you live on 10 to 15 dollars a day?

Back to that quote. These are PEOPLE crossing the border - not illegals. They risk everything and now they have to face murderous drug smugglers. They are not taking away jobs unless you're willing to work picking fruit or as a day laborer or fast food worker. I imagine my old database manager job would be safe and that IT programmer's...oh wait, his job is being done by someone from Pakistan. And damn, most transcription work's been outsourced to India or the Philippines. Why aren't we more pissed off about that??

So Rep. Brooks needs to get his head out of his ass. People in positions of power need to be careful about the words they use. Haven't we seen enough of what putting someone in the crosshairs will do?

Guapo (Handsome)

We went to the Gravel Pit for lunch although it was early, just before 11. First we stopped at the Super-T and bought a bottle of white wine, unchilled. At the restaurant we asked the waitress for glasses with ice. She brought out shrimp cocktail glasses, the kind they put malted milkshakes in in the U.S., loaded with ice. We uncorked the wine and filled 'em up.

The Mexican food items on the menu wouldn't be available till one o'clock (I don't quite understand why it's so difficult to get comida mexicana in this town) but the waitress did say we could have chile rellenos or quesadillas. We ordered the rellenos because I'd told my friend how good they are here. The sauce is spicy and the cheese inside the chiles actually melts rather than congeals.

The flies were a nuisance but the rellenos lived up to their reputation. We refilled our shrimp cocktail glasses with more wine, more ice. We talked with the Coca-Cola delivery man - or pretended to converse, understanding every other word but it was enough to get the gist.

We talked about our lives, men, sex. It'd been a long time since I talked sex with someone - almost as long since I had sex. Most women I know here are married. They don't want to talk about their sex lives and I don't want to hear about them. So it was a treat getting to talk raunchy sex with a single woman. We didn't hold back. We poured the last of the sauvignon blanc.

That's when we noticed the man sitting at a table along the wall, facing us. We'd just had a discussion about what kind of facial hair we like and don't like and he fit the bill with a nicely-trimmed goatee. Both of us agreed he was one of the most handsome men we'd ever seen. Every time I glanced his way, he seemed to be looking at us. "Oh-oh, do you think he understands English?"

We paid the bill and headed for the van. "Is he looking at us? I can't tell," I asked and my friend said yes. I started up the van, we rolled down the windows and waved to the handsome man as we pulled away. He smiled and waved back.

We made note of his vehicle.

I dropped my friend off at her place then stopped at La Palapa for a small margarita. I wasn't ready to return to my closed-up trailer - closed up to keep the cool AC air in and the mosquitoes out. There were quite a few families at La Palapa even though it was mid-week. The kids are out of school, the families are vacationing in Kino. I watched the vendors strolling between palapas, the banana boat flinging off the riders. Xavier the musician gave me a key chain - a painted shell with Kino on it - because the colors matched my shirt.

I think about the handsome man. If I had a man to play with - nothing serious mind you - I'd probably be happy to make a commitment to staying here. I'd build a palapa over my trailer, enclose the porch, make this my home. At least for a while. After all, everything is temporary, at least in my life.

After buying tortillas I visit with a friend. I tell him I'd probably stop thinking about leaving if I had a boyfriend, a cowboy who likes to dance. There's this man he's been wanting to fix me up with, a man from Hermosillo who has a home here, a man who only speaks a little English. I take a deep breath and say okay, let's do it.

Sounds Like Rain

Apparently that last post, the Buddy Guy post, was some sort of rain dance because it rained here in the land of "it almost never rains here."

Somewhere around midnight I woke to turn off the AC because the trailer was freezing-ass cold. I turned on the floor fan, keeping the windows closed because I knew it was still hot and humid outdoors. I crawled back into bed and heard the pat pat pat of raindrops on the trailer roof. You know how sometimes you'll wake in the morning and go outside and the patio is wet and you'll think hm, it must've rained last night? Well living in an aluminum house there's never any guessing about did it or didn't it rain. Even one drop of rain causes a reverberating ping on the roof of the trailer.

I laid in bed expecting the rain to end but it didn't. I fell asleep but woke a little later just to check. It was still raining! It rained all night. Not Arizona raging monsoon nor Portland steady downpour, just a sweet two-step on the trailer roof.

It rained enough that there's a puddle on my trailer floor from where the roof leaks around the Fantastic vent. Small price to pay for a cloudy Oregon day on the Sea of Cortez.