San Pancho Vida

The Way It Goes

Here in mostly-sunny Seattle, I am wrapping up a month of work on this old house, where we've lived for twenty-five years. Sometime in the not-too-distant future, we will pass this house on to the next family and hope they enjoy their time here as much as our family has.

Anyone who has tackled a similar job knows how much can be accumulated in a quarter century. My July was a month of clearing and cleaning, painting and patching, organizing workers and working myself. The front hall is nearly impassable, stacked with bags and boxes of miscellany for another charity pickup next week.

Drawers in bedrooms and kitchen are purged of the unused and unwanted. Closets are beginning to be less jammed. My college-guy helpers have toted numerous items out to the main street with "Free!" signs on them, where they disappear into someone's van or truck in twenty minutes or less. Their dad came and bought two rugs before I had time to put them on Craigslist.

A big old dresser is gone from the bedroom I've used as studio and sewing room. In its place are a pile of things that are Going to Mexico. Books. A favorite lamp. Art supplies. Kitchen necessities. Tools. Cherished odds and ends. I try to choose only the items I am especially fond of or can't easily replace and am constantly monitoring my decision making.

Should I bring the cookie cutters I've used to make painted Christmas cookies for over twenty years? All of them, or only some? Will I ever bake those elves and snowflakes in Mexico?

 

Maybe. Probably. I don't know...

Books are tough. I've had these shelves full of "later" books, books to read and study when I have time someday. I've filled three boxes so far, because I think someday is soon.

Seems this work is best done in layers. First, abandon the obvious stuff. Next, jettison the less obvious stuff. Eventually, you arrive at boxes of family photos, old report cards, and kindergarten drawings. The progress slows. I have to read everything, of course. I've sent off fat envelopes of photos with my sister and brother and son, and packed a few plastic boxes that could be marked, "Keep Pretty Much Forever".

Although I still have closets and drawers to attend to, a lot of stuff is gone or on its way out. It feels good. I came back from Mexico this time with the energy and commitment to get at it. I think it's easier because this life change has become more tangible as the casa there comes closer to being liveable. I have more clarity. I know better what I want...and what I don't want.

Shedding outgrown possessions and clearing clutter. What could be more symbolic of this move than that?

I've lived in this house longer than anywhere in my life. It filled. With things and people and memories. Yet, I am absolutely comfortable with letting it go. It has been a great place to live, but there are many ways to live on this planet, and this is only one of them. I'm ready for another. 

I believe that big moves are necessary -- in order to purge, in order to grow. Sometimes we choose the circumstances of change, and sometimes change happens without our permission.

In 1992, my family and I were forced by an arson fire to flee into a cold September night and watch this house burn. It didn't all burn, but a lot did. We were in a rental for a whole year, during which time I dealt with the insurance company, hired a wonderful crew to rebuild, and spent nearly every day putting our home back together again.

This house, built in 1909, was better after the fire than before. The crew was diligent in re-creating the feel of the lost parts, making the new look old. We ended up with more space, all new systems (no lead pipes, no knob-and-tube wiring, insulation!), new walls and roofs and rooms. It's strange how things happen.

We haven't had to do much to the house since then, but it's getting a sprucing-up now. My brother resurfaced the front porch. The painters left yesterday. My kitchen, which I designed and had hand-built by a friend after the fire, has had all the drawers and cabinets refinished by that very same friend. All since I've been back in Seattle...

As I prepare to return to Mexico next week, I feel fine about this month's accomplishments. Oh, there's more to do. Closets and drawers I didn't get to...

...tile and grout to fix, carpet to install.

I've started yet another list for September. 

And July was a very good month to be in Seattle. The weather turned lovely and summery, finally. My hydrangeas are all in bloom. 

It'll be hot in San Pancho in August. I mean, really hot. And humid. I hope to put in some tropical plants while I'm there, plants that I'll be as happy with as I am with these hydrangeas, which I bought as baby shoots fifteen years ago.

They grew. We all grew.

Change happens. Life would be pretty boring if it didn't. I'll tell you one thing for sure -- I'm not bored.

Hope you aren't, either.

❀    ❀    ❀

   

Log Jam

Anyone who has been lucky enough to stay at Casa de la Reyna in Bucerias or Villas del Rey in Lo de Marcos is already familiar with the many talents of Lonney and Stacey Ford. 

We met the Fords in 2005 when we joined a group of friends to stay at Casa de la Reyna, which is a beach-side bouquet of suites gathered around a peaceful pool patio.

 

I remember being enthralled by the artistic touches they had incorporated everywhere in the design and construction, and at the many paintings and sculptures by Lonney decorating the rooms and grounds. I don't remember whether the idea of doing my own construction was drifting around in my brain by then, but I know I absorbed their attention to detail and freedom from the expected.

When we first saw the beachfront property that became Villas del Rey, it was a sprawling ruin with endless potential. The Fords know what to do with potential.

As may already be obvious, to call Lonney Ford multi-talented is a gross understatement. We visited him and Stacey a few years ago at their home here in the Pacific Northwest, a log house in the forest that was designed and handbuilt by Lonney. It is as exquisite, in a northwesty way, as their two properties south of the border.

We had the opportunity to return to their home on a sunny Saturday recently, when Lonney celebrated a major birthday milestone with a garden party complete with music, pergolas, Mexican cuisine, and chests packed with iced cervezas. 

Of course, I took lots of pictures so I could share it with you.

As you know, I'm a fan of exceptional homes, so let's have a wander around the outside first.

 

In this stunning setting, Stacey created an elegant fantasy for their guests.

Peso the chihuahua was not all that happy with one of the guests.

The jam session started early, with the birthday boy on the harp.

 
With all that hot music and cold cerveza, it was time for a visit to the ladies' room. Come along, and don't close your eyes: this ladies' room is a lot more fun than you'd think.

 

I considered staying and taking a bath, but there was too much left to see.

Such as this, emerging from the wall just inside the front door.

Anyone want to watch Smokey and the Bandit?

Or, we could go into the main parlor instead and see Lonney's hand-picked and hand-crafted stone fireplace.

As I am doing with my old doors, Lonney found these windows in junk stores and salvage places and built the house around them.

Then he made this to go in front of the windows.

How creative can one person be? It hardly seems fair.

One quick peek at the stair banister, and we'll go back outside to join the party.

Let me digress for a moment to the subject of the Northwest climate. There are few places in the universe that are more glorious than this part of the world on perfect summer days. Mid-70's to low 80's, no humidity, cool at night, no bugs. The sun sets around nine o'clock, so evenings are long and gentle with tapering twilights.

That said, we have these clammy gray winters that can last from October through May. Or June. So the combination of this place in summer and Mexico for the rest of the year is a pretty darn good plan. That's why so many of us from western Washington have embraced Mexico as our Other Place. 

At this party, there were no fewer than ten of us who have adopted this way of life. It was a lovely treat to meet more people who spend seven or eight months a year in Bucerias or Lo de Marcos. In fact, to my surprise, one of my San Pancho neighbors was there!

Hi, Joe.

 

That's Linda in the pink. Her husband Doug is playing the stand-up bass. They live in Bucerias. Behind her is Elinor and Jim who will be spending some time this winter in each of Lonney and Stacey's beach havens.

 

Let me also introduce you to Rob and Jenny, who live in Lo de Marcos seven months a year. I'm looking forward to seeing them down south. They don't always look this serious.

 

And while I'm doing introductions, here is our lovely hostess.      

Not only is she a beauty herself, she's also responsible for much of the beauty you see in these photos, both inside and outside the house. 

 

If you managed to tear your eyes away from Stacey...did you see that thing in the background?? Of all the structures, creations and inventions on the property, it is my very favorite.

I keep threatening to move in.

 

It even comes with its own entertainment system.

As usual, I left Lonney and Stacey's boggled and inspired by how much there is to do in life and how many ways there are to do it.  

 

If you ever feel like feeling like that last picture, come on down to the playa. We'll see you there.

Casa de la Reyna

Villas del Rey 
 

 

 

 

A Little Help From My Friends

    What do I do when I'm so far away, does it worry me to be alone? 

     How do I feel by the end of the day, am I fretting about my new home?

     No, I get by with a little help from my friends...

 We have three guest photographers this week!

One of them is El Arqui, who mostly sends me photos so I can approve, disapprove, cheer or wail. But Jeremy and Curt sent photos out of the kindness of their hearts. Thanks to them, we actually have something to look at.

Jeremy took this shot of the front wall, which I had seen only pieces of.

It looks just fine to me. You can see the casita roof on the right, all finished. They're still working inside the casita. Let's take a look and see whether we think it will be habitable when I return in three weeks.

 

Hmm. Maybe, maybe not. They're wiring now. Carpenter Guy will put the glass in the windows and doors...soon. The trim tile still hasn't arrived for the kitchen. I do not see a toilet yet. Or a refrigerator. I wonder if the hot water heater is in? The shower is done, although I wouldn't have done the floor quite that way.

Coincidentally, just as I finished the previous paragraph, I received an email from another of my friends, Travis by name, who tells me I should quit with the overview from afar and get into what it's like to be a control freak building my dream house long-distance.

Jeez Louise, just what I need, another challenge.

Okay, then, T and friends, here's what it's like.

I got a call this morning from El A telling me that there had been a "goof" on one of the estimates and we needed a lot more onyx tile for the master tub than he'd received and that the cost was going to be around five times what he'd told me. He said he'd already...

I interrupted. I said, "Stop. Hold the phone there, partner. My okay was based on the first estimate. We're going to have to do something different." He suggested more pebbles. I said, "No pebbles in the master bathroom."

Over the course of the next hour, during which we had consultations with Lupe and Julian and three more phone calls, I redesigned the master tub and shower floor to be both aesthetically pleasing and within my budget. 

Can I describe the first moment of panic and dismay at hearing the new figure? Let's just say I'm getting used to that whap in the heart and that twist in the pit of the stomach. Almost all my recent frets have had to do with money.

I have spreadsheets. I know what money there is and what money there isn't. And I am holding the reins very tightly right now so as not to suffer those insidious cost overruns caused by final-stage additions and embellishments and surprises.

Of course, I'd be facing the same situations if I were there, too, along with the day-to-day predicaments and successes. Travis is right -- I'm a control freak. I know every inch of the place. Do I worry about things not turning out like I want them to? Sometimes.

It was good that I was there to see the installation of the infamous "beans", of which they replaced quite a few, as you know.

 

I can think of many times when I was glad to have "eyes on". The kitchen, for example, took constant monitoring. But the important part is done now and looking good. I'll be back to select light fixtures and ceiling fans and cabinet knobs to finish it.

 

Meanwhile, I have a trusted bunch of maestros doing the finish work. I don't worry that windows will leak and tiles will be crooked. Not because it doesn't happen, but because I have taken the time to know these Guys and they know me. If it's wrong when I get there, they'll do it over. I'll bet they won't have to, though. They're perfectionists with control issues, too.

Do we have any doubt that Lupe will do a perfect job on the tubs?

MV 

Do I know how much care and pride Francisco Carpenter Guy is putting into the arched windows and doors? I do.

MV
 

Do I have confidence that my conscientious arquitecto is doing a wonderful job in my absence? Well, he sent me these photos of the third attempt at the green tile before they glued it down.

He knew, as I did when I saw the photos, that they'd finally got the color right.

On the other hand, what happened to my pool cover?

Is that a rake in there? And a rock?

There are glitches. I have twinges. A lot is happening right now, and I'm not there. I'm pretty sure they're not going to leave the water tinaco in the living room.  

MV

As much as I like the looks of this thing, I'm hoping it's not built in.

And I have no idea what this blue thing is.

  MV

When I received this picture, I noticed that they're working on the main electrical panel. This is the kind of thing that can cause a control-freak to go into an uncontrollable twitch spasm. Was it enough to pore over the electrical plans a dozen times? Should it have been two dozen? Did my Spanish speaking electricians really understand the sound system specs?

This is where faith and hope enter the picture. Faith and hope and something new to me, best described as, "Oh, whatever. We live on a tiny blue planet whirling through space. How important can it be?"

More and more, I find myself choosing to go other places in my mind. Designing the garden. What a nice big palette I have to play with!

MV 

Gaping at the curved planters, picturing tropical plants spilling over. Thinking about splashing paint all over the studio in a frenzy of creative joy...and taking a dip in the pool to cool off right in the middle of a project.

 

Ironically, Travis and I have a continuing conversation that we call "being in the river." What that means is that Mexico gives us control freaks an opportunity to release our tight grasp on life and go with the flow. We have to -- it's either that, or go loco.

 

For me, this project is a lesson on control and the relinquishing thereof. It is teaching me about trust and collaboration and delegation -- all things a control freak needs badly to learn.

It is teaching me where my control is, in fact, necessary: the money issue, for example.

And it's teaching me that there are places where what looks like control is really clarity of vision: getting the colors right, or enlarging a window to envelop an unimagined view.

When I get back in early August, Denise will pick me up at the airport. Bobby Yo will let me stay at his house for a few days until the casita is really ready, so I don't have to sweat that. Jesse will have paid for the mattresses and arranged for their delivery.

Thanks to my friends, I will have plenty of time to go up and take a good look around the casa. Then I'm heading up to Panchito's Bar where Jeremy and Nicole will pour us drinks and serve us popcorn under the palapa, and we'll continue this neverending conversation about who and how we can be in México.

One thing I do know for sure is where I'm going to live.

 
The rest of it will come along, in the river.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That last photo is by Curt. The others, unless noted, are by Jeremy. Thank you! ♥   

Panchito's Bar

A Seattle Story

I'm happy to report that summer finally arrived in Seattle on July 6.

One of the local reporters coined the term "June-uary" for the previous month, and it was. Fortunately we had a little taste of summer on Saturday, July 3, when Dick and I and our very long time friends Carey and Den decided to spend a day tripping around our fair city.

This was a celebration, of sorts. Carey and Den are about to leave on their own Big Adventure, relocating -- after spending their entire lives so far here in the Northwest -- to fascinating and far-off Austin, Texas. The four of us share more memories than we can remember, and Seattle and environs has been our playground for some thirty-two years, so we chose the city for our farewell playdate. 

And, as most of you dear readers do not live in Seattle, I thought I'd take you along.

We didn't ride the Duck, but we did start at the Space Needle, the incredible goofy Jetsonish icon of Seattleites, first built for the Century 21 Exposition, the Seattle World's Fair of 1962.

 

Guess who sang "Meet Me at the Needle" on the first day of the fair? Probably an unfair question. The answer is John Raitt, Bonnie Raitt's dad.

Here's another one: guess how much an adult ticket cost to go up the Needle during the summer of 1962? One buck. Guess how much it costs now? Eighteen.

We saw lots of people in line to go up the Needle anyway, but we decided to stay on the ground, more or less, and wander around Seattle Center, the old fairgrounds which remain a favorite destination for tourists and locals alike. The Center was all abustle and abloom this Fourth of July weekend.

The city recently took out the big rides -- the Ferris wheel and the rollercoasters -- but they left behind a smaller version of the Fun Forest for the smaller critters.

 

You'll never get this one: back in 1962, guess what they named the area with all the really good space age rides (the Meteor, the Space Whirl, the Trip to Mars) that they probably would not name it in 2010?

The Gayway.

Den, who is a real photographer, doesn't mind getting down and dirty when necessary to get just the right shot.

We had to go inside next because the Center House beckoned. It used to be called the Food Circus, which is a much cooler name in my opinion. Inside are restaurants and performance areas and the Children's Museum, and lots of assorted goodies. We passed on the fudge and the hotdogs and the elephant ears.

The best hotdogs I've ever eaten were at the Century 21 Expo. They were skinny and snapped when you bit into them. I ate as many as a kid could over the course of that summer. Good thing I did, as I've never found them again, and the Food Circus doesn't have them. It still has its saltwater taffy pulling machine, though, which I believe I referred to here a couple of weeks ago.

For the holiday weekend, someone made a lovely Statue of Liberty all done in Legos.

Behind her is the entrance to the Our World at War visiting photo exhibit, which we did not even consider going to.

Outside again, we commenced people-watching, a nice effortless activity for a sunny Saturday afternoon.

 
Then we noticed a very very long line of twenty-one year olds, which ended up here. The tall guy is partly blocking a sign that says "10 Beer Tickets".

This made us decide to stop for a beer, but not in there.

Instead, we found an outside table where we could watch the line move. None of us wanted to hazard a guess as to what was happening inside the beer garden, what with a thousand youngsters and their ready ids.

Anyway, the glass they supplied you with was about four ounces. Those kids must've been in there for something besides a good deal.

One thing that is newish to the Seattle Center is the Experience Music Project and Science Fiction Museum, funded and thought of by Paul Allen, one of our favorite local bazillionaires. Paul has a great imagination and Seattle gets the benefit of many of his weird and wonderful brainstorms. EMP opened in 2000, followed by SFM in 2004. Sometimes they call it EMP/SFM, which makes my mouth hurt.

Personally, I think the building itself looks like a big pile of party clothes that the Space Needle took off and just threw on the floor like a teenager, but that's just me.

I didn't take that picture. I found it on the internet. I wanted you to see the whole thing.

I took this one, though.

We just couldn't resist that shiny pink wall.

On our way out of Seattle Center, we passed the arches of the Pacific Science Center, which is a fabulous and endlessly entertaining installation.

We didn't go in to watch the IMAX Hubble movie because it was the first sunny day in about two years. Instead, we walked to the Olympic Sculpture Park, which is operated by the Seattle Art Museum.

Sculptures are scattered all around the park's nine acres, overlooking the Seattle waterfront.

Here's Dick in front of Beverly Pepper's Persephone Unbound, modeling one of the figures he spotted in the bronze. You might be able to see it, too, if you look closely.

You can get married in the park, if you want to. 

Or you can sit in the red chairs admiring the view and taking pictures of each other. 

Once, when Dick and I were in The Other Washington (D.C.), we took a bus tour. The driver pointed out a sculpture on the grounds of the Smithsonian and said that only the people in the bus under the age of 25 could guess what it was, because everyone else would know already. I loved that sculpture and was delighted when it became a part of the Olympic Sculpure Park.

Isn't it wonderful? It's by Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen. Now here's a real easy one -- I know you'll get this one: guess who owns this sculpture and has lent it to the Seattle Art Museum for the park?

You got it! Paul Allen!

We strolled the half-block to the Seattle waterfront, where Ducks were still going by, filled with quacking tourists.

We walked past the Edgewater Inn, which is still famous among some of us for being the place where John, Paul, George and Ringo fished out of their hotel window in August of 1964 while in Seattle for their first concert here. I was there. At the concert, not in the hotel room.

All this reminiscing can make old friends thirsty, so we adjourned to a waterside table for more refreshments. 

We sat there, just like old times, drinking tequila and beer. This time, though, we took deeper breaths of the sea air and the briny aroma of torn strands of bull kelp floating in the waves. We paid closer attention to the glimmer of the sun on the water, the cries of the gulls, and the ferries slipping past on the bay.

After all, there ain't no kelp in Austin, Texas.

Dedicated with love to C. Gabrielson and D. Wilson and Maggie.

¡Buen viaje, amigos! See you in Austin and San Pancho!

  ♡    ♡    ♡

All photos with me in them are by Den Wilson.

If you plan to visit Seattle, or if you live here and haven't acted like a tourist for a while, here you go:

The Seattle Center

The Seattle Children's Museum

Experience Music Project & Science Fiction Museum

The Pacific Science Center

The Olympic Sculpture Park

What Bull Kelp Looks Like

*    *    *

Next week, maybe we'll go see if anything's going on at the casa, or maybe we'll go on a ferry ride.

Special Delivery

Thinking back, I realize I've always been fascinated by things usually immobile arriving instead right in one's own neighborhood. 

I had a huge crush on the Bookmobile, for example. While the other neighborhood children ran around engaged in frolicsome and mysterious activities, I watched for the chubby bus with the library logo on the side.

I'd spot it from my bedroom window as it pulled into our rural-suburban Midwest neighborhood, and was always waiting when the door sighed open. I remember the smells of books and the heater and my steaming snowsuit in winter. I remember the kindness of the librarian, who would often have a stack of fat fertile treasures saved for me in a secret place -- Louisa May Alcott, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Johann David Wyss, lovely three-petaled names.

Then there was the milkman in his square truck, toting metal carriers up to our doorstep, depositing his treasures in the insulated box that stayed on the front porch. Milk and half 'n' half and cottage cheese, pounds of butter. 

We had a narrow pad of special paper with his whole menu printed on it, little checkboxes beside each item. It was a sign of maturity -- and reading ability -- to be allowed to put in the numbers as our mother dictated. Later on, my sister and brother and I would get a huge kick out of sneaking the list from the box to add gallons of chocolate milk, which mom would lift from the box, rolling her eyes.

Imagine my delight, then, to have discovered a place where this fifties phenomenon lives on.

By seven each morning, the deliveries are underway up and down the little streets of the pueblo. Usually, the gas truck is first, in case anyone has fired up a stove or hot water heater and found herself fuelless in San Pancho.

You can almost always tell when a delivery truck is approaching from the catchy tune or announcement blaring from its loudspeakers. The several purveyors of propane each have their own song, some of which I will find myself humming hours later. 

This truck, which picks up (scrap metal and recycling) rather than delivers, has an especially loud speaker.

The other one that picks stuff up is the garbage truck, which shows up right on time every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.

But this is supposed to be about deliveries, not removals. Some goods are delivered twice a day: sweet buns and donuts, and ice cream. The water trucks, with their heavy bottles of Ciel or Penafiel or Bonifante, come by regularly. Other trucks show up in season with newly picked pineapples or watermelons.

The fruit and vegetable trucks come every day.

Some of them specialize. This one is the corn truck.

 Don't worry: he looks meaner than he is.

We have big modern trucks that deliver concrete...

...and big vintage buses that deliver music.

We have little bitty trucks that deliver every possible plastic doohickey, or handmade chairs made of wood.

We also have trucks that deliver various types of animals.

 

 
And we have trucks that never deliver anything whatsoever...for years.

Some of my favorite deliveries are by person instead of by vehicle. There's the empanada lady from La Peñita who arrives at the gate every few days with flaky fresh-baked pastries filled with pineapple or strawberry or vanilla cream. There's the man who stopped by selling honey, bee pollen, and various herbal cures and tonics.

But one of the very best is the tuba man. He doesn't play a giant brass horn, as you might expect. He sells tuba, which is a drink made from the sap of the coconut palm, harvested from way up in the heart below the fronds, by draining it with a tube.

He shows up every single day at the job site, carrying his gourd filled with tuba up the long hill.

He pours this delicious nectar -- light, cool, perfectly sweet, with tiny pieces of apple and pecan floating on top -- into plastic cups, and charges five pesos, which is about 40¢. It is so worth it. They tell me it's slightly fermented, but not so you'd notice.

Then he picks up his gear and heads down the hill into town to find other thirsty workers.

I have one small problem regarding these wonderful deliveries, but I have a plan to solve it.

The problem is that the casa is two blocks off the main street and up a short but steep hill that may not invite the vendors to pop on up just in case I might want something.

Here's my plan: I'll make flags in different colors (green for veggies, red for tamales, gold for empanadas) and hang them over the roof garden railing when I have a need or a craving. I'll let my favorite vendors know the code. It seems to me they'd be happy to climb the mountain if they knew they had a sure sale. What do you think? 

And if that doesn't work, I'll hike to where they are, just like with the Bookmobile. At least I won't have to put on that blasted snowsuit.

☃    ➙    ☀

Next week, we'll visit the construction again...or, if not, we'll go somewhere else.