Petport

This is my cat, Diego. After a little internet investigating, I learned that he can move to Europe with us, whenever this happens, with the help of a pet passport. He'll have to take a picture and everything, just like we do. The idea of drugging him for such a long plane ride has left me with a latent feeling of guilt, even though we don't have the jobs or home yet to even warrant buying tickets anytime very soon. But when I think of my plane ride just a couple of weeks ago, I realize that that's how a lot of people make their way over the ocean, drugged and dazed, with one eye half open and the other closed. And many people helped to compound the effects of their "medications" with the free booze on the plane. So if they can do it, I imagine little Diego can too. Under a seat. In a carrier.

When Gilligan and the Skipper Became One

He was from Spain. The patriarch, quietly avoiding responsibility for anything. His grandbabies were fussy - he looked out at the ocean. His daughters wanted pictures taken of the whole group, or maybe someone to hold the pails and shovels while diapers were changed, sunscreen applied-he was in the water.

They had a killer camera with a lens like they were doing surveillance. Sandwiches galore, almost all ham an cheese. The sisters, they were all gorgeous and loved each other.

It all made me want to be a wealthy Spanish sister for minute.

Break it up

This was a good day. It was warm. Like the day before it,the day after it, and a whole lot of days more after that, we decided what we wanted to do, and then we did it.

It was today's opposite day.

Doris and Glenn's Greenhouse - FL

Before heading to Oaxaca, we stopped in Florida for a week to visit Alex's family. Grammy and Grandaddy, also known to the many young folks who showed up as Sir and Ma'm, are a couple who grew old together, front porch and all. World War II separated them for a time before they built their first home together up in Kentucky where both had their roots. The weather there didn't agree with the health of their middle girl, and so they moved to Florida where they built another house. And when the girls were grown and the nest was empty, they moved from the city out to the country where - you guessed it - they up and built another house. It was at this last house we stayed for a pre-Christmas Christmas with all the kids, grandkids and great-grandkids. There was also a cat, Callie, and one dog, Miss Daisy, to round things out. Unlike the television and print ads you might see, Florida is not always warm and sunny, though there were many orange trees, but "not as many as there used to be". Florida, as I experienced it, was cold. Late at night, Grandaddy would head out to make sure the orchids wouldn't freeze over in the greenhouse; heat was turned on as needed.

Christmas Eve 1 (or HS Homecoming)

"They do Christmas Eve Different here, dad."

That's what I overheard Alex say while we were making our Christmas phone calls home to family in the states. More accustomed to a sit down dinner with your nearest and dearest, a church service before or after, the parade of musicians and nativity themed floats primarily starring children takes the traveler by surprise.

I call the second photo Joseph's beard.

Layover

My love affair with Oaxaca resumed in December when we got to escape the global-warming-ozone-layer-depletion-fire-the-engines cold of the bay area. Perhaps my memory is glossing over a freeze from last year, but I have no memory of so many 40 degree mornings.

I am starting this series of photos, however, with one of the last I took on our trip. On our way back from the beach, we had a 6 hour layover in Oaxaca City. While I went across the street to look at dresses, Alex guarded our bags on the steps of Santo Domingo. With beach relaxation still in his heart, he laid out in endearing fashion keeping our luggage safe and his feet up.

By the light...

This is on the way back from Bodega Bay, maybe Petaluma. Just about a full moon starting to show itself. The pictures make me remember the cool air and the smell of dried grass blowing into the car.

The more I pursue this memory, I remember how we were stuck behind the north bay's slowest drivers for forever. Lots of Prius drivers.