Flurry of Visits

From letter dated March 24, 1980

My cousins Helen Anne de Geus and Jo Lee came from Saginaw to visit. As you would guess, we had a perfectly marvelous time. Helen Anne and Jo were delightful house guests and we kept a fast pace.

I had a cocktail party for them fairly soon after they arrived, to introduce them to my friends. Then there were coffee mornings and tea afternoons and two more cocktail parties to which we all were invited. I offered them a chance to get out of the parties, but they insisted that they knew people by this time and were enjoying them.

Alex took us out to St. George’s Caye one Sunday, with a short detour out beyond the reef to show them the glorious color “on the blue.” Helen Anne, who was sitting in the front seat turned around in terrified amusement at the mountainous waves…actually a modest swell…and Alex put us back inside the reef quickly. Being used to one- or two-foot waves at Higgins Lake, she was not pleased to see what looked like the entire windshield fill with blue water as the swells moved toward the boat. We were riding smoothly over them, but they were a little startling.

We drove inland to San Ignacio, where there now is a charming little hotel. The rooms are rather bare but clean and comfortable, each with a private balcony. After lunch we drove across the Western border…the only formality was having our names entered in a register at Belize Immigration; the Guatemalans simply waved us ahead with a friendly greeting.

Melchor de Mencos is a drab, dusty little border town, but at least it is a foreign country. We went through all the shops in town and Helen Anne and Jo stocked up on bolsas, string bags of various styles and sizes. Back in their Saginaw shop, they are now selling the bags filled with a bottle of wine, loaf of French bread, etc. We all were astounded at my success in arguing the merchants into giving discounts; I think I took them by surprise. My Spanish only saved about US$1.80 in all, but I was terribly pleased with what I had accomplished.

Back at the hotel in San Ignacio, we had our private cocktail hour in the dusk on one of our balconies overlooking the hills then went in to a surprisingly good family-style dinner.

The next day we left early in the morning and I detoured down the Hummingbird Highway so that they could see some jungle scenery. We went back to the dismal capital, Belmopan, which is looking even more depressed with age. I covered myself with glory and blood by tripping down a three-inch step in the shopping plaza, a frequent error of trifocals. Tore two holes in my leg…which would heal…and one in my new surgical stockings…which wouldn’t. I limped over to the snack shop, which fortunately had a restroom. Cleaned up and stuffed my stocking with Kleenex to soak up the blood.

My leg took weeks to heal since I had to use bandages longer than usual because of my stockings. Ultimately, after putting it off as long as I could, I darned the stocking, not beautifully, but better than I had expected.

One Sunday we flew up to San Pedro on Ambergris Caye, which adjoins Mexico, and spent the day at one of the tourist lodges. We rented one of their cabañas, a charming thatched hut, so that we would have somewhere to change and shower. Spent the day in and out of the sea and sitting in the semi-shade of coconut trees enjoying sun, sea, and sand. I was pretty careful about staying dressed except when I was actually swimming, and used plenty of suntan cream since I no longer am supposed to be in the sun at all. The lodge served quite a decent lunch and we had a lovely day of it.

It was hard seeing them leave. I loved every minute of it, of course. I still am just delighted that they took it in their heads to come down to visit me.

 

I just had recovered from our rather busy schedule during Helen Anne and Jo’s visit when I found out what happens to good little girls who go to church regularly. They are “invited” to keep one of the visiting clergy in town for the installation and enthronement of our new bishop. It was a request that I simply could not turn down. More clerics than expected were arriving and some of their promised hosts had let them down. However, I considered it highly improper for them to have asked a widow to take in a strange man, and Mother’s and Grandma’s ghosts perched on my shoulder the entire time.

I could not have been luckier. Canon Gordon of Jamaica, was an attractive, intelligent man and the most considerate of house guests. I had a lot of chauffeuring to do, which was no problem; at social gatherings he did not want me hovering but wanted to be off among his friends from various islands, whom he saw rarely; at home he took advantage of his leisure to take naps whenever he could. During the weekend we managed some delightful visits and I thoroughly enjoyed our conversations.

I picked him up at the airport at 8:00 on a Saturday morning…some of the visiting bishops had started arriving on Thursday, so I was lucky. Since I had to leave the house at 7:30 and since my day is ruined without leisure for several cups of coffee and my Miami Herald, I had set the alarm for 5:00.

Sunday, I assumed, we would not have to get up early. Guess again. Canon Gordon was asked to read the Gospel at the 7:00 am service at the Cathedral. So I set my alarm for 4:30 to give myself time for my morning indulgence.

I assumed it would be the short communion service, but they have changed that in the years since I attended and it was the full-dress business with choir, chanting of the service (which I hate), and a packed congregation. Four visiting bishops and the Canon participated in the service. I can manage the short communion service (which I go to on Tuesday mornings), but an hour and a half of cramped sitting and kneeling was too much for my leg. Furthermore, my disposition suffered from the atrocious hymns and vile singing. I quite agree with Bucher that Anglican “music” is unspeakable. (I remember so well the beautiful singing in my sister Mary’s Methodist church when I visited her in Toledo, Ohio, last September.)

There was a lovely luncheon for the visiting clerics and their hosts that noontime and later in the afternoon I drove the Canon back to the Cathedral for the Installation. I did not attend, ostensibly because of my leg, but I would have dreamed up another excuse if that one had not been available. I knew it would be long, crowded, and hot. But I understand it was a beautiful and touching service. The new bishop is a tiny man, possibly only five feet tall, a Jamaican, and very pleasant personally. He is very well liked, according to Canon Gordon, and comes with a fine reputation as an administrator. We have been without a bishop since a year ago December when ours was killed tragically in a car accident.

I came back to the house and listened to the service on the radio, following with the printed pamphlet that the Chancellor of the Diocese had given me in sincere regret for the fact that I would not be able to attend the service due to my disability. I passed up the reception following and arranged for friends to bring the Canon back to the house afterwards.

So could we sleep in Monday? Not at all. He was to be picked up at 7:00 am to drive to Belmopan for the morning and be back in time to go to lunch with the new bishop. So 4:30 saw me drinking coffee and 6:30 saw me fixing an unaccustomed man-size breakfast. They came for the Canon at 9:00, after the two of us had spent an uneasy two hours assuming that he had been forgotten.

He left on the late afternoon plane Monday. The week-end was a little hectic, but I loved knowing the Canon and found him most congenial.

 

I recovered from the Canon’s visit and a couple of weeks later, seven minutes before my bridge group was due to arrive, I had a call from a Dr. Chang, a friend of one of Carli’s friends. Carli had written that Dr. Chang, a professor of anthropology at University of California at Davis, and his son, who just had graduated in anthropology, were traveling through Guatemala, Mexico, and Belize and might call.

He said that they were at the bus station (translation: wide spot in the road) and I wailed that I had guests arriving momentarily and could not go get them. He protested that they were quite all right on their own. I asked if they needed the name of an hotel…established that they did not want one of the expensive ones…and on an inspiration helped by the yellow pages sent them to the “Golden Dragon,” a centrally located, decent, clean place that we often have used for seamen, with one of the best restaurants in town. I arranged to pick them up at six to bring them back for a drink.

We had a delightful evening. He is Korean, not Chinese as I had assumed, and the boy was a fine-looking bright young man. Dr. Chang grew up in Manchuria (and had words to say about what the Russians really are like). They returned to Korea and his mother was killed in a bombardment when their house took two direct hits. He and his father came to California, where he was educated. He is a fascinating person and it was most interesting talking to him.

I had them for dinner the next mid-day then gave them the guided tour of Belize City (not a lengthy project). They left early the next morning.

 

I had the most wonderful and touching surprise last week. Carli sent me an airline ticket to meet her in New Orleans late in April. She has to be there to give a demonstration of her project at a medical convention and had suggested that I meet her. I really had not thought about it since I did not want to intrude on her trip. To have her do this was absolutely thrilling. I have never felt more “wanted.” She has set the time so that I will arrive after she is through with her part, on a Wednesday, and we both will leave on the Sunday. It is hard to accept a gift of this sort, but as I’m sure you realize, I have to because it is something she wanted to do. You can imagine how thrilled I am.