Odds and Ends

From file written April 6, 1993

I arrived home from the Air France Agent’s meeting in Salvador around noon on Saturday. I fixed lunch, then collapsed for a nap. The adrenalin that had kept me on top of the world through the conference ran out.

When I awoke late in the afternoon, I felt terrible. A bath helped. I was looking forward to a restful evening with my dogs and my TV when an innocent, stray thought wisped into my consciousness. “Saturday” (pleasant, low-key TV shows), “duplicate” (bridge every-other-Saturday)—still no reaction. Suddenly it registered. Duplicate tonight.

It was then almost 6:45 pm, the time Jimmy Murphy picks me up. And I was in my gown and robe. You never saw anyone dress as quickly in your life. Thank goodness, Jimmy ran slightly late. At 7:00 pm I was able to lock the doors behind me and climb into his car with an appearance of nonchalance. Of course, I ruined the impression instantly by telling him about my near faux pas. By this time, I had come back to life and was feeling marvelous. We had a good evening of bridge and think we did fairly well in the competition.

I was a little nervous when Jimmy and I first started playing together regularly, but this has turned into a delightful every-other-Saturday activity. It isn’t a “date”—it is just two comfortable friends playing the best bridge they can and enjoying it.

 

From file written June 2, 1993

Jimmy Murphy and I are doing better and better at duplicate bridge. It has taken a while for us to become comfortable with each other. We don’t have fixed rules for all occasions, like our friend and my former partner Ian.

Jimmy and I have had to learn each other’s bidding and play. I think we are doing it by instinct, rather than rule. We came in second two weeks ago. This past Saturday we scored regularly. The nice thing is that neither of us criticizes the other, we just commiserate with a laugh about errors. We are not anything close to U.S. bridge tournament caliber, but we enjoy being counted among Belize’s steady players.

 

From file written June 6, 1993

I think I told you that Betty and Al Bevis were coming for a visit finally. They arrived on May 20th. Both look surprisingly unchanged, considering that they left Belize twelve years ago. Betty’s whole body has collapsed due to the hideously painful spinal compressions of osteoporosis. Still, she is just as bright and happy as ever.

The first thing Al said when they walked into the guest room was, “Is my hat still here?” I threw wide the wardrobe door to show him that his hat was perched on the two baskets they had left behind.

“Is the open bottle of gin still there?” he then inquired.

“Certainly not,” I replied. “You left me most of your liquor closet, and I considered the gin part of it. Besides, I didn’t want it to spoil.”

 

Things worked out nicely. Betty needed a little time to rest before going up to Mountain Equestrian Trails, the lodge in the Mountain Pine Ridge run by their son Jimmy and his wife Marguerite. I had to work full time because of Alex’s being away. I offered Al my car, but he declined firmly.

They spent the days quietly, Betty reading to Al much of the time. His sight always has been poor, so they have done this for years. I was home with them midday and after 4:00 each afternoon. It made an easy visit for all of us.

…Except that I had a party for them. I thought it was the best way for them to see the people they knew when they lived here. It was a small group—attrition of The Old Guard by retirement, to other parts, and death. I did most of the cooking well ahead of their arrival. My housekeeper, Jean, and my new (superb) cook, Joyce, handled the rest. Everything considered, it may have been the easiest party I ever have had (translation: I coped with the least frenzy).

Life was not simple. First the ice maker in the new refrigerator stopped working. Then the refrigerator in the old double box froze the eggs I carefully had hard boiled ahead of time for my caviar pie. I knew it was too cold; drinks sometimes were ice. But this was too much. At the same time, the refrigerator side of the new box began losing its cold. There I sat with two large refrigerators virtually useless, with one too cold and one too hot. This was a potential disaster because the new one was crammed with party food.

I called my friend at Your Tech, the refrigeration people. I told him that it was a crisis and asked him not to send some young kid who would tear everything apart. He promised to come himself. The ice maker (6 months old) had to be replaced—burned out by our bad power. The refrigerators were a matter of adjustment.

As for the party itself, it was one of the best—low key, close friends, few enough so that Betty could sit down much of the time.

Jimmy, Marguerite, and two of their children came to get the Bevises Friday afternoon. As plans stand, they will bring them back on Wednesday. When the Bevises were making trip plans, I suggested that they return so that Betty could get a little rest before flying back to Texas.

 

From letter dated September 19, 1993

September celebrations continue, when permitted by the weather. This is a dismaying time for our Golden Labs Simba and Amber. When they aren’t terrified by nighttime fireworks, they are tormented by the drum-and-bugle corps marching past the house. The fear of drums is a new phenomenon. I learned about it Thursday late afternoon when I was trying to rest for twenty minutes in preparation for duplicate bridge that night. A little band started marching back and forth between our corner and the park. Somehow, each time they got here, they were on breaks where the drums continue cadence alone. One massive pounce and suddenly Amber was curled up next to me shivering as she tried to bury herself in pillows.

 

From file written September 25, 1993

You may remember my telling you that I was going to Palo Alto to see Carli and Tom the end of August. My visit was absolutely perfect. It was twelve days in all, and I think that is ideal. I arrived on a Thursday. Carli takes Fridays off now, so we had that day together. I had two full weekends with them, then Monday to pack and do last-minute things before leaving before dawn on the Tuesday.

Carli and Tom had family barbecues both Saturday nights so I could see both of their married children, daughter Kris and husband Derek and younger son Greg and wife Rosa. We met Tim, Tom’s oldest son, in Mountain View for dinner mid-week. He was off at college last time I was in Palo Alto, so I was especially glad to see him. They all are lovely young people, and I think that they finally are completely at ease with me.

I rented a car for a few days so I could shop by myself while Carli was working. A friend had recommended an outlet mall in Gilroy, about an hour away. I was highly successful for the most part. I never found the simple, tailored cottons I like for the office, but I found shoes and other things I need. Got a new bedspread for my room. María gently suggested it was time. I’ve had the same one since 1976, so she could be right. New bathroom rugs were the other bulky things.

Carli and Tom took Wednesday and Thursday off. On Wednesday we drove up to San Francisco to see a fabulous exhibit of artifacts from the ruins of Teotihuacán outside Mexico City. When we left that, we strolled for an hour or more through the utterly charming Japanese garden nearby.

Then we met Cathy and Chris Pfeil for dinner. Carli shared a house with Cathy at one time, and the three of them came down to Belize many years ago at the end of a trip through Mexico. I have stayed in touch with the girls through the years, and I was thrilled to have a chance to see them both again. We had an exceptionally good dinner in a Spanish/Peruvian/Mexican restaurant within walking distance of their apartment.

On Thursday, Carli and Tom took me down to Monterey to see the Aquarium. It is a superb display. I even was enchanted by the extensive displays of jelly fish, which were Tom’s favorites. We polished off the afternoon by indulging in ice cream from a small nearby shop that connoisseurs Carli and Tom said had the finest ice cream in the area. I adore ice cream but rarely have it. Anything of reasonable quality tastes superb to me.

Friday Tom invited Carli and me to a noontime annual picnic of the computer science departments of Stanford. It was a fairly small group in a grassy courtyard shaded by an enormous live oak. People who retired years ago come back every year for the event. As we arrived, Tom introduced me to an older man, portly and white-bearded, whose name I caught only as “Josh.” Tom explained that Josh was responsible for his going to Stanford, rather than pursuing his major in astrophysics.

When we got settled with our plates, Josh asked about Belize. Relaxed and friendly as he was, his questions were incisive, and it was obvious he wanted facts. I realized I was dealing with a super-intellect from the way he talked, and it rather rattled me, though I don’t think it showed. Fortunately, Belize is one subject I know and can discuss any way it’s required. Josh and I visited back and forth several times during the picnic. It was only after we left that Carli asked me if I realized that Josh was Joshua Lederberg, the Nobel Laureate.

That afternoon Carli, Tom, and I went to a movie. It was the first I have seen since my last visit with them about seven years ago. I was sure the giants were going to leap off the screen into my lap. I’m used to the less intrusive picture on my TV. Anyway, the picture was delightful. It won’t win any prizes, but it was good entertainment, funny and touching, with some excellent acting.

I think I have hit the high spots. The visit was delightful. Carli and Tom are so happy and compatible that it is a joy to be with them.

 

From file written September 21, 1993

Belize was affected by Tropical Depression Gert, which snaked its way up the coast of Central America. Thursday was dark and rainy. Friday was dark and rainy, ten to fifteen inches.

As usual in that old house where we have our office, the computer room was half-flooded, with water flowing in around the windows, and seeping under the door to pool under Alex’s desk. Rain that was blowing through cracks in the aged siding “rained” through the ceiling in the back and the bathroom. A trip to the latter was like walking into a shower. By 11:30, I said, “Enough!” Rubber boots and an umbrella indoors are untenable.

Alex made a sign on his computer: “Flooded Out—We will reopen Monday morning,” with a picture of a bottle floating in the sea (the most appropriate illustration he could find in his program).

 

From file written October 11, 1993

Recently the evening news on a local TV station reported a robbery at a notorious “club” out near the airport and British Army camp. “Raúl’s Rose Garden” has blossomed in recent years from a small shack to a substantial bistro.

Apparently three gunmen, their faces disguised by stockings, entered the club in the early hours of the morning. They took something like $30,000 from the cash register, then proceeded to strip guests of jewelry and wallets.

The solemn-faced young woman who was reading the news continued with the story:

“Raúl’s Rose Garden is a brothel, which is illegal in Belize. However, the Government and British Army arranged to let it operate. The Army said their soldiers needed a controlled place to enjoy the company of ladies.

“The gunmen herded British soldiers and their companions out onto the back lawn in various stages of undress. There they robbed them of money and jewelry. It was one time the British Army was caught literally with its pants down.”

 

From file written November 20, 1993

I think that, when I told you about my December/January trip to Mexico with my close friends Muriel and Don Stauffer, I mentioned that we were planning a return in January of ’95. Instead, we now are planning a trip to Provence in the south of France in September next year. I am absolutely ecstatic. That is the one place I have wanted to go, but after my solo tour on my last trip to France, I realized that I do not enjoy traveling by myself. When they suggested Provence, I was both amazed and thrilled. We are busy faxing back and forth about itineraries and reservations regularly. My experience with Air France has taught me that these have to be made early.

Another couple will be going with us. I will fly to France (on my agent’s discount of 75%!) a day before they do so that I can have a day with CGM. We will spend three days in Paris first. Then Don has reserved what they call a “mini bus” (to accommodate five people plus luggage). We will drive to the Loire valley to do the castle routine, then on to Provence, where we will spend most of our time. I think the whole trip will be around three weeks long.

I have three French-language cassette programs and am working daily. I hope that I will be able to muddle through by the time we get to France. My accent will always be pure mid-West, but basic sentences are becoming pleasantly familiar. I studied French for two years in high school more than half a century ago. Then, before my first trip to France, the office paid for tutoring in French because it was a business trip (and because I’m one of the bosses and the other one, Alex, agreed). I have a pleasant residue of background to build on.

To me, one of the nicest things about the trip is having a whole year to dream and plan. Even if something happens to prevent the trip, I will have lived through it over and over.

 

From file written December 19, 1993

You may remember my writing that I bought myself a new artificial Christmas tree a couple years ago. When I got it home, I was quite disappointed to see that, while it was a beautiful, full, long-needle tree, it was sort-of frosted and not the deep green I expected. Further, according to the directions, it needed special lights that I don’t like.

Last year, as you know, Muriel and Don came for Christmas. Up went the tree early in December. I found I was mellowing slightly about the frosting and the puny lights. Then one day I charged into the hardware store again on one of my pre-Christmas forays and found myself face-to-face with the tree of my dreams. It was the short-needle pine with lots of little spurs of branches like the Spruce trees we had throughout my childhood. I almost bought it on the spot, but the expense to replace such a new tree would have been ridiculous. I sighed, went home, and laughed about it at lunch with Alex and María.

When we finished opening presents that Christmas morning, María and Alex disappeared briefly, then returned with a massive box. They proudly presented it to me. Good guess; my dream tree. It was wildly extravagant of them.

So this year, I couldn’t wait for the first week-end in December so I could put up my new tree. I want you to know that it took me two-and-a-half hours to bend all the little branches out properly. After that, the tree could be assembled quickly, of course.

I had to laugh at one aspect of my new tree. It is too big for me. I have to use my sturdy kitchen step stool to string the lights around the top and put on the top ornament. You’d better believe that I am caution itself during the operation. I am not the least bit eager to fall and break all sorts of valuable bones. I found myself thinking wistfully of my sparse but easy-to-handle first tree.

Fully decorated, my new tree was gorgeous. I still didn’t like the lights. A few days later I went downstairs to María and Alex’s apartment. There stood my previous tree with “proper” lights. Alex explained that they are special ones that burn 25% cooler than the ones we used to use. At that point, I remembered that I used my old bulbs on my first artificial tree because no one told me I couldn’t. The next day I strained my charge account at one of the stores by buying eighty of the new bulbs. Yesterday my Saturday morning began with a careful replacing of all bulbs on the tree. It now graces my living room as it should, artificial though it is.

 

From letter dated December 25, 1993

This morning, Alex surprised me with something I really wanted. Utterly sybaritic. One of those massagers like the Pro Shiatsu advertised on CNN. I have just spent at least thirty minutes letting it knead every inch of my spine as I relaxed in a semi-coma. It is twice as effective as I expected.

When we finished opening presents, I had a simple breakfast of fruit and sweet rolls for María and Alex before they took off to see her parents. I called Emilie Bowen just to say Merry Christmas, and she insisted that I join her for Christmas dinner.

When I came home, I settled down on my bed with my laptop. As usual, the dog sheet was on the bed and, as usual, Amber was on the sheet. All was fine until the fire crackers started in the street under my window. Suddenly, Simba was pressed next to me, crumpling the letter from Mary that I was trying to answer. As for Amber, when she found my only available side taken by Simba, she started to climb into what ought to have been my lap but in actuality was the keyboard of my computer. I fended off her lunging body with one hand while I quickly saved, exited, unplugged, and moved the computer and little lap table to safety. Amber proceeded to walk around my pained, exposed lap several times trying to find the safest way to curl up. I spent twenty minutes semi-buried in shuddering Labs before the outdoor celebration ceased.