Getting Along

May 2008

Tuesday morning my favorite taxi driver, Mr. Bailey, drove me to church. As it happened, the Bishop took the service. He is a delightful man. Interestingly, Phillip Wright is the Anglican Bishop and his cousin, whose name I can’t think of, is the Catholic Bishop. After the service Mr. Bailey took me to Save-U for some quick pick-up shopping. Then I had the afternoon to rest.

 

I already had told Ann Crump that I would not plan to play bridge Wednesday afternoon. That morning, a delightful young man arrived from the Social Security Board to audit my account. This happens every few years. To my embarrassed delight, he found that I had paid December twice.

Apparently I paid it the very beginning of January. Then in my dizziness, I made out another form for December, found it just as I was leaving to see doctors in the U.S., and asked Alex to take it in when he got back to Belize, after flying with me to Houston.

The credit note covering the extra payment, plus interest charged for the alleged late payment, covered all of my April return plus some of the May return. I gave the man a check for the balance of May and am paid up until the June return comes due in early July.

 

Weekend coming. For once, I can use the rest. Next week should be a lot quieter than this one. However, I think it is good for me to get out and see people as long as I don’t have a physical backlash.

I am living for the day when I can drive again. I mentioned the approaching possibility recently on a day when I felt especially level. Alex gasped in horror: “You might kill someone!”

June 2008

I still have The Dizzies, though much reduced. The problem is that any untoward activity leaves me dizzier and exhausted. For example, Saturday I was on my feet for about 2-1/2 hours doing this-and-that. When I finished, it was all I could do to get to my bed. I felt wretched until evening when, to my delight, I suddenly was back to what passes for normal these days.

The only activities I am continuing at this time are our old bridge foursome on Mondays—if, occasionally, four of us are in residence, church Tuesday mornings, and Annie’s for my hair appointment on Thursdays. I still have not returned to the Wednesday bridge.

I have learned the hard way that I have to move around enough to rebuild my strength gradually without exhausting myself. Not easy to calibrate. This is lasting longer than I hoped or expected.

July 2008

Today we received nine issues of weekly TIME Magazine. They spanned a three-month period. Where an issue was missing, we assume it arrived on schedule by its little lonely self during that period.

My fury is compounded by an accompanying letter from the company advising me that my subscription expires on the 4th of August and reminding me that they have been successful in keeping the subscription rate low by their splendid low-cost shipping.

In the same mail, I received my latest American Express statement showing that TIME had taken it on themselves to enter a resubscription for me at a time when I intended to write a hot letter to everyone from the CEO down.

In the glorious, distant past we received the U.S. version of TIME regularly. Then the company transferred its Belize subscribers to the Latin American edition. We weren’t pleased, but lived with it for several years. Then we found ourselves transferred to Amsterdam and the European edition. I don’t mind, but Alex hates it.

I began getting gracious notes from the Amsterdam bureau asking if I were satisfied with delivery. I wasn’t and told them so—again…and again…and again. Instead of improving, weeks of two or three issues at a time, interspersed with the occasional single week bringing its very own issue, went to four or five issues at a time. Today’s nine is the ultimate.

I shall write the sort of furious letter an Edwardian gentlewoman might write, describe the horrors they have inflicted on us in the name of weekly news, and ask that they instantly cancel my new subscription and issue a credit through American Express.

Considering the quiet life I am leading, that’s a lot of excitement for one day.

 

I have decided to see Dr. Smith, the orthopedic surgeon here—letting him know that because of Medicare, my major medical needs must be met in the U.S. I want a new X-ray of the hip that I then can forward to my doctor at Stanford.

 

I just have returned from a delightful visit with Dr. Smith. He say that my X-rays show increased deterioration of the right hip ball-and-socket joint. Distance between the two has virtually disappeared so that bone is rubbing on bone. (I suspected as much.) There has been more deterioration of the ball part of the joint and the beginnings of what they call cysts. These will lead to gradual deformity of the joint which would be an extra complication.

Dr. Smith says that the hip needs surgery, the sooner the better, both to avoid further damage and to stop the pain I am experiencing so that I can begin rebuilding my strength and get back to a normal life.

August 2008

While he was driving me to Annie’s this morning, Alex said that he and María suggested that, if I liked, I invite friends for our Sunday barbecue. When I returned from my marketing spree, I called Jill Bell to invite Mick and her for this Sunday. She was absolutely delighted.

Jill has been most attentive during my recuperation so I am happy to be able to do something for her. Alex and María know the Bells. Jill always is funny and entertaining. Mick is a marine engineer (South African) and Alex hired him regularly when we had to have ships inspected. They are old friends with a lot of interests in common. I think the barbecue will be pleasant for all of us. Naturally, I am touched at Alex and María’s thoughtfulness.

The awful thing, however, is that when Alex made his suggestion I realized that I have almost no close friends left. Jill and Ann Crump and Jimmy are the closest. All of my other close friends have either moved away or died. It was a chilly feeling. Not that I intend to waste time worrying about it.

December 2008, Christmas Letter to Family and Friends

Good old 2008—

The first six months I was very sick with severe dizziness. I flew to California and stayed with Carli and Tom while the Stanford doctors failed to identify a cause. I returned to Belize. Fortunately, the dizziness finally dissipated by itself.

As it did, an old hip problem reemerged, necessitating a total hip replacement. I returned to live with Carli and Tom in August, had surgery in mid-September, spent ten days in rehab, recuperated with Carli and Tom, then returned to Belize mid-December. Carli turned into an excellent nurse and therapist, and Tom was unbelievably welcoming to the mother-in-law who spent most of the year with them.

Alex and Maria held the fort at home, caring for our three dogs or, perhaps, cared for by them.

Best wishes for a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

As for me, I can’t wait for 2009.

February 2009

I am walking well after my hip replacement and even finally can walk up and down stairs normally. However, I still have not recovered lost strength and tire easily. I don’t know how much of that is from the surgery and recovery and how much is simply my age. Anyway, it is a nuisance.

 

Jill Bell came by for a visit Wednesday afternoon. If anyone ever lifted the spirits of the people around her, it’s Jill. She is effervescent. And now I’m up to date…Jill knows everything about everyone.

 

Time to think about dressing to go out for lunch with Yvonne and Vic Turnell. They are here with Vic’s son and family, so haven’t been able to get away so we could see each other. The younger generation left yesterday. Yvonne and Vic leave tomorrow.

April 2009

We had a low-key, pleasant Easter weekend. Friday was pretty much like any Saturday.

Saturday we had grandstand seats for the bike races. They end at the roundabout on Marine Parade, just before the park, so we have a perfect view of the winners. María invited Ann McKinstry and her visiting brother, Phillip, to watch with us. Alex invited us all for his famous burgers afterwards.

Around 11:00 am, the sidewalks on both sides of the boulevard began filling with onlookers, more on the seawall side, of course. Many of the women carried umbrellas as parasols against the hot sun, and the bright colors were pleasant to see. We relaxed on the veranda with beers, cameras, and conversation. There was almost constant motion on the street below us as police cars, attendant vehicles, and police motorcycles zoomed back and forth for no obvious reason except enjoying the excuse to speed unhindered.

Just before we could see the leaders, the radio announced that the Mexican rider who was ahead had lost a tire and was out of the race. His compatriot came in first. The unseated rider steadfastly wheeled his bike past us and on to the finish line. It was a surprising several minutes before other riders began appearing. All of us on both sides of the street clapped and yelled encouragement until the last straggler had passed. I’m no lover of bike races, but it was a gorgeous day, the excitement was contagious, and the company, delightful.

We adjourned to María’s patio, where we had another beer while Alex tended his grill.

Sunday I made my usual mid-morning visit downstairs. These days I especially want to spend a few minutes patting and talking to Missy. I didn’t worry about her this weekend because she had company on the patio for two of the four days.

Alex had a special Easter barbecue—grilled boneless pork loin roast that had been marinated in a wonderful concoction of sauces and seasonings, Alex’s special macaroni and cheese, and sliced tomatoes. For dessert, butter pecan cake with his favorite butter-cream frosting, a recipe and a half, of course.

Monday I made some inroads on my two-page list of things I might or might not do over the holiday.

May 2009

I’m off to California again for a checkup with my orthopedic surgeon. María and Alex will fly to Houston with me, spend the night at the airport Marriott, then continue to New Orleans, where María has a family graduation. When I leave, Carli insists on flying as far as Houston with me, spending the night at the Marriott, and seeing me safely on the plane to Belize. My children don’t think I can travel alone, which is sheer nonsense.

October 2009

Thursday is my favorite stay-at-home day; we have three to six cruise ships. The traffic of tour buses, vans, taxis, horse carriages through our twisting, narrow streets is horrendous. I have no desire at all to go out in it. It is rather restful to have a mandatory day at home. I catch up on some of the items on my To-Do List.

November 2009

You don’t need to know all the things that have gone wrong in the past few days. Take it from me that the world is not treating me nicely. Most of it didn’t matter and was settled quickly.

And then came Sunday. Alex asked me where in the world I had been to get the front of my car, as high up as the radiator, covered with mud. I didn’t have a clue except to say that Friday, both leaving the post office and when I took the back road home from Brodie’s, there were some deep, muddy pot holes.

At this time Elmer was washing the cars. A short time later, Alex came back to me to exclaim, “Did you know you had lost your front license plate!”

I knew what must have happened. When I was out on Friday, I parked in the messy lot behind the post office so I could check our post office box. I hit a concrete block as I was easing into an empty space. Short as I am, I could not see it as I was moving forward. I felt a lurch as I eased away from the damned thing. Obviously the block managed to snag my license and tear it loose. Thank goodness for the mud on the front of the car. It probably masked my lack of a front license plate. No unwelcome police officers accosted me for the rest of the morning.

Early Monday I went back to see if, by any chance, I could find my license plate in the dirt and leaves. Answer: no. I talked to the guard, who has become something of a friend through my frequent calls at our P.O. box, which is close to the gate into the back lot. He said that a man who works in the building the other side of the fence keeps that block in what he considers his private parking space. I had the impression that this was not the first time someone had trouble with the block.

I thought straightening out the license thing would be a real hassle. In the past, licensing the car has involved stops at two different locations and waiting in three separate lines. Endless. I had learned that one trick is to go to the Traffic Department directly after lunch, before the crowd arrives. Now, too, they are computerized. It took me a full ten minutes to turn in a letter explaining the loss so it could be put on the warning list of licenses used for stolen cars being exported, turn in the remaining back plate, pay the hefty charge of $15, and walk out with a pristine new set of car license plates and a new car registration.

I am enormously relieved to have this taken care of and amazed that it could be done so easily and quickly. Alex will put the plates back on today or tomorrow, and I will be able to go to Annie’s as usual on Friday, the next non-cruise-ship day.

April 2010

Our Easter holiday began at noon today (Maundy Thursday). After lunch, I settled back to finish my half a glass of iced coffee and to read on further in a pleasant, light book I am enjoying.

Tomorrow (Good Friday) Annie will be off on an Easter vacation so I will do my own hair for the first time in three or four years. Maybe longer. I can’t finish it well, but it will have to do.

The Holy Saturday Classic Bike Race finishes at the end of our block, opposite Memorial Park. For the third year in a row Alex and María have invited Ann McKinstry to join us to watch the end of the race from my veranda. Elmer will be with us too, of course. My back refrigerator is bulging with beer to lubricate throats hoarse from yelling encouragement to finishers.

Easter Sunday Alex will grill a ham for a patio lunch, and I will contribute my fine macaroni-and-cheese with Gorgonzola topping. Alex is not sure what he will have for dessert. He is waffling between Boston Cream Pie, which he has been eager to try, or Pound Cake with ice cream.

Earlier this week Alex asked if he could borrow a cake pan. Problem was that we couldn’t find one. Tore the kitchen apart. Then María remembered that, some years ago, I decided to clean out my pots and pans. I offered her first choice, then gave leftovers to the maids. The cake pans probably went, because I had no intention of making another layer cake. Alex was off after lunch to Mirab’s to buy himself a cake tin.

Easter Monday—no special plans. I hope I will mix up the dry ingredients for two or three loaves of bread. On the other hand, lassitude may take over.

May 2010

Yesterday Alex and María invited me down to their patio for a Mothers’ Day lunch. Ahead of time, Alex had asked me what I would like him to cook. Both of them were very surprised when, without pausing, I replied, “Alex’s famous hamburgers!” I have not had any for ages and was hungry for them. Alex expected something fancier and more complicated like pork tenderloins, beer-steamed chicken, or ribs.

It was a gorgeous day, warm but with a strong breeze. Alex had bathed the dogs that morning so we were joined by two half-dried canines. They don’t understand why petting them is less attractive to humans when they are wet.

Lunch was Alex’s burgers with all the fixings. María made French Fries, which she, in the British way, calls crisps. Very good. María had talked Alex into fixing my favorite-of-favorites for dessert—plain cheesecake. He does it beautifully. A piece always accompanies me home after lunch.

Elmer was with us, of course. He has been very sick recently, but apparently is feeling well now and his COPD is under control.

 

As I was getting my car out of the garage a few days ago to go my Monday-afternoon bridge game, I heard a familiar pounding on the pavement. Down the boulevard trotted a happy sorrel horse, naked of harness, bridle, or saddle, his mane floating freely in the breeze. Fortunately, the horse was going the correct way on the right side of the boulevard, and there was no traffic.

Moments later a small motorcycle roared past, the driver crouched down over the handlebars as if he were trying to push it even faster. I wondered if he were chasing the horse.

I pulled out behind the cyclist. My route followed the horse. It already was out of sight. I drove fairly slowly, not knowing if the horse might have decided to swerve over onto the grass paralleling the pavement and might dash out in front of me.

When I was close to the end of the boulevard at Eve Street and the Barracks, I saw the captured horse being quietly led by a mounted horseman, back the way he had come.

I told the story about the runaway horse to my bridge companions. They said that they had seen similar free horses wandering on St. Thomas Street. We decided that they were replacement horses for carriages, taken to the Tourism Village area to be ready for exchange for tired animals. It was the only reason we could think of why some of the carriage horses would be loose in a residential part of the city. If this were so, the carriage drivers were careless about confining the horses until they were needed.

We agreed that the situation is unhealthy and dangerous. Traffic can be heavy and, for Belize streets, fairly fast. It is almost inevitable that ultimately a car will strike, probably kill, a horse and injure passengers. Carnage. No way to win tourism medals.

 

The dogs have been with me almost full time since Friday. The wind dropped completely, and the mosquitoes arrived by the millions. I let the dogs out for relief purposes, but they show how pleased they are for shelter in the house by waiting on the back porch for me to let them in.

At night I close the dogs and me in my side of the house. The dogs have selected their nighttime spots. Raven stretches half the way across the rug in my workroom. Duchess sleeps near me alongside my bed. If I get up in the night, Duchess considers it her obligation to rouse herself and accompany me. When I return to my bed, she stretches out alongside again.

The only time the dogs get a little obstreperous is while I am fixing their breakfasts. I have no trouble making them calm down. Aside from that, they are delightful companions and good company.

There is a little breeze today. The mosquito are not bad under the house, but are swarming in the yard. Yesterday it rained all day, such fine rain it was almost a mist. Today is blazing hot and damp-feeling. The dogs have no intention of going outdoors for any but immediate reasons, and then, for the shortest possible time.

June 2010

Life limps by pleasantly with no change from week to week. We had bridge this past Monday at Betty Lindo’s house. This will be our last game for awhile. Ann Crump is off on one of her every-five-weeks trips to take John to the eye doctor in Florida, then is going on to England for Wimbledon, as she does every year. She gets home on July 8th. After that, Betty will start disappearing to St. George’s Caye regularly, as her foreign-residing children and grandchildren return for summer vacations. I enjoy our games, but don’t feel especially deprived when they are cancelled.

The large Frangipani outside my bedroom window has begun blooming. I hardly noticed as the leaves began reappearing last month. There is one blossom so far, quite a deep pink. It is on a limb close to my window, which is convenient. Last year was awful—literally three blossoms on the tree the entire season. I had the tree fertilized, and I hope that has helped.

I am feeling well. Walking is a little wobbly, but I am staying with my exercises, including the ones for balance.

July 2010

More socializing for The Elderly this week. Yvonne Turnell has been in town for a week. She still has business here, including probate of Victor’s will.

Yvonne brought her daughter Judy down with her. Judy is absolutely delightful, a bright, bubbling young woman, probably in her late forties. Yvonne took over the conversation in the beginning and filled me in on her situation—which I wanted to hear. We had a pleasant lunch at the Smokey Mermaid. Yvonne, Vic, and I always managed one lunch there together whenever they visited Belize after they moved to Louisiana.

August 2010

Sunday we celebrated María’s birthday two days early. She and Alex were supposed to spend the weekend with a niece and family in Orange Walk to celebrate two or more family birthdays, but everything was postponed because the woman who was to fix relleno for the party was sick. Alex decided to have a family party here instead, with the two of them, María’s brother Elmer, and Old Kate, in María’s green bower of a patio.

Alex was especially eager to try out his repaired grill. He had to order new parts for it recently when something vital rusted through. He sanded down everything that wasn’t replaced and repainted it with heatproof paint. It looked brand new to me.

Alex grilled his special hamburgers. And for dessert he made a cake María has been begging for for ages—Red Velvet. It was delicious, though Alex thought it a bit too sweet—so did I. It involves a white cake mix, a package of vanilla pudding mix, and of all crazy things, two entire bottles of red food coloring—the kind of bottles that provide drop-by-drop color, and three drops is one too many. Alex said their kitchen looked like a TV murder scene with red blotches on every surface.

October 2010

You may have known that after Uncle Frank’s death, Uncle Walter sent me the shoe box filled with my letters that his brother had saved all those years. I simply did not want to go through them at the time, so put the box in a safe place and forgot about it. I knew that now the time had come to go through the letters, since there would be lots of my Reports among them. To my amazement, I found that I already had done so—heaven knows how long ago—extracted a lot, and set up a binder with Reports from Sarasota and early Belize. I am rereading them now and think they are something you may be interested in seeing some day.

I threw out a lot of my earliest, fatuous Reports that really would have been of no interest to anyone but me. And there were a lot of notes, Christmas cards, and letters to both Grandma Van Brunt and Uncle Frank that I also Deep Sixed. The box is empty now. I can’t think of throwing it away after all it has been to so many people, but will put it in the cupboard with my Box Box.

Probably no one will want to read my trip reports, but I enjoy going through them.