Second Thoughts, Again

Right now, a month after our return from the latest south-of-the-border idyll, the common wisdom is that we--or at least, I--will put off retirement for a year or two. The thinking now is that we will move this coming summer to a little community just north of the city, right next to the Sound and a ferry to the Peninsula, but still convenient for me to work. It's odd how our Mexican retirement plan has been eclipsed.

The first doubt in that direction came from the emotional and political jolt of Occupy Wall Street. For us, it restored a lot of the hope we've had for years that something akin to good sense and humanity could actually come to inform our governing, and a wonder at what, together, we can become. We were inspired and invigorated to hang around here in the States for a while longer.

For me, there was also the realization that I've got a lot of invested in my work. I feel like I'm just now, after seven years, hitting my stride as a teacher, even though there are weeks, like the one just past. It was a struggle to make up for lost time from four snow days the week before. And all the time, in the back of my mind, has been anticipation of next week's 28 half-hour, mid-year conferences. Then, there's this long season of getting up in the dark, and coming home 13 hours later, also in the dark.

On the plus side though, I feel the heart-warming satisfaction of one of my ten-year-old students finally having four days of focused learning, accompanied by a steep decline in disruptive behavior. A couple of weeks ago, I confronted him privately about his habit of stealing and then denying it. Maybe that served as a catalyst to him becoming less self-destructive.

And then, there's the money and health care angle. I'm not sure we could have a decent life here in the States, so, if we stay here a little longer, I can bank more into retirement. BFF can carry the torch of our revolutionary flame, while guiding us to a more sustainable way of living, and working on better health.

Back Home

We came back from Yelapa, Mexico two days ago, after ten relaxing days in the sun. This was our third December in Casa Ana Rosa, managed by the matriarch of one of this isolated fishing village's leading families. The only way to get there is by water taxi, half an hour from Puerto Vallarta.

The bottom floor of the triplex-sized building is Sra. Lorenzo's home where she lives with her husband Ronco, and, during holiday times at least, an extended family of two grown sons, and a daughter, her husband, and their two girls.

Joining this nucleus for Christmas Eve dinner on the patio were a number of aunts and uncles and cousins. We were also invited to the feast, along with the half-dozen others staying in the building, all presided over by Ana Rosa's stern-looking mother, Dona Antonia. At least, this small, elderly and intimidating woman gave me a stern look when I arrived some minutes after she had been seated.

From the core of the family, though, we were treated as good amigos, especially since BFF and I had just given a charity to a couple of the relatives present who'd had some bad luck. It was much appreciated. The last few years have seen tough economic times in Yelapa, following a decade of growing prosperity. This past year, unfortunately, was following the trend--still fewer tourists in the village, and especially on the cash-cow beach. Even so, our welcome was warm, as usual. One of the pleasures of being in Yelapa is the friendliness, or, at least good-humored tolerability, of the people.

Our balcony overlooks a cove (half surrounded by twinkling lights at night), and out into the huge Banderas Bay. Just below us is Cafe Bahia, run by an ex-pat female chef, refugee from NYC. This cafe is fronted by the pier (el muelle), where virtually all the people and goods come and go, to and from this small village.

We had a plan to spend the winter portion of our upcoming retirement here in Yelapa, while the rest of the year we lived somewhere higher, away from the coast, and thus cooler and not so prone to excrutiatingly sweaty summers--somewhere like, but not, Guanajuato. But things seem to be moving in another direction.

It's a Victory for the Heartland

Oh man! That game tonight--those boys played so hard, and were rightfully jubilant in their win. St. Louis Cardinals, World Champions of Baseball.

More than a half century ago I scooted up next to the recliner of my dear old Granddad, in the pine room of an old house in a little town in the middle of Missouri, listening, summer nights, to Harry Carey calling the plays, with color by Dizzy Dean.

This one's for you, dear Granddad, and for so many, many others. Thanks, guys.

The happy tears flowed.

Preoccupied Seattle

My dear wife and I went downtown this afternoon with a bag of oranges and another of apples.  Our plan was to donate the fruit to the several hundred mostly young people who, for the past week, have been occupying a small park in the middle of our commercial district.  Calling themselves "The 99 Percent" (the other 1% being the monied elite who pull most of the strings in this country), they are rallying in solidarity with the many groups that have sprung up recently, inspired by Occupy Wall Street. 

From a block away, there was no sign of the rally, and I was feeling self conscious with my bulging bag of food.  But as we rounded the shoulder of Westlake Center, we could hear drums, an unintelligible amplified voice, and vigorous chants of support.

We found the thousand or so folks at the rally to be much more heterogeneous than expected; there was a mix of people such as you might see almost anywhere about town, a few professional revolutionaries, and a lot of unionists.  About two thirds were listening to a rotating group of speakers, and the other third--mostly the young occupiers--were lounging and eating. A lot of pictures were being taken.  We walked around the park, listened, watched, and took pictures ourselves, applauded, and left our donation.  It was inspiring to see the commitment, good feeling, and energy.

We're back to thinking we might just stick around.

First Week of School

This week, after a summer of fun and relaxation it's back to work.  That involves getting up at five, five days a week, and driving seven miles on I-5 to get ready to go on stage for six hours in front of thirty squirrelly ten-year-olds looking for guidance, entertainment and knowledge.   

It's good, in the sense that these are all mostly sweet kids trying to do their best, and that I'm trying to help out.  It sucks, in that I have to get up so early and do something I wouldn't necessarily do if I had my druthers.

Wednesday I went to the all-school assembly with my new class.  I ran across many of last year's students, now with their new teacher, who all hollered out, "Hey, Mr. D,"  and smiled and waved.  That feels good.

Thursday was a marathon.  I called off building security at o-dark hundred, made lesson plans for two classes, prepped for art, and went to an hour-long staff meeting before greeting students.  This was Picture Day, as well as PE and messy art project day, so you can imagine the conflict that brings to a few of the fashion-conscious young girls. 

Since we're still getting to know one another, there was also sharing of stuffed sea horses, rubber elephants, and soccer trophies.  During lunch break, I distributed thirty sets of paper, brushes and water colors for the first stage of making the Name Posters that will encircle the room. 

One student was asked to please leave the class and sit out in the hall  Two other students put a petition in my "Notes to Teacher" basket to have the aforementioned student moved because he talks and bothers them.  He and I have had several heart-felt talks--a good kid with no impulse control.

Wednesday, after the anti-bullying assembly, I listened to a long, halting and whispered complaint by a wee wisp of a girl about a classmate named Gladys (I didn't know kids had been named Gladys for the past fifty years).  Julia wanted to play with just Ellie, but Gladys insisted upon joining their game.  I said I'd talk to Mrs. B____ about Gladys, but I doubt if I'll get to that for awhile.

There were also lessons in place value of numbers through the millions, how to write a good sentence and how to decode unfamiliar multi-syllabic words.

I checked out Craigslist Puerto Vallarta on my laptop at lunch, and didn't see much of anything except $1200/month condos.  I sat, mesmerized, in front of the laptop looking at my screensaver:  all the pics I took this summer in Guanajuato. 

Now, at the end of the first week of school, I remember last night's dream was about work.  I woke up thinking about how I might impress upon these young people the importance and joy of learning.  Later today--Saturday--I'll grade papers, and tomorrow I'll go in to school so I can put up the completed Name Posters and laminate the Rats.