Tomorrow is my birthday. To begin the festivities, I thought I would compile a list of People I Have Lived Longer Than. Odd and rather gratifying at the same time.

Janis Joplin
Jim Morrison
Jimi Hendrix
Kurt Cobain
Alexei Romanov
Caesarion
Richie Valens
Buddy Holly
King Tut
Sid Vicious
Eddie Cochran
Billy the Kid
Stu Sutcliff
John Lennon (!!)
Duane Allman
James Dean
St. Therese of Lisieux
Brandon Lee
Bruce Lee
Tim Buckley
Caligula
Percy Shelley
Sylvia Plath
Brian Epstein
Cass Elliot
Karen Carpenter
Keith Moon
John Belushi
Jayne Mansfield
Sam Cooke
Andy Kaufman
Bob Marley
Sal Mineo
George Gershwin
Dennis Wilson
Malcolm X
Marilyn Monroe

and many, many more!

Rather than making me feel sad or old, this all makes me feel rather fortunate to be alive.

I don't get why some people say they feel old on their birthdays, when they're no older than me or even younger. For one thing, old is nothing to be worried about. True, the physical breakdown (much of which can be prevented) is no fun, but you get to totally act however you want, criticize whoever you want, totally freak out on whoever you want, and no one'll do anything about it. Also, you get cool discounts, especially if you join the AARP. I can't wait to join the AARP.

Second, "I feel old" is rubbish. Why? What does that even mean? Most people just mean, "I noticed time passing and it makes me feel sad." What the hell for? So what? The older you get, the more things you've done, the more things you're interested in, the more things you can learn because you have experience. These are not things to be afraid and ashamed of. Who wants to be a kid, have no power, no confidence, no knowldge, no wisdom, no experience, no emotional maturity? I never look at kids/teenagers and think I want to be like that. I think, "Dear god, what a bunch of idiots." Yeah, they'll (probably) get better...THE OLDER THEY GET.

I go through these periods where I imagine what else I could do if I wasn't doing what I'm doing now. I've been having one of them lately, mainly because, for the first time in six years, I'm not teaching. I write articles all the time about various jobs and careers, so I've had plenty of time to not only fantasize about a new career, but also to find out some things about them. So here are some jobs I've been thinking about. Not in any sort of serious way. But I still think.

Nurse
Important. Exciting. Cpmfy scrubs. Can get a job anywhere in the country. Doesn't take too much schoolin' to become one, either.

Psychiatrist
I always wanted to be a psychiatrist. The first degree plan I ever remember looking at, when I was about 13, was psychiatrist.

Truck Driver
I dig to drive, I dig to travel, and I could get trained for free.

From Trivia Tuesday over at Catster:

Bouhaki, the earliest cat name on record, dates back to Egyptian writings of 2000 B.C. In the hieroglyphs of that period, bou signifed “house” and “hak” was the symbol for “divine ruler.”

You got that right, buddy. Cats: ruling the world for 4,000 years.

I know Halloween's over, but I couldn't resist using this uber-groovy photo of a cat in a Dracula cape. It's not one of my present or past cats, but comes from the fabulous Kindertrauma (www.kindertrauma.com) web site.

Not doing NaNo this year, although I want to. I've had to hold myself back, because I know I won't finish. It's for a much happier reason this year than last, though. Since I'm actually making a living as a writer, writing in all my spare time as well seems like a good way to go into serious burn out. But let's examine that last sentence, shall we? SINCE I'M ACTUALLY MAKING A LIVING AS A WRITER... I need to remember that every time I start getting frustrated with my rewrites. Who woulda thunk it?

Everyone has some scary things happen in their lives. Hopefully, you live and are able to some day look back and laugh. Or at least act like you can. The things is, after I started writing this list, I realized there were many more scary things I could add, which was in itself rather frightening.

10. My House Burns Down

When I was eight, my house burned down. I was sitting in my room, reading or listening to Leif Garret records (which should perhaps be on the list at #11: I Liked Leif Garrett), when I suddenly saw my father go plummeting down the stairs yelling, “Fire! Fire! Get out of the house!” I actually thought this might be a joke until he grabbed me and yanked me down the stairs and out the door. Firefighters showed up and managed to put the fire out before it killed us. The whole top of the house was burned to a crisp and we had to live with my grandparents for a while - another scary experience.


9. My House Burns Down Again

Seriously. Nine years later, I was a sullen teenager sitting in my room, listening to music, when my brother started screaming, “Fire!” My brother was an inveterate prankster, so I knew better than to take him at his word - until I smelled smoke. I ran out to the living room (no stairs this time) and sure enough, the whole room was filled with smoke I grabbed everyone, ran out, and knocked on the neighbor’s door to ask if I could use their phone. For reasons never clear to me, they didn’t want to do it and eyed me suspiciously as I called the fire department, despite the fact that it was pretty obvious my house was covered in flames.

8. My Cat Falls Off the Fourth Floor

I lived in China for four years, and during this time, I got a pet cat. He was a naughtier-than-average cat, and oddly clumsy as well. One day, while I was out on the balcony, he tried to jump up onto it - and went over the side. I looked down, but he had disappeared. I ran down four flights of stairs to find him somehow unharmed, sitting in the patio of an empty apartment on the first floor. Cats really do have nine lives.

7. I Almost Kill My Best Friend

Like most teenagers, I tried to spend as little time as possible at home when I was in high school. My best friend had cable, a pool, and better food in the refrigerator, so I was never home during most of my teenagerhood. One day, my friend and I were making hamburgers, and I was cutting tomatoes. She left to go to the bathroom, and I decided to scare her by waiting around the corner from the bathroom, ready to jump out. I had totally forgotten about the knife., which I was holding in my hand, stomach-level, sharp side up. She somehow got the drop on me and came barreling aroung the corner faster than I could react. She barely missed the knife going into her stomach by a couple of inches.

6. My Brother Almost Kills Me

My grandparents had a pool in their back yard, and every summer, we practically lived in it. They had dug it themselves, and it was fairly shallow along the walls and then suddenly much deeper in the middle. My brother, who is three years younger than me, was supposed to stay along the outside shallow edge, but one day, he slipped. He frantically grabbed the nearest person, who happened to be me, and dragged me into the deep middle. I can swim, but not with a panicking brother hanging off my arm, and I went down. I started to swallow water and not be able to breathe, and was sinking to the bottom when my aunt dove in and rescued us. I stayed out of the pool the rest of the day, and my brother refused to believe he had almost killed us.

5. I Almost get Creamed By a Drunk

Driving down the highway one day, I noticed a van swerving back and forth across several lanes in front of me. I didn’t want to get too close, but I did want to pass in order to get away from what was obviously going to be a bad deal in a very short time. As I passed, as far away from the swerver as I could, I got a good shot of the driver. He was a white guy, lank dark hair, plain shirt, and he glanced over as I sped by him. He was wasted beyond any comprehension, his eyes almost totally closed, and he swerved straight at me as he looked at me. Only the fact that there was room ahead kept me from being nailed to the guard rails on a busy highway during rush hour.

4. I'm Shot At For No Reason
Coming back from a club one night, my friend and I see an alien pickup truck fast gaining on us, driving erratically. We moved over one lane just in time to see a redneck with a shotgun leaning out of the passenger’s side. BANG! The redneck pulled the trigger, and the shots went over the car. We immediately pulled onto an exit ramp and inspected the car and ourselves. No one and nothing was hurt, but not for lack of trying.

3. I Almost Slide Into an Intersection

I rode a motorcycle during my college years, which was great except for when it rained or when there was ice on the roads. This didn’t happen too often, but one year, I had a serious problem. It had iced and I could find no one willing to give me a ride to school. I set off myself on the bike, reasoning the roads were mostly clear and it wasn’t that far. All was well until I started going downhill toward a red light. My side had the red, and traffic was pouring into the intersection from the cross street. I started to brake and went into a spin. All the way down the hill, I spun, unable to brake. I closed my eyes and was thinking of ways to come out of it with as few broken bones as possible when, with a jerk, the bike stopped - right at the light.

2. I Almost Die From Appendicitis

While I lived in the burning house, the first one, I also came down with one hell of an upset stomach. My parents gave me soup, kept me home from school, let me watch TV, but I didn’t get any better. I began vomiting and was unable to hold down any food. Finally, I started turning colors and got taken to the hospital, where my parents were shocked to learn my appendix had burst. No one held out any great hope I would live, and I woke up from a nap one afternoon to the sight of priests giving me extreme unction. One of the nurses also let a little piece of not-very-encouraging news loose one day. there had been a boy checked in the same day as me, with the same condition, whose appendix had been ruptured for less time than mine, on the same floor. He had died. I, however, somehow lived on.

1. I See a Ghost

When I was very young, five years old or so, I kept getting visited in the night by an old man wearing overalls. He never said a word, just looked at me, looked at my baby brother sleeping in a crib in my room, and left. One day, I finally asked my mother who this visitor was. She had no idea what I was talking about and insisted there had been no old man in the house. She asked me to describe him, which I did. She showed me a picture of an old man in a pair of overalls and asked me, “Is this him?” It was. It was a photo of my paternal grandfather. Only one thing wrong - my paternal grandfather had died before I was born.

In a stunning example of just why it's a good idea to keep a computer geek around, KEVIN HAS FIXED MY LAPTOP. He figured out there's some software bug which has led to MacBooks all of sudden going into sleep mode, and he (pretty much) fixed it. Really, the only way to totally get rid of it is to raze my OS and reinstall, but it seems to be manageably repaired until I can do that. Oh happy day!

"For I am with you, says the LORD of hosts.
This is the pact that I made with you
when you came out of Egypt,
And my spirit continues in your midst;
do not fear!"

1. We've been back in the US for two weeks, and it's been...weird. It's like America is a foreign country now and I'm having to get used to it, just like I did China and Korea and Mexico. This is not totally a bad thing. It actually makes America a little less irritating and more interesting than I thought it would be.

2. Been spending almost all my spare, non-writing time doing stuff to enable us to move. First, of course, find an apartment. We found one that's perfect, filled out the various forms, given a deposit. The office managers keep saying all things are go, but I'm not totally filled with confidence. I never am until everything is signed on the dotted line, but it doesn't help that every time we call them to ask about something, they seem to have some question about our income or our application which could potentially cost us the place. If we don't get it, fine. I'll accept the will of God and keep looking. But I don't want to be told over and over that it's no problem, everything looks good, you can move in this week and then find out that no, it's not and you can't. Plus, our livelihoods depend on having Internet access, and I can't get that hooked up on "maybe".

3. The cats have broken through their fear of the dogs. The family (Kevin's) we're staying with has two dogs, one a little yappy thing and one a big part-Chow (more Chinese!). They're both good dogs, but the chow is far more intelligent. We are crashing on the second floor, and the dogs mostly keep to the downstairs. The cats want nothing to do with their separated brethren, BUT, being cats, they have become insatiably curious about the rest of the house, especially Pico, who has spotted a female in the vacinity and wants to put the Pico suave in action. He has also spotted the cat flap cut into the door leading out to the garage. Therefore, Pico overcame his dislike of the dogs long enough to make a run for the garage, and in doing so, realized he could intimidate the hell out of the little one, although not the big one. Not at all. Pepper, being a Turkish Van, doesn't care about the garage so long as he has his mama close to him, but he has also realized he could kick the butt of the little dog, being about twice his size. He respects the chow, though, either as an intelligence thing or from being Zhongguaren.

4. I've said it before and I'll say it again: TV is baaaad. I honestly didn't know they still made shows as bad as some that I've seen recently.

5. I bought a pedometer at last, but didn't get a chance to use it until last night. We went for a walk around a little park not too far from here, and just in taking a swing around a small suburban park and then walking home, I did almost 6,000 steps. Big deal, right? But this was 2 1/4 miles, nothing to sneeze at. I was pleased. Saying it was 6,000 steps makes it seem so far.

6. I keep forgetting that I can use things I haven't been able to for six years, like an oven and Hulu. I also keep forgetting that I can put toilet paper straight in the bowl and not in the trash can. I prefer the trash can.

7. America, or at least Texas, is cheaper than Mexico, or at least Chihuahua. It's true. Veggies, cat food, fast food, household items, even cheese - all cheaper in Texas than in Chihuahua. The one standout thing which is not cheaper - rent.

7 Quick Takes Started, Hosted, Continued By: http://www.conversiondiary.com/

For the past month, I’d been torn up with trying to plan our escape from Mexico. This was not because I hated Mexico. I quite liked it. The people were good, kind and intelligent, I liked Spanish, and I loved the food. I lived in an apartment I liked, in a nice part of town close to a grocery store, good restaurants, bus stops, and a huge, beautiful park.

But the strain over visas become overwhelming. We had come to Mexico to teach and therefore needed FM3 work visas. Our school had taken our paperwork - apostilles, tourist visas, immigration forms - and our money, promising to have a proper visa soon. Weeks went by and no visa. Months went by, and no visa. We told the people who run the school over and over that we wanted out visas, that the time on our tourist cards was running out. Then it did run out. No problem, they said. The paperwork is in. We’ll pay the fine for overstaying your tourist card.

More months went by. No visas. Finally, faced with the avalanche of lies and bad business practices used by the school, we left. We were promised the return of our papers, the money we’d given for the visas, our last pay. We got nothing. Derrick Woods and Dan Martin at Thinking in English language school had ripped us off, just like they had done to almost every other teacher who had ever worked there.

Regardless of them, though, there was the very real problem of what to do. We were in Mexico illegally. We didn’t have the paperwork anymore to try and get FM3s. There was a huge fine racked up which, while not out fault, was still attached to our names. We didn’t even know if we could leave Mexico and come back with new tourist cards. If we tried and couldn’t get back in, our cats were stuck.

So we decided to just leave and not come back, which opened up another whole set of problems. How to get out? No one would let us drive a rental car over the border. One-way drop offs were incredibly expensive. But if we flew, it would open the door to all kinds of questions about out immigration status.

After days of trying to work out every kind of plan, I decided to just hack the Gordian knot down the middle and fly. At least it congealed all our problems into one place, instead of spreading them all over the states of Chihuahua and Texas. We bought tickets. It took a lot of our savings, but I was just thankful we had the money. It was a blessing from God, because my husband had gotten, without applying and totally out of the blue, a grant from his school. Then I waited, praying every day to Our Lady of Perpetual Help and driving my friends crazy with hysterical emails. I laid awake at night, and got distracted during the day, worrying.There were so many ways this could go wrong. Immigration could catch us before we left. We could get deported - what would happen to my babies? The airline could refuse to let us leave until the fine was paid. We could miss our flight. There could be something wrong with the paperwork for the cats.

The day loomed. We still didn’t even know how we were going to get to the airport. One by one, all the people we knew became unavailable. Then my husband called a taxi service and got someone who spoke English. We arranged to be picked up, and the taxi was not only not late, but a little early. We got to the airport with plenty of time to spare. We walked up to the check-in counter, ready to admit we had no tourist visas and get things settled in plenty of time, only to be told there would be no check in for another two hours. So we waited. I prayed. I played a video game. Then I prayed some more. My poor cats, trapped in their carriers, also waited patiently.

Finally, the time came. The airline searched our baggage. They looked out the papers for the cats. They charged us for the pet carriers, but not the overweight fee they were very much entitled to. The people who worked for the airline were never anything but kind and polite, and just when I thought it was all over, they dropped this: “You can’t go through security yet. You will have to wait for the man from immigration to come. He will be here about 1:20.” Almost an hour and half.

So we sat obediently, outside of the security area. I prayed. I said the rosary. I read the Bible. I went to the sparkling-clean bathroom about six times. I tried not to think too much about what would happen when the immigration guy came, or if he was late. At last, a young, clean-cut man in a shirt which read INS walked by. This was him.

We went up to the counter. He asked us why we had overstayed. We decided it would be the better part of discretion to not go into the whole sad saga, so we simply said we had lost them. He scolded us, gently, for overstaying a tourist visa and warned us to not do it again or they would levy the whole fine. We had to pay for new tourist cards. And then we were free. He was courteous and compassionate. He even got scolded by one of the airline staff for making us even pay for new tourist cards, which I was thought generous. Security was pleasant and sweet to the cats, checking the carriers by hand and not making us get them out of running them through the x-ray machine. We walked to the gate. Even though the flight had not yet left, I felt like it was over. The nightmare was over.

We didn’t even realize until we got to the gate that a plane had been hijacked in Cancun earlier. All these people had been so sweet and accommodating on a day when security and worry must have been high.

I had done my best, but there was and is no doubt in my mind that this was all the mercy of God. I had done my best, but so much was out of my hands, and I knew it. I didn’t make the grant come through. My charm had influenced the intellect of the immigration guy. It wasn’t my snazzy luggage or personal magnetism which had led the airline staff to be so courteous. It wasn’t me working in everyone’s hearts. It was God. God had saved us. God had led us out safely. Everything had been because of God.

I’m not saying this because I want to portray God as a magic genie who granted me all my wishes. I’m saying I was in trouble, deep trouble, and while I endeavored all that was possible for me, the rest was the grace of God. I didn’t force him and I didn’t deserve it. God didn’t help me because I was so worthy and superior. But I turn to him, every night, every day. And I did turn to the Blessed Mother. And that is the lesson: in all things, turn to God. I hope the experience had allowed me to embed this lesson into the deepest part of me, so that I do it in all circumstances and not just when things seem their darkest.

I haven't been writing here because I've had so much writing to do freelancing. I've written over 140 pages of the book I'm ghostwriting in the past two weeks, an astrononmical number to me that still isn't where I wanted to be. Ah well. I'll keep plugging at it.

I also have a bunch of Big Stuff to talk about later, but for now, I can say no more...

We quit our crappy language school a couple of weeks ago and decided to take a bit of a vacation. So a couple of weeks went by, and the idea of going out and hustling up some private students, while reasonable and certainly better than working for another group of sleazoids, grew more and more upappetizing.

It gradually began to creep into my consciousness that maybe I could look for some freelance writing jobs. But the bad monkey who lives in my head laughed derisively. HAW HAW! That'll never work, said the bad monkey, and for a while I listened. After all, I had tried some time ago and it didn't work. And the economy hadn't gotten any better in the meantime.

Eventually, I decided to quit listening to the bad monkey and just...look. Didn't have to get my hopes up, didn't have to plan on it, just...look. Much to my surprise, the freelance writing market had gotten a whole lot better in the intervening years.

I signed up for some freelance bid sites, like Get A Freelancer and Elance. I started combing through old things I'd written to put in my online portfolios and send as writing samples. I put in bids. I sent emails.

And last Friday, I did it. I won two bids. I am making money writing. I AM A FREELANCER.

I find this a wonderful thing. Yeah, I have a lot of work to do and I've been putting more hours into it than I would at a regular job, but the work is mine. I decide when to get up. I decide when to take a break. I decide how late I want to stay up. As long as the work gets done to specs, the conditions, the hours, the materials I use, whether I eat or drink or listen to loud music is all up to me.

Kevin's jumped in and started going after freelance programming jobs, and has had even better luck than I have. Sexy!

We're going to be working hard and staying up late for quite a while, but we're happy. And, lest we forget, very, very fortunate. We have the luxury of a little bit of savings, owning two computers, cheap rent, and stable internet access. As Father Jerry used to say in Suwon, "God is good - all the time!"

The day before yesterday, he suddenly started acted sick. He vomited several times, including various things I wouldn’t have believed he had in his stomach, like big chunks of carrot and bits of plastic, and didn’t want much to eat. But yesterday, I thought he was on the mend. He ate, he drank some milk (a thin liquid made from low-fat milk powder), he seemed more alert. I held him, put him in my lap or had him close to me all day and all night while I worked on getting some freelance jobs.

Finally, I went to bed about 2 am. At roughly 3 am, he started meowing weakly and stirring. I thought this was because he just wanted to be closer to me, so I held him against me as I laid on my side. But after a while, it become obvious something was wrong. He kept meowing in a weak but strident sort of way, and when I picked him up, he was limp. He breathed heavily at first but got weaker and weaker.

I held him on my lap and prayed and prayed for him to either get better or die - just let the torment stop. After an hour, he was still hanging on, so I decided to say the rosary. I held him in both arms and started the prayers. By the time I got to the first mystery, he had stopped breathing.

Milagro was a beautiful kitten, with soft gray fur and bright green eyes. He was affectionate and very intelligent and tough. So tough. He was sweet and loving and wanted nothing but for someone to love him. And I do, and always will.

Goodbye, my little angel. I’ll see you again some day.

Milagro resting, a couple of days after we brought him home:

1. Milagro is getting better. He's obviously stronger and more alert, even though he still doesn't walk. He wants me around all the time, preferably holding him, but he'll settle for lying on a clean towel next to me. What a tough little guy. I really can't believe someone basically tossed him away like a piece of trash.

2. Pico hurt his tail yesterday. I have no idea how, but he somehow managed to get a few blood splats about seven feet up the wall. He's been resting and already he's feeling better, too.

3. Pepper is fine and feeling haughty.

4. The big boys have taken the presence of a new kitten very well. Pico has made it plain that He Doesn't Like It, but he hasn't done anything mean or aggressive, and Pepper is the Zen Master: "New cat? Whatever."

5. We went to Evil Mart on Monday and pretty much didn't buy anything we went there for. We did, however, purchase some dumbbells. This was my idea. I love lifting weights, and I've wanted to join a gym for a long time but things have been so unstable that I didn't want to commit to a monthly fee for it. Viola! Home gym! I've been lifting all week, hammering out a routine, and I LIKE IT.

6. New painting is almost finished. It's the first in a series of paintings based on the mysteries of the rosary. So number one is, of course, the Annunciation. Pics when it's done!

7. Kevin has pointed out there are now more cats than people in our home. I clapped. I've always wished to live in a kitty house.

More Quick Takes Thingies at Conversion Diary.

Saturday is usually our deportiva day.  We can go on other days, but on Saturdays, we HAVE to go.  So, last Saturday, we put on our walking clothes and went, crossing Universidad and going on to the park.  I made my best time yet around the entire thing, had some very nice whole wheat cheese gorditas, and started back home.

When we got to the Universidad crossing, there was a surprise awaiting us which had definitely not been there when we had first crossed: a little gray kitten.  The kitten was obviously sick and in pain, his legs flat, his back hunched oddly, his eyes scabbed over and shut.  He didn't move but meowed weakly.  My heart sunk.  I love animals, especially cats, and I couldn't believe someone would just leave a sick kitten on the side of a busy street like that. 

The light turned and it was our chance to go.  We crossed, and as soon as I reached the other side, I started to cry.  I wanted to do something, but what?  He was going to die no matter what, and I didn't want to bring anything into the house to make Pepper and Pico sick. 

But still, it gnawed at me.  OK, so he was going to die.  Was it better for him to die on the side of the road, in the heat, surrounded by cars and concrete, or in a quiet, safe, clean place with a full belly, with people who loved him?

I turned back.  "I'm going to get him," I said.  Kevin, who knows me very well, agreed.
When we got the intersection, there was a couple of farmer kids selling things during the lights.  "Is this your cat?" Kevin asked in Spanish.

"No," said the kid.  "It's dead."

But the kitten was not dead.  He looked up weakly.  I pet him and tried to determine the best way of picking him up without hurting him.  I finally got him up and held him in both arms all the way home.  Once there, we put him in a box on a bed of fresh towels and gave him food and water.  Then he slept.

I pretty much expected him to die before evening, but he lived.  He lived Sunday, too, and several times I cleaned his eyes, changed his bedding, and gave him food.

He's still here, getting stronger.  He ate more food today then ever before, and looked around and seemed more alert then I've seen him.  He still can't move very well, and I don't know what happened to him, but he's safe and clean and warm and petted.

So I named him Milagro.

Yesterday, the husband and I got to finally see what we've been waiting two years for - Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince!  I cound't believe it when it got pushed back from last November to this July, so when I heard it was coming to Chihuahua, I was jazzed.
We took the bus to the big mall in Chi-town, Plaza del Sol.  They're showing HP & the HBP both in espanol and in English with Spanish subtitles.  Eager as I am to practice my Spanish, I was most glad to get tickets to the English one.
It was mighty full for a 12:40 pm showing on a Thursday.  We'd eaten gorditas in the food court before the show so we wouldn't be tempted by over-priced movie concession snacks.  Gorditas: $8.50 each, about 75 cents.  Try finding anything other than a gum ball at an American mall for that money.
I really didn't much like the way David Yates did 'Order of the Phoenix', so even though I was excited, I was still a little nervous.  But! Oh my god!  IT WAS GREAT.  It's now my fave HP movie, after 'Prisoner of Azkaban'.  It's funny, it's sad, it's exciting, it's shot beautifully.  If Yates does this good of a job on 'Deathly Hallows 1 & 2', we're going to be in for a real treat.
Afterwards: Chili's!  Which cost more than the gorditas and the movie combined.  Oh well. 

We live rather close to the Chihuahua city deportiva, an incredibly nice park and fitness facility run by and paid for by the city. It's a big, gorgeous park, filled with trees, bike paths, jogging and walking trails, baseball diamonds, and (wait for it) an Olympic pool. You have to buy a membership to use the pool, but everything else is free, even some classes like yoga and pilates.


It was our first trip there this morning, so we just walked, amazed. It's clean and large and filled with nice, polite people jogging or walking or watching their kids play ball. At various places outside and inside the deportiva, there were vendors selling healthier snacks, like whole-wheat gorditas and 100% juice. We couldn't resist getting some of that.


Then it was on to the Soriana for some grocery shopping, but first a stop at Dona Flors, a craft shop recommended to me by a student. I had never been here before, either, and I was astonished. It was the best craft shop I had ever seen in my life - all in one place, yarn and needles and cross stitch floss and paint and brushes and canvasses and about a million other things. I held myself back to buying some cross stitch stuff, as I want to do more of that, but I could have spent practically all day and a lot of money there.


We bought tasty veggies and fruit from Soriana, stopped for a cold drink at a little snack stand close to our new church, which I believe is called Our Lady of Guadalupe, but I'm not sure about that. I hope so. I love La Virgen de Guadalupe.


And now for a pic of my latest painting:

Yes, it's happened - for the first time in six years, we have OUR OWN APARTMENT.

I don't mean a private apartment, which we've always had. I mean one we pay for ourselves. I realize this doesn't sound like such a great benefit, but let me explain.

In China and Korea, one of the perks of teaching is usually a free apartment. True, sometimes schools only offer shares, but it's pretty easy to find places which offer free, private apartments. Our apartments in China were huge; the one in Korea was a closet. Nevertheless, it was a great benefit.

The problem with it is, as has become glaringly obvious here at our school in Mexico, is that having your home tied to your job can be precarious if you can't trust your employer. I always could in China and Korea. This is no longer the case.

So we decided we could go stark raving mad about it, or we could finally just get our own place.

It took some help from a friendly student, but we did it, and quickly, too. Within one week of looking, we'd found one in a nice neighborhood, not too far from work, paid the first month, and were set. I think we were moved in four days after we looked at it.

We love it. It's OURS (well, and the landlady's). No one from the school can come and ask for things out of it or make us move or ask us to share. They can't just show up any time of the day or night and make demands. If we get fired or decide to leave, we're not homeless. HA!

One of the unexpected consequences of moving to our own apartment, though, is we now have a commute. We don't just live down the street, or over the school. We live in a whole different neighborhood, and while this is a good thing, it also means we have to figure out how to get to class every day.

One way is the bus. But another way is simply walking. I thought at first that there was no way, it was too far. But it was finally figured out that just walking there doesn't take a whole lot longer than walking to the bus stop, catching the bus, and then walking from were you get dropped off to the school. (It actually takes less time than that entire enterprise, but even the walking times alone are about the same: 20-25 minutes straight to school or 15 minutes to the bus stop and five minutes after getting off the bus.) Thing was, I was worried I would be too tired and hurt to do a good job in class if I walked all the way, every day, so I kept taking the bus.

After a couple of weeks, though, I did two things. One, I decided to change my attitude and see walking as exercise and not just a drudgery. I started adding up how many minutes a day I walk, at least five days a week, and it's about an hour. An hour! A day! Not counting weekends!

The other thing I noticed is I really don't hurt as much as I used to. So I can do more and feel, well, not so bad.

This is exciting. I haven't really done any good daily exercise since leaving my wonderful bike back in Beihai (sob). And I had no idea, until I started adding it up, that I was getting so much exercise in each day. It's got to be doing me some good. Got to.

1. It is now officially Really Freakin' Hot in Mexico. Average temp for past week: 100 F. With more to come.

2. I can get along surprisingly well in 100-degree heat if it's not humid. I love the desert.

3. Mass is back on and the swine flu scare is over. Hallelujah!

4. I hate kids' classes ever so much.

5. I'm going on an all-granola diet. Cold, cheap, oh so tasty. There's a high-fibre bakery a couple of blocks up the street, and they make great stuff with whole wheat. They also sell tubs of their own granola blend. Yum yum.

6. I've watched "Don't Be Afraid of the Dark" (TV movie Guillermo Del Toro is remaking) and 'Daughters of Darkness' on YouTube in the past 24 hours. Man, 70's movies ruled.

7. Kevin and I also watched two horrifyingly bad fantasy movies on MST3K: 'Outlaw (of Gor)' and 'Deathstalker and the Warriors from Hell'. Not sure which movie is actually worse (I'm leaning toward 'Outlaw'), but Mike and the bots give 'em heck.

Cabot!

I have somehow been surviving the great swine flu epidemic (rolls eyes), even doing such dangerous things as riding the bus, eating in restaurants with *gasp* other people, and giving classes. I know this sounds callous, but give me a break. Every time there's some new strain of whatever, everyone in America goes out of their minds with hysteria, and what ends up happening? Pretty dang little.

I understand the people of Mexico freaking a bit more, as there have been more than a few deaths in the country, but holy crap. School's cancelled, the government's pretty well shut down, all Church activities have been suspended, including Mass (!!), and not a single case has been detected in Chihuahua. The husband and I ate in a completely-deserted restaurant yesterday that oddly had the TV turned on to All-Panic TV News, and they did nothing, nothing for the entire hour we were there but jabber incessantly about the flu. The fact that it could be avoided by washing your hands regularly, not touching things and then sticking your hands in your mouth, and airing out your house/room/office was fairly ignored.

I've got to admit that I'm enjoying having a bit of class time off (not much - the maquilas - companies - still wanted their classes and I got sent to all maquilas this past week), but the lunacy concerning this thing is just amazing. I think people, in Chihuahua at least, are actually getting tired of the whole thing. Earlier this week, the streets were deserted and you saw almost no one out on the buses or driving, stores closed, etc. But more and more people have started creeping out as they saw for themselves the world wasn't ending as TV news so devoutly hopes it would, and yesterday and today, I noticed a lot more people out, shopping, getting ice cream, riding public transport. generally going on with their lives.

Looking back upon the latests string of mutant illnesses, I've noticed something and think I have a solution, a way to stop any more of these things from happening: GO VEGETARIAN. SARS - came from exotic cats people were eating in Guangzhou. Mad cow - cannibal beef. Avian flu - chickens. And now the poor pigs. Revenge of the animals! Planet of the apes! It's a madhouse, a maaadhouse!