Sabado, Augusto vientitres, 2008.

Good morning all,
Last night was not posted because we were too tired and watched CNN with speculation about Obama’s vice presidential choice. Does anyone understand “vetted”?

Yesterday we popped up and took the early bus to LaManzanilla. Another chicken bus for sure. The windows had holes in them, and the bus driver had a cross with Jesus hanging in the front of the bus. He also had a bouquet of silk roses at Jesus' feet and a rosary around the whole display. Further, there were signs in many places, in Spanish, affirming or appealing to Jesus. We now have enough Spanish to be able to read most signs. It was probably a good thing that this particular bus driver has a tight relationship with Jesus. We were plodding along two lane highways with gas trucks and other huge buses passing us in no passing zones. The only additional tidbit is that in many stretches of that road, there are sheer drop offs that there is no place for the bus to go but down. This sign says, "Come, Jesus, and eat with us!"-- Comforting on the edge of a cliff with a muffler-less trucking pressing by; now or later, Jesus, please eat with us.
As we were departing the bus at our destination, a young woman began speaking with the bus driver in Spanish. I was surprised because I thought she looked of European decent. After we got off the bus Stephen began speaking to her and it turns out that she is Swiss but speaks Spanish fluently. She is on a three month holiday, backpacking through Mexico, alone. If I were her mother, I would feel better if she had a friend, male or female, with her. However, the people of Mexico are generally kind, generous and helpful. There are a few in every crowd, but I haven’t met any bad apples yet.

We walked through the center of town and stopped at the fisherman’s confederation—roughly, a place where the fisherman gather and gossip while cutting up the catch of the day. There is a bathroom (bano) there too! The cats and pelicans were waiting for the leavings. While there, we spoke with an elderly man (Lorenzo) who was just hanging out and gossiping with the guys. He was a construction worker that had been in a work-related accident about 6 months ago. He can no longer work and there is no disability in Mexico. He did spend about two hours with us and took us on a tour of the town. We did get to see places we would not have seen otherwise. When we parted with Lorenzo, we prayed with him. He took off his baseball cap and “Gracias Senior’d” (thank you Jesus) with the best of them. Stephen was praying for better health for him. We gave him 50 peso’s for his kind tourist directing. A very sweet and humble man. His children are all in California. Many Mexican families are splintered with part in USA and part in Mexico. Painful decisions are made to improve the future of the children.



We returned on another chicken bus and arrived in time for a 2 and a half hour siesta! There are many things I like about Mexican tradition. Stephen made lovely omelets for supper with red peppers, onions and garlic—an unbeatable combination.
I am sure that you are interested in the daily events and how they differ. Now you are going to get some potty talk. In all of Mexico you throw toilet paper in the trash can next to the toilet. Do not flush the paper--the septic systems can not deal with it. It does not matter if it is in the city or country, in the mountains or by the shore--don’t flush the paper. Also, only flush the toilet when necessary (#2). When the chicken bus arrived in town yesterday, I got off and had to GO. A man was standing in the town square. I asked about banos publico and he pointed to the police/administrative building. I asked the secretary in the building and she pointed out back. There is a charge of 5 pesos ($.50) to use the bathroom. However, a man that spoke English came out and explained that I should use the men’s bathroom because the ladies “is not clean”. I found out later that not clean really translated to plugged and overflowing. I did go into the men’s as Stephen stood guard at the door for me. NO WAY--I walked out without using the facilities. I wandered down the street and found a fruit store open with a young lady operating the store. I requested banos publico--she shook her head no. I did the little girl dance complete with hand motions. She laughed and took me to the bano in the back courtyard of several stores. She handed me some napkins to use as toilet paper. The bathroom was a small cinderblock room with no door or windows. It did have a piece of fabric hanging over the door. It had a toilet without a tank part. Another words, you sit on the no seat toilet and do your business. But, it was very clean. There was a bucket next to the toilet and an open water trough in the court yard. Oh yeah! The toilet can be flushed after all. And they even had soap next to the water trough. I paid that young lady 10 peso’s as a thank you--and it was worth every peso. It is of note that if you are traveling in Mexico, always have toilet paper in you backpack/purse and hand sanitizer.
Today it is raining and very windy—I love it because it cools down the environment. We will be going to visit some new friends to say good-bye. I can’t believe that we leave Melaque tomorrow. Love to all, meema







Mitzi saved yesterday’s alligators (cocodrillos) for me. We saw them before, but this time with a camera. They are huge, a least 12 feet. Mitzi is wondering whether alligators have friends. They don’t seem to have much passion, lying there like logs and focusing on decisions like having head under water and body up, body under water and head up, or both up, or both down. Do they know that whatever they decide they make us gawkers tremble by there mere existence? They just look mean, with a thick hide and lots of size to back up any inclinations they might have beyond body position. I’m tempted to draw some human comparisons but will resist...Well, come to think of it, I guess I can't resist human comparisons altogether. As we watched the alligators, one large fellow moved next to the snout of another. “Snap!” went latter fellow and away went the former fellow! The human comparison? Recall that there had been talk of setting up a Protestant church here in the alligator-town of La Manzanilla.
A few years ago, one man tried to do just that. The priest of the local Roman Catholic Church--whose building takes up much of the center of town--was not at all happy with a Protestant preacher in his backyard. And the hapless Protestant? "Snap!" went the Catholic and away went the protestant!












Right after taking a picture of the “Peligroso” (Danger!) sign regarding alligators, we saw a man in the water just off from the danger sign. He was digging for something. He was hunting for oysters. There must be an understanding between alligators and Mexicans. Something like “I’ll feed on only a few hard-dug oysters if you don’t feed on me--please.” It reminds me of a hero Indian medicine-man of my bygone years who would get herbs from rattlesnake territory, but only after a dance of sorts in which the chief rattlesnake and my Indian hero agreed to a bargain. It's been called the "territorial imperative". Do wealthy American/Canadian Gringos, in effect, offend the natives down here with high-walled homes, isolated in the hills, and a seeming inability to learn the language? I confess I’m stuck on chapter 11 of the Spanish book and may never really be a fluent speaker.

Today it rains. Lluvia. We visited new friends—more septuagenarians—for coffee and all sorts of talk. These “Gringos”/”foreigners” down here are brave people, pioneers of sorts. They have interesting stories as to why they are here and why they stay full time. Always their stories involve risks and difficult choices. Most of their stories put to rest my high-minded notions about learning the language and living among the natives. A serious missionary of the old-fashioned sort could be a loving go-between of two very different groups, but in the meanwhile I either come down here and do something or shut up about what others have or haven’t done. Writing from a distance is certainly less risky and dangerous than the distance of living in the hills behind walls and speaking English! Mitzi and I are still adventurers at heart, however, and all of this may soon change.
We have been so blessed by these Gringos, increasingly, taking us in and helping us to digest the present and look to the future—or to just plain have fun! We will miss our new friends. Already, this morning, while dressing, I felt a bit homesick about leaving. Another recent experience is being a little confused about English words—no, I mean, more than the usual, senior-citizen searching for a word. "Balcony"! That’s the word! It just wasn’t there this morning when commenting on the construction work going on at our local tienda. Not there, I mean, in English, let alone Spanish. I can say more Spanish words than Mitzi, but my accent is wrong so the natives don't understand my Spanish or my English. Mitzi's accent is good so what little Spanish she knows goes much further than my larger vocabulary of gibberaical Spanglish. Also, and this is important, Mitzi is able to hear (understand) what the natives say. Actually, between the two of us we've come a long way linguistically, but there are many miles to go. Can you imagine early missionaries almost anywhere? Truly, that was a form of "speaking in tongues".

Tomorrow we go to church in Manzanillo, and I get to preach to these lovely new friends plus others. It turns out that most of our new friends will take the trip south and be there for the service. Pray that God will use me in a way that glorifies Him. I am excited.



This trip was so blessed by our contact with Rick and Leigh. We return to their place tomorrow, stay overnight and have a specially-cooked breakfast, and then take off from the airport at Guadalajara. We will be sad to leave the Fredericks and my old cousin resurrected.

Thursday August 20th (I think)
I heard Anjelica, the cleaning lady, come in the gate and go upstairs this afternoon. I looked out to say hello and was startled to see a green parrot sitting on the railing by the first stair. I thought it was a wild parrot and immediately took it’s picture. Then Anjelica came down the stairs and the parrot jumped on her hand. Hiss name is Pedro according to Anjelica. Off she rode on her little scooter and Pedro sitting on the handlebar. Later, I saw Anjelica across town and Pedro’s feathers were a little ruffled from the speed but, he was holding on tight.

August 21st, Thursday.
Pelicans. Los pelicanos. Amazing. I think there are two kinds. One kind is big with those well-known beaks that carry stuff inside, but there seems to be another kind. They are smaller, more streamlined but, oh, can they ever dive! They rise up slightly, turn down sharply and torpedo into the water, usually straight as a plumb-line. At the last instant the wings slide up and, seemingly, into the body so all that’s left is an arrow—by the time they hit the water “arrow” is a better word than “torpedo”. These fellows are sleeker than real pelicans—type one above--and, by comparison, they seem like my grandchildren doing flailing cannon balls in the water. There’s also a bird the goes underwater until you think he must have tripped into China. The first time I saw one of them today was coming out, not going in. “What the…?” He suddenly just appeared, his bill and long neck somewhat snake-like. The water is so delightfully warm that there was no chill going through me, but I sensed that mild sense of danger of not being sure, especially when above me were these prehistoric black birds that I keep forgetting the name of.


Our friend, Marie, wasn’t dangerous and, in fact, the barber spoke excellent English and she gave me a fine haircut. Actually, Marie had said the barber spoke English as we discussed the dangerous, female trip the night before, but that piece came at one of those typical moments when I think I am being a delightful male host and picking up well less than half the information that is going on around me. Marie’s husband, Cornelius, remains calm during Mitzi and my hair-cuts, or our sauntering at least a mile down the aisle of market day, and through the endless shops with Mitzi and Marie trying to find just the right thing for each one of our family at home. Did I see a slight smile on Cor’s face when Mitzi finally made a purchase?
Cornelius is a very fine artist. As I watched him through these three hours of this ladies’ venture, I got to thinking that, far from watching and waiting for Mitzi and Marie to get done or, at least, get hungry, he was painting everything as we went along. His canvas was varied in size and shape and soon I thought I could see the colors he was applying by the expression in his eyes. I learned something from Cor, and I doubt that in the future such ventures are anticipated with as much temerity as this one was—remember, the night before. I’m not an artist and can’t paint the event as Cor does, but maybe I can write about it as we wander along. As Mitzi said, I was taking pictures, but with these new, digital cameras (and Mitzi got us a prize from e-bay!) I feel like I am cheating. Like the “old man and the sea” with a ray-gun--the poor marlin! Or like deer when they are chased into an early morning firing squad. Anyway, I learned something about lengthy shopping and will never be bored again. That’s important, I think, now that I’m almost seventy. Shopping boredom means still another day home at la computadora while Mitzi is out having fun, and I don’t want that. Cor is seventy-seven, and has learned much how septuagenarians cope.
I spent time with another septuagenarian this morning, although this man is only seventy two. He has a steel rod through his back, one down through his left thigh and still another down his other leg, has two replaced knees, lives in constant pain, and says he wakes up with happiness nearly every day. What a talk we had and it was me that was close to tears when he and his lovely wife and Mitzi and I prayed together before we left. My seventieth birthday is a week from today and I think, right here at the last hour, God is temporarily weaning me from children and grandchildren and giving me a deeper peek at seventy-year-old wisdom and courage.

What is romantic love? Now that children are back in school and vacationing Mexicans back in Guadalajara and other places distant from this vacation resort, we have the ocean and beach to ourselves with the pelicans and their friends and fisherman and occasional young people in love who hold and delight in each other even in the sea. Truth is Mitzi and I walk into the water holding hands, but usually the normal, young pattern changes. We stand there watching the birds (me) and deciding we want to fish with nets (Mitzi), but then the romantic spell is broken when Mitzi says, “Let’s sneak up on the pelicans.” There were five of them, and we soon are sneaking up when Mitzi touches my shoulder and says, “Stay down, Stephen. There’s too much of you showing. Do like this.” Only her face and curly new haircut are above the water. I stoop down and follow her toward the pelicans. Two things happen at once so I never will be sure that we couldn’t have snuck up on the pelicans. First, the pelicans (type one) flew away in their lumbering way but (second) at the same time Mitzi screeched, bitten (or whatever they do) by a jellyfish. We’re home now and, oh, how much we look forward to margaritas tonight!

of mermaids and midgets

Stephen and I decided to go out for cheap supper tonight. We went to the main street in town and sat at a table on the edge of the street to order our tacos. While sitting there I said to Stephen that we had not brought our camera so we might see mermaids swimming by. We did not see a mermaid but we did see:

A young (12 or 13) man riding a big brown horse up and down the street.

A Mexican midget (honest) riding by on a very small 4 wheeler. The 4 wheeler looked like something that should have been in a circus. The midget looked like a normal midget.

A bunch of young men (older teens) riding up and down the street in an open dune buggy. Of course, music blasting while they were yelling to be noticed.

As the world over, young men and ladies just plain checking each other out. Here they are a little more polite about the process. And--grandma is sitting on a chair outside next to the door.

Actually it is a little like watching a late 50´s tv show. I remember cruising main street with girlfriends in someone's car. The windows rolled down and yelling at friends. Of course, with grandma watching no one would be that disrespectful.

The big finale was as we got up from the table and were walking away. Two open-backed army trucks loaded with uniformed soldiers caring automatic weapons rolled by.

Where was the mermaid? love to all meema

Wednesday, August 20, 2008



Cornelius and Marie arrived at 10:30 to take us to get haircuts and go to the local weekly market. We went to the home of the hairdresser and she spoke perfect English. She had immigrated to the US over 40 years ago and became a citizen. She went to hair dresser school and worked at that for many years. Then she moved to Las Vegas and became a money person in a casino. She developed arthritis in her hands and could not do hair all the time. Eventually the hotel she worked for was torn down and she decided to retire in Mexico to be near her mother and sister. I am never immediately satisfied with a hair cut. I always expect that a new hair cut will make me younger, 100 pounds lighter and beautiful. I guess I got my $3.00’s worth.
After the hair dresser we all walked through the street market. Steve bought two SOS pads and I bought nothing. Marie kept trying to get me to notice things but I was overwhelmed by so much stuff in such a small space. Then the four of us drove to the next little town south for lunch and sightseeing. We could have walked the mile down the beach but didn’t. I had a Mexican variation of a chef’s salad which was just right. We walked quite a ways, looked in shops, and watched a Marachi band playing under a huge and old tree. There is not much here to buy. Correction--that I want to buy. We had lots of laughs and enjoyed the day with new friends. Nap time then off to the computer store to use the internet.

Love to all, meema

Tuesday, August 19th, 2009.

We had red snapper Italian style last night. It reminded me of my former mother in law, Elsie. Many Italian families have a tradition of fish for Christmas Eve dinner. Elsie used to make red snapper with red sauce, pasta and all the fixins for dinner. I fudged it but it did come out well. I was feeling much better after waking up this morning at 10:10 am (that would be noon ny time) I walked out to the patio and noticed that Stephen had already picked up the “car”. We are getting well known in town because of the car.
Last night we went out for a drive around town and to the internet café. The internet place is run by a very smart fellow that is crippled. He does not speak English but one of his friends does. He has been able to be very helpful to us. I did notice that the owner was wearing a t shirt that said (roughly) Mexico helps its disabled people. There was also a sign in the store that said something to the effect that the business received start-up money from the country of Mexico. We have been to several internet café’s so far but this is the best. The owner is smart, business-like, and the place is clean. While Stephen was sending his email’s I wandered outside the door to watch about 15 kids on the street playing hide n go seek. Uno, dos, tres, quatro. The kids were from about 4 to 12 and all were having a great time together. There were adults sitting on the stoops and in chairs along the side walk chatting while the kids were running full speed around them looking for the best hiding places.
Every time we go out without the camera, we are sorry. Last night we saw a man with a horse in the middle of an intersection. He was training the horse to raise his front legs like horses in the circus do. Camera-nope. There was another horse that was standing on the corner in his stall. Not enclosed, mind you, just a fence post affair next to the road. We stopped for a bit to watch the training. Stephen finally did get a picture of the back end of a horse which, he said, he took as an expression of how he sometimes felt in a brand new culture rather than an expression of his "interest in horses".

We left home early this morning to buy fresh fish and have a day at the beach. We went to the other end of the cove to enjoy calm water and the fisherman still at work. There were no tourists because school has started in Mexico.


The fishermen used two techniques to catch fish. These are the guys fishing off the shore line. The guys in boats are not even in sight. The fishermen go in the water just beyond the wave breaking area. Both styles fish in the same area. One fishing style, is to put bait on a hook that also has a heavy metal sinker on the line. The line is rolled up on a variety of things from a stick to a tube. They do not have fishing poles. Then the fishermen begin to twirl the line over their heads, cowboy lasso style, and throw the line in the ocean just after a wave breaks. There are fish behind those big wave breaks. The proverbial hook, line and sinker style of fishing was very successful today. The other fishing style is with a large net that is about three feet wide and maybe 12 to 15 feet long with sinkers all along the bottom edge. Along the top edge is a rope to pull tight. The fish are caught in the net and several are pulled in at one time. The fisherman gathers his net up carefully and is an expert at throwing the net out—also very much like a cowboy lasso’s. There is no bait involved with the net style of fishing. The pelicans and the fisherman work in tandem to catch fish. Steve and I could see the fish jumping after a wave crests and so could the pelicans. The birds would start diving and the fishermen would know exactly where to throw their nets.

At some point I began to think of the scripture about Peter and the boys out fishing and how they were told to cast their nets on the other side. I could really appreciate that after seeing the net fisherman. I would have loved to see the nets so full that they had difficulty harvesting the fish.
It was truly exhausting sitting on the beach and watching all this work going on. We were at one little beach shack place that serves food and drink under umbrellas on the sand. Our waiter was a round, jolly English-speaking fellow named Gustavo. He remembered us and our names from several evenings ago. We ordered two fresh pineapple juices and spent the next two hours watching people work with occasional dips for ourselves. Then we ordered one lunch plate special to split between the two of us and one margarita and a water. More swimming, chatting, and bird watching. Then we had a fruit leather type thing for dessert and Steve had coffee. We headed home at about four for a siesta after a long day of work.
We have several families that we have a hello relationship with but everyone speaks on the street. People are very polite. There are two families with children that are particularly sweet. If no one is out as we pass we hear HOLA being yelled by a small person after we have gone by.


Well, we just had visitors! The Dutch painter and his wife came by. They will be taking us to another little town nearby tomorrow in their car (a real car). Marie will also be taking us to the local weekly market. Stephen didn’t want to come but kindly gave in when I told him he could take pictures. Hopefully, some of those photos will be posted here.

We spent much of the day considering the health of one of our family members and the needs they may have coming up. Sometimes, the desires of God for us are right in front of our noses. Love to all, meema


Granddaddy here.

To paraphrase an old song, “What a friend I have in Mitzi!” She’s just more fun! While I’m dreaming up great schemes for the future (Of course I take myself seriously! It wouldn’t be any fun, otherwise!), she’s plunging us into life here and life there and a life now and not a life then. Now we have this infamous golf cart that I protested and tomorrow I’m to go shopping with the women (lead by Mitzi’s new Dutch-artist’s-wife friend) which I also protested, but unsuccessfully. They seem to want me to go with them along with the Dutch-artist himself, so what could I do? I wanted to spend coffee time with an elusive-to-the-public husband with new knees and a broken back who lives in his swimming pool. After learning that Felipe’s drinking is notorious I begin to think that I am drawn to broken old men. Anyway, my coffee time will be limited since I have to go shopping and the Dutch artist will go too, and they will even watch while Mitzi and I get hair-cuts—the Dutch artist’s wife, Marie, thinking I should get a crew-cut! Does this all sound scary? You bet it does! Marie’s a live-wire like Mitzi—and ten years older and more seasoned than Mitzi—and so tomorrow could be dangerous. I’ve been praying a lot. Then we’re all going down to the next village for lunch, and that seems safe. It’s all a jumble in my mind, but Mitzi’s got it sorted out, and I don’t think I will be getting my haircut in the food market. I love these fearsome daily adventures and Dutch septegenarian Marie ups the ante for adventure along the villages of Mexican-Pacific shores. Her husband, Cornelius, whose hair is cut close to crew, keeps telling me about this strange version of eschatology as though I could do something about it. Have you ever noticed that everybody else has a strange version of eschatology? Big words, I know, but all that means, Malachi, Isabella, and Elijah, is the end times.
So, as to the more immediate and our future, only God really knows, but at this point it looks like we’ll be living for a few months in a hotel run by a drunk’s wife, teaching children Bible parables in a language we still don’t understand, going to a church in which the deep struggle is whether good Friday is really a Friday at all, and setting up another church in a village where there are no Christians except those skewered by a dictatorial priest! That sounds like the right combination of impossibilities that is just my cup of tea, uhm…coffee, in my case. Add to all that that the worm may have turned, and Mitzi may now want to stay up north and take care of ailing loved ones, a burgeoning church, and praying that her husband won’t fall on the ice and die, while I may want to come down to Mexico and go crazy!

This morning I took off early before Mitzi’s day began and walked down to Felipe’s to get our golf cart (he plugs it in for an overnight charge) and talk with him about John, chapter 6. So in the same day I learn of what quantities of alcohol this Saint used to drink and maybe still does, I also spend a profound hour-and-a-half sorting out confusions that he has more than I do—it’s always amazing when that happens. What a time we had going over issues of ecclesiology (they were “having church” out there when the loaves and fishes appeared!), predestination (“draw” in verse 44 means “drag” not “woo” as a suitor, and, yes, you do have to be careful of the King James version, Felipe, but don’t throw the baby out just because you think KJ was a jerk!), and about Peter thinking Jesus was the Son of God (it’s right there in verse 69, Felipe!)
I know Felipe was sober because it was 8 a.m. and he was at his coffee and cigarette when I arrived. By early on in John, chapter 6, he was in tears, however, and something about the dear Bible was touching deeply this man who has wanted to stay away from that book for many years, especially the KJV which is the version I confronted him with. His tears continued off and on and especially when we prayed together at the end of our hour-and-a-half Bible talk together.
I wish every morning started like this. It’s a lot safer than taking my hair to a female, Mexican barber and having instructions given by a Dutch woman who speaks Spanish but thinks I ought to get a crew cut. I could come out bald, and my head wouldn’t be good for that because of the huge scar I got at four years old when I enjoyed tipping my high chair away from the dining-room table and finally fell backwards onto one of those old, dig-your-skull-apart, iron radiators. It may be the first “I told you so!” I can remember, but I have the strangest feeling that lesson may be coming around all over again. Wise old Cornelius is excited by the “Lord’s will” prospects of my impossible vision but warns me at the same time. Marie looks at the grandchildren-swimming-pool-pictures from our backyard back home and tells us, much as she might like having us come down here, to stay put. So, it’s been another day of building sand castles at the seashore. Now I’m tired and I wanna got to bed. Goodnight.

Sunday, August 17th, 2008.
Happy Lord’s Day, everyone! We went to church and there was a grand total of 8 people there. What a difference between that and the winter attendance of 60 to 80 at two services!

Stephen and I visited a Dutch couple in their late 70’s after church. He is a painter and he shared his work with us. We seem to connect with artists everywhere we go. They live around the corner from the church on a dirt road. Their house has three stories with two rooms on each story. On the third story is an art studio and an outdoor patio. He had painted murals on the walls of his home and a very large on one on the side of a building on the street. They have a little black mix dog. The wife is a true Dutch woman--she offered to take me for a $3.50 hair-cut. I am taking her up on that because I have a $35.00 hair cut scheduled for when I get home. I also found out about the fish market from her. Their names are Cornelius and Marie. Great people that are very solid Christians.

We have met a very interesting fellow that is Swiss by heritage but lived in Utica NY for a time. He has been here for over 20 years now. He owns a hotel on the beach and has a sea turtle hatchery right at the hotel. Yesterday 40 eggs hatched and we were part of a small group (8) of people that sent the baby turtles out to sea after dark last night. We stood in the sand just at the edge of the water line and set the turtles down facing the sea. Some of the little fellows immediately started heading toward the water. I tried an experiment with one and placed it facing the shore-little turtle turned around and marched right out to the water. God does some amazing fine tuning of creatures.

When the wave comes up the babies just start swimming and out they go. They are let go at night so that fish don’t see them and eat them. It gives them a chance to acclimate overnight before they have to adapt to the business of swimming for their lives.

The hatchery currently has over 2, 500 sea turtle eggs incubating in the sand. We will go back later tonight to see if more have hatched and we can let them go. I think we have a couple of good photos of them to show the kids.
Breakfast today was leftover rice, veggies and some eggs from those free range chickens. Lunch was ham and tomato sandwiches. We are going out for tacos tonight. There are taco stands everywhere you look. Our sea turtle friend sent us to this particular stand because the food is clean, cheap and good. Indeed, the four ladies that work there were very friendly but speak no English. I ended up ordering one of each kind of taco (chicken, beef, sausage and pork) to sample. They have delicious freshly made tortillas and serve the tacos with a sort of huge relish tray with beans, onions, salsa, etc., for the grand total of 60 cents (US dollars) each. Dinner for both of us was $5.00 because we also each got beer. We liked it so much that we are going back tonight.

The dogs of Mexico are a story in themselves. There are at least 6 dogs in every block. There are no leash or poop laws. I have started taking some photos of the dogs.

We stopped and photographed a gang bang yesterday. There were four dogs waiting for a turn with a lady dog. As I was taking the picture, I realized a Mexican family was sitting nearby (everyone sits outside) and laughing. I think they were laughing at me and not the dogs. We all laughed together. The father said that (roughly translated) she (dog) has lots of love. Stephen responded that he finally understood something that was happening in Mexico. They all laughed.
Thirty percent of Mexicans are either wealthy or middle class. That means that seventy percent are poor. I am not sure who is who. The neighbor that gave us a mango a couple of days ago does electrical wiring. He has a beautiful wife and little girl. They live on the second floor of a building three houses from the beach. The front half of the building is open with a roof over it. It also has a railing around the edge so the baby won’t fall. The back half of the building appears to be the size of a bedroom and bathroom. Mom stays home with her baby and does the stuff of life. They cook and live in the front open room with the ocean view. They sleep in the back room. They have decent clothing and are kind enough to share with the American visitors. On the weekend the father fixes and cleans his home and takes his family out. I don’t know if they have a car. Mom listens to lovely opera and classical music during the day. They do have a TV. Are they poor? I don’t know.
Last night there was a bug from the cockroach family in our bedroom. It was big enough to make the entire city of St. Louis a meal. I turned off the light and went to sleep. When I woke up during the night to go to the bathroom, I turned on the light. Mr Golly that is a big roach was sitting in the same place on the opposite wall (Stephens side). I was glad of his preference. You need to turn on the light if you get up at night to watch out for other stinging bugs. So far, I have not seen one. However, every night there are also geccos on our walls, though, so far, they have not talked to us about insurance.
Today is Sunday. Most of the town is shut down. Only the little stores that appeal to tourists are open. It is rather refreshing to see. I keep trying to find things that the grandchildren would like to see. So far, there is nothing that I have seen that would be in any way edifying. Other than artists, I have not seen any crafts people. I was hoping to spend a little time with someone that was working on a creation.
Our apartment is just right. Two bedrooms and two bathrooms. We each have our own bathroom and I like it! We also have a fully equipped kitchen and living dining area. We have a private patio with tables, chairs, sunchairs and a hammock. We have lawn and many exotic flowers. It is really breathtaking. If we go up to the rooftop patio, we can see the ocean and sunsets. If we go outside our fence and look down the street we can see the ocean.
Hey kids, granddaddy is sleeping on the couch and snoring. Some things never change. Love to all Meema

Stephen here:
The swallows nesting at the right hook of our hammock had a life/death brush just as we did in the ocean. Our weight in the hammock dislodged the nest, and we found the babies on the floor, one in and one out of the nest. We fussed for quite a while about what to do with these poor little feathered friends. I remembered my older sister, Judy, and I once saving baby robins with an eye-dropper but somehow I had no faith that there’d be an eye-dropper in this little town or that I could locate one with my clumsy Spanish. So other games began. Following the lead of our caretaker’s wife, Angelica, first, we put the nest on the grass, but neither Mama nor Poppa swallow got the idea and the babies simply shut up for very fear and never thought to holler, “Here we are!” Then we put them underneath where the old nest had been but that was also in the midst of where the old nest’s poop had landed and we figured that might be discouraging to all concerned. Next we put the nest on a chair but by then, what with the parents continuing to fly to where the nest had been—not where we were putting it—we got the idea. Our final venture was to go to the streets looking for cardboard (the streets have had for us a few useful items) but found an even better thing than cardboard which was half a Styrofoam cup. To that we added two small ice-cream containers cut in half and with the back still attached. This new nest we skewered to the hook, pressed it into the hollow of the hook, and placed what was left of the old (real, original) nest on top.
Victory! Soon the family was involved with business as usual. The babies have grown up considerably and, today, they are stretching their wings and we expect them to be flying away before we leave here. Yes, of course, we see it as a sign, a metaphor—just as the Tortugas (baby sea-turtles) we saw wobble into the sea last night. Mitzi is back there tonight while I take a turn at the writing. New life: us aging logs saved from the washing machine of the Sea, the baby swallows rescued from the logs’ weights dislodging their nest, and the Tortugas rushing out to Sea as I continue this Log—uh, … Blog.
San Felipe, the turtle man, doesn’t go to church but is the first-born son and expected priest of his Roman Catholic family. He’s baptized and a Christian. At 62 he’s still not a church-goer but claims to believe what the Catholics once believed around the time of 60 a.d. (“late Peter” is how he describes the time). That sounds familiar so we talk well together, surprisingly. He tells Mitzi she’s lucky to have me (that’s a first!) and I call him San Felipe, though I doubt that the original Felipe smoked or drank nearly as much as he does. He’s a tall, skinny, practical-bright Gringo who married a Mexican woman who gave birth to three beautiful children, and all of that earned him the prospect of becoming the chief elder of this city. He once ran this town for three years and that’s were he got the name, San Felipe. I call him that because I expect him to go to church, and he said he would go to my church someday if fantasy becomes reality. He thinks he can stand listening to me preach even if it means sitting for a while and shutting up. Considering the number of sea turtles he’s “saved”—far beyond nature’s odds and he has frequent visits from biologists at the University in Guadalajara to prove it!—I’d like to do some street work with him in my fantasy about a ministry down here. His way of saving turtles is to go with nature’s flow, and maybe we can save sinners by going with the flow of the Holy Ghost. Felipe and I get on well. It’s been quite a week! I confess to enjoying talk of Jesus of the streets instead of Jesus of theological/ecclesiastical “jots and tittles” which is where I’ve been stationed for a number of years now. It’s like going back to the briar patch for a while.
Mind you, my ecclesiastical druthers have not abandoned me. Today, at church, when the same woman once again took the reins from the male church leader, I couldn’t resist asking, “Who’s in charge here?” In response, one woman cried real tears of pain but others expressed relief that something was finally said to right some wrongs of exactly that--who's in charge here; a bit of "decently and in order"--my elders have taught me something! I suspect Mitzi and I will return soon for a longer period of time and figure out what God has in store. Right now, it looks like we will probably come back for three or four months next year and revisit some places and include a few other places to explore. One of our revisits will be here in Melaque, and we may rent a place on the coast which contains an American-Mexican family, two noisy parrots, a constant turn-over of baby sea turtles and, yes, the owner of the place himself—San Felipe, who’s going to help me in the soul-saving business after I’ve gotten him into church!
We love it down here! Tomorrow, we go to where the fishing boats come in early in the morning and will buy some red-snapper for dinner; then we plan a complete ocean/beach day. At that end of the beaches the ocean is calm and gentle, and we are able to go in and out with no more fear of death. We are living and learning. Felipe has saved 13 people from drowning, including a missionary who never came back to thank him—we’d just discussed the nine healed lepers who never returned to Jesus.
Happiness is a golf cart! First, let me say, that many of my friends through life have been people that I don’t like at first. Well, I didn’t like the idea of riding around in a golf cart and protested Mitzi’s interest in same. Her pain of riding a bike finally got through to me, sort of, and soon she drove up all smiles in a blue golf cart. She’d made a good deal with San Felipe. Happiness is a golf cart!
Sometimes I even let Mitzi drive it. We bop around town waving and “Hola!”-ing and now people seem to notice what’s latest on our agenda. “You were visiting ‘the artist’ today,” said a “local” to Mitzi at tonight’s turtle-run. The artist was first-rate and seeing his work was a joy. He’s a Christian white man, a little leaner and taller and older than I and a testimony to us and our prospects down here. He says starting a white church in La Manzanilla is well nigh to impossible but his wife adds, “Just come down and go to church with us.” At least today, that’s how the future begins, though we’ll see what tomorrow brings. They were warning us of humility and sitting at the far end of the table = “just go to church.”
These are notes to myself so that I won’t forget some of the deep longings that draw me from the traditions of church and back toward the life of Jesus. I love both leanings but bemoan the pains of their frequent separation. Either you do church right and the broken people get left behind, or you go to the streets and righteous doctrine and formal traditions take a beating. I still don’t believe there has to be such a gap and maybe that’s why Mitzi and I will continue snooping around a life that includes Mexico. I need also to mention that both of us feel very young and alive again and, in my case, less trapped in a computer with my brains dancing on the head of a pin. With the whirl-a-gig of each day presenting a somewhat different future to us, we trust, increasingly, that—even at our age—God is taking us beyond ourselves and our comfy zones.
I can’t say enough good about Rick and Leigh Frederick. Rick is a direct cousin, my mother’s sister’s son. He was six years my junior, however, and was my brother Dan’s friend, not mine. All I remember was Ricky as the almost youngest boy and Granddaddy’s favorite and then Rick as the teenager always in trouble and finally not going to college. While I was finishing up hot-shot degrees and climbing the Ivory Tower, Rick was daring the police in our old township and standing eye-to-eye with Hell’s Angels and the like.
Our six-year difference is more than wiped out now and our one-turning-into-five days together were very special. Rick told me from the beginning that he was an atheist and didn’t want me “talking religion” but proceeded to ask me religious stuff throughout the rest of our time. “Rick, Steve doesn’t say a word,” chortled Leigh, “until you ask him about it.” Hoisted…! Anyway, I try to answer him in ways that don’t sound religious. We all are loving each other, and Mitzi and I hope to see them for another day at the end of the trip. The details of our itinerary are still a bit in the air other than being at the Guadalajara airport next Tuesday, August 26th, at 12 noon. With the Fredericks we visited friends with lovely, mountain haciendas (theirs is on the Lake Chapala and very beautiful), drove the narrow streets of many towns, danced in the 60’s hamburger spread for which they hope to be the next proprietors (we just learned they got the lease and a buying the restaurant!), wound up and down the beautiful, cool, obsidian mountains near the Lake (mountains which haven’t erupted in 12,000 years according to science accounts, though we know better), ate well, slept well, and never stopped talking. Finally, we hosted them here on the Pacific shores.
Rick and Leigh were highly successful campground owners in New Jersey and know how to work and have fun! Leigh’s mind is like a jewel even after a horrible two-year bout with rheumatoid arthritis which is healing now but which scrambled her brains for a while. Their best feature was liking us, seemingly with no strings attached. Why do I sometimes wonder that I’d rather be liked by non-churchgoing, non-believers who run from God but keep looking back than loved by holy people with magnifying glasses? Sorry. I’ll shut up—and pray to be over these antics before I return to civilization again. Saint Paul, I’ve come out from among them so why does our Lord allow us to check back once in a while?
The trouble with writing is that there is an either/or rationality and logic about it. Words and phrases get stuck as one side or the other, and that is not where my heart is right now. John 3:16 says that “God so loved the WORLD” but it’s easy to forget the “world” part in my continuing worship and existence with small and often isolated numbers of similar-believing friends. Mexico intrudes upon that isolated security and reminds me of the old hymn: “This is our Father’s world.” Although not all will be in heaven, I can only love us all. In my desire for the security of my own particular brand of “birds of a feather” I often forget that “world” part and get smug. In my mind, I hear again Ralph Selin’s recent sermon on “catholicity”. Down here that becomes very much a reality and not a self-righteous abstraction. “I wish you weren’t non-believers, Rick, and that you will become a more practicing Christian, Felipe, but I don’t want to lose you as new friends.”
August 19th, 2008.
Every day I study Spanish and speak it whenever possible. I’m going through still another textbook—now through seven lessons and hope to conquer another seven before I leave. I will always be a Gringo or Foreigner down here, but I don’t want to be an ugly American and that means becoming fluent in Spanish. Almost none of the US and Canadian people we’ve met speak fluent Spanish. I don’t know what to do with these observations but, as I say, these are notes to myself, and Mitzi’s willing to put them on her blog.
She bumped her head on the golf cart this morning and, hopefully, is sleeping it off. My own mind seems okay after the fall out of bed last spring. I watch this because before we left there were signs of repercussions from the concussion I received then. If I’m not clearly better, I will go to a neurologist when I return to the States.
Mitzi has her first serious migraine in a while so I’ve been left to my own devices. The message is that I could be quickly bored down here if I didn’t have something to do other than lie in a shady hammock or on a sunny beach. I don’t want to become a computer potato—a take-off of a couch potato. But today, not wanting to leave Mitzi for the beach, I lay on our back porch and think/pray about the particulars of what I might do if I were down here for three or four months. I can go to church on Sunday, and maybe even preach once in a while. We could even go to church on Sunday evenings to Ron Klein’s service in Manzanillo (distinct from La Manzanilla). I might start a Bible class with Frank and Anne Boset who would like a church started in La Manzanilla. They are lovely and deeply Christian people and, though starting a new church seems unlikely, a Bible class might be possible and there are at least four of us! So that takes care of Sunday or the time-equivalent of a day. Note that, as I’m lying there, I’m no longer thinking of starting a new church but the more practical problem of what to do with my time. A plan of God is designed to inspire, not enervate!
I don’t want to avoid the computer—for example, I would like to do more writing down here as I have done in Ithaca. But, as you’ve seen, I want to be out and about, doing more of the Lord’s work in a hands-on way with people. Since there are a limited number of Gringos like me, the notion of people has to be expanded. So my sundrenched reverie this afternoon runs full circle and once again I come to people in Mexico being Mexicans and Mexicans means speaking Spanish. But I can’t start there because I don’t, in fact, speak Spanish. So I’m stuck between older English people who don’t need me and Mexicans whom I can’t talk to because I don’t understand their language yet. What to do….
Have you any idea where my reverie is floating to? Who knows both Spanish and English? Who, though practicing in his own way, is, in fact, a baptized Christian? Who’s a bit of a nut like me? Who likes to help others—certainly Tortugas and, it turns out, people as well? Who has a place for us to stay and for me to set up shop, so to speak?
Mitzi’s still sound asleep and I won’t be long.
I leave the golf-cart keys visible next to the door, and then get on my bike and start peddling.
“San Felipe, will you help me set up Bible classes down here? I want to start with the parables.”
“Squaaawk!” screams a parrot near my head.
“Of course!” says Felipe. “Of course I will. That sort of thing is all I’ve been thinking about since we met last week. We’ll work mainly with children, though we can have a class for adults. We can do it right in my hotel. There are good rooms for teaching. You and I may have a few different words for it, but that’s been my dream for years. As I have already said, I have trouble with what the Roman Catholics have come to, so I struggle about going to church. We’ll stick with the Scriptures, though King James was a real jerk, and I think we can get a better translation.”
Felipe is a blurter like me. His pretty, Mexican wife is watching us with a look of interest.
With tears, I tell him the story of being called to the pastorate, telephoning Mitzi three days later (I was working for my sister in Massachusetts when it happened), and Mitzi saying “I know” and telling me she’d already been to a counselor and cried because she would not make a good pastor’s wife (Wrong!).
San Felipe and I talk a bit more and exchange e-mails, but before I leave he says, “Start studying your Spanish again.”
“I’m already on lesson seven of a new textbook,” I reply. That seems to satisfy him just as his mention of Scriptures satisfies me—at least for the moment. I shuffle past his ear-shattering parrots and ride on home.
Mitzi laughs when I tell her about my visit. She allows as how San Felipe is a good "con man," but soon she is busy thinking through the details of getting children’s art and teaching supplies to Mexico without glitches at the border.
Sound crazy? Of course, but now my schedule for our next visit to Mexico potentially could extend beyond just Sunday and involve teaching about Jesus during the week. Besides, if I’m running ahead of God, he’ll rein me in. He always does.
While I was visiting Felipe this afternoon, the baby swallows flew out of their nest.
Mitzi feels much better. We have promised each other a "red-snapper" fish dinner at home tonight.