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| Crazy Joanna and My Grey Hair |
| 04.29.04 (5:45 pm) [edit] |
Walking to the hotel this morning I met up with Crazy Joanna, who has a fantastic new hat (they are making a movie here and she says she is in it, which I have no doubt could be true) and this morning at least, no teeth, an event that happens every few months that means listening to endless details as to the why of it. She was rattling on and on, to me and everyone nearby, my exboss included, asking if we'd ever *done it* and if not, why not. As I walked up the stairs she howled "MJ, I can see your you know what, stop showing off, damn you!" Having on a pair of baggy shorts, I worried a bit, what exactly could she see?
At the end of the day, after Arlene had driven us into a two foot hole in the new, unfinished parking lot on the plaza and 5 men had picked up the front of the SUV and gotten us back on solid ground again, and back up to the hotel to learn more, we were finally on our way down when an older man at the foot of the stairs asked how much a room was. We barely knew but tossed out some answer and he kept looking at us while I was thinking, oh god, is he looking up my shorts?
He seemed satisfied with our answer and we headed toward Arlene's vehicle and were inside when he came over to us, looked in the window and said to me, "You have the most extraordinary grey hair, it's really remarkable" and walked away to his very grey haired wife who was sitting on a bench staring at us. Well, my hair, being a topic of too many conversations as it is definitely Hair by God or Wind, is nowhere near extraordinary, though re-mark-able might qualify. I'd actually noticed in an outdoor mirror earlier in the day that it sure as hell was getting seriously beyond salt and pepper, and should I do something about it?
I don't know where I'm going here. I only know how weird it was for a white haired half bald portly kind man to comment favorably upon my hair. Maybe tonight I will shave my head.
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| How to make people laugh on a small island |
| 04.29.04 (4:05 pm) [edit] |
After a morning spent with Adrian and May trying to learn all the computer ways of working a hotel (after many years of having done hotels with more rooms and less clicking) Arlene and I went for lunch at the best cafe here. It was packed, almost all locals, including my now ex boss (ex boss to myself, Arlene and the other member of the Dream Team, perhaps an instigating factor?) who practically yelled to the room, oh look, it's the new management team of Kokomo's. This brought forth a lot of laughter, as our new boss is rather renowned, and not in homage to the good. He himself told me on the second meeting (two years ago, after turning him down the first time he offered a job, by far not the last) "Really MJ, I am not a cockroach, no matter what you hear". Well, probably knowing more about how his businesses have been run (through) than he, I knew it would be some ripe gossip to actually accept a job from him, but I wasn't expecting a low handed move from a boss I worked my ass off for in a competing business. He did apologize later, and my "Watch and learn" along with "what the hell, it will be fun and if it all slides, we walk" tamped the amusement a bit, but I'd not want to go to town tonight to hear 87 times what a mistake I've made.
Tomorrow to the other island to learn about internet cafes and then back to see if I really can figure out the computer bits. Three days a week working, four off to do my own garden thing, this could work right well.
Is that the wind still blowing?
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| Growing up? |
| 04.29.04 (5:25 am) [edit] |
I'm always amazed when life just slides into a 180 turn, whether I stress wildly or just sit back and watch the flow of it. In that zone, I suppose it's easier to see when to put toes in the water and when to jump in, having less interference of my own making so much noise I can't see, hear or function rationally. This time it was not so hard to listen, maybe the endless rounds about the mountain of that lesson are finally bearing fruit.
Last night was the first dinner of what we all independently called the Dream Team, laughing to hear each other say it out loud. May and Adrian grilled sausages and chicken, having the sausage the Greek way with lemon slices for garnishing. It was such a small thing but made for a taste I'd never experienced (yes, I'm sure there is some brilliant analogy here but it's still early in the day).
The idea of working with people I really respect as well as genuinely like is exciting. Having worked together before in very different circumstances, we already know our thinking of how things ought to go is almost always on the same track. The difference this time will be if there are screw ups, they will have to be owned by us. A good thing.
Breezy again today, as if so much can be literally as well as emotionally blown away. With sunshine to light the path.
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| Succumbing to the numbers |
| 04.28.04 (11:31 am) [edit] |
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Today I said yes to the Greek, after he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Well, I made him an offer and he accepted it and threw in a bit to sweeten the pot. If it all goes as it sounds (and not bloody likely but close would be very good) there will be a new internet cafe/bar/bookstore on the canal side. I toss in some hours of shared hotel management and play it as it goes. His last words as he headed up the hill were "You're on your own now, I'm a phone call away if you need me." Since that would be NY, I will try to call infrequently, even with super low rates it shouldn't take long to say "Send money."
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| The best friends make you laugh |
| 04.27.04 (4:13 pm) [edit] |
I certainly was done with writing online tonight but got this from a friend of mine (I guess 40 years counts as long time friend) and it was too good not to share.
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Are you tired of all those mushy "friendship" poems that always sound good but never actually come close to reality? Well, here is a "friendship" poem that really speaks to true friendship!
Friend,
When you are sad, ...I will get you drunk and help you plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you sad.
When you are blue, ...I'll try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
When you smile, ...I'll know you finally got laid.
When you are scared, ...I will rag you about it every chance I get.
When you are worried, ...I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be and to quit whining.
When you are confused, ...I will use little words to explain.
When you are sick, ...stay the hell away from me until you're well again. I don't want whatever you have.
When you fall, .I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath, ...I pledge 'til the end. Why? ...you may ask? Because you're my friend!
Remember: A friend will help you move. A really good friend will help you move a body.
I'm not sending this as a chain letter...I hate them..don't pass it on if you don't want to..and don't reply to me if you don't want to...I already know who my true friends are and aren't...
(Send this poem to ten of your closest friends and get depressed because you realize you only have 2 friends, and one of them is not speaking to you right now anyway.)
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| So it goes |
| 04.27.04 (3:33 pm) [edit] |
No gift shop. The woman who was running it a few times a week had company from the states and decided not to open - typical, but good, no money spent there.
While walking around and running into people I heard news, of course, so I went to check it out and it was true. A friend is leaving, who moved here a year ago who loved this place so much she bought a sailboat even though she never sailed in her life, but she says now how while nothing is particularly wrong, how no bad thing happened, it has become too small here for her. That is what happens if you go to happy hour every night with the same exact people, which I don't do (but I, having lived on islands, knew the road to insanity, she was just having a good time after 20 odd years of working for unions in the northern US).
She is going to drive around America and decide on a place to live (I suggested she check on the Outer Banks of the Carolinas), but I think mainly she wants to drive...and drive and drive, something impossible here. As one of the more sane people I know, I'll miss her, but that is the reason she is leaving, whether she knows it or not and I think she does.
Islands do that to people - if you are not careful, you can slide on slippery slopes and do it so slowly you think it is just the normal way of life, normal being the word to look out for since it is normal here to be quite abnormal. At least for the expats...the locals could probably be transplanted to someplace like a small town in the mountains of some southerly state in the US and fit right in...if they changed their language, skin tone and way of life.
While I sat talking with her, another friend showed up, having heard the rumor and coming to check it out. I was surprised more didn't arrive while we were there, but they were probably at the bar debating on the why's of the subject.
The guy who showed up is a complete gadget freak and has to travel far and wide to get what he needs to feed his habit, as the most technology to buy here is a blender. I told him about my vinegar thing and he told me about his trick stuff where I could write on the labels in my own handwriting and have it reproduced forever. As he put it "What is with this WRITING???" He was going to go to Germany to buy a piece of equipment for his diving, but decided to buy some new camera stuff instead. He's writing a book about this place, with fantastic pictures, and wants to buy an 800.00 tripod to take a panoramic picture of sunrise to sunset from the highest point on the island. I have no doubt it will be beautiful.
While we talked, her new puppy Sadie bit the hell out of my hand, all puppy wiggles and leaps. Sadie is going to America too. Good.
But I found out a really exciting thing, that there is a new ferry to a nearby island three times a week now that can get me there and back on the same day (time thing is always a problem here). I've been to this island and it has a GREAT gourmet store and some good restaurants, so it would be well worth a day trip at 5 bucks round trip for the ferry (not bad for a trip that takes over an hour). The old ferry was for workers and meant either spending the night or spending about six hours on ferries to spend about two hours on the island, so this is a big deal here. Woo hoo!!! So my friend and I will go over on Friday and I will try and flog my vinegars (IF the wax arrives and IF Nadine got the printer ink). Otherwise we'll just go because we can.
And the sun goes down, as usual. Consistancy, even if it's really strange, can be really comforting.
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| Flying flamingos |
| 04.27.04 (6:52 am) [edit] |
Flamenco gift shop is closing today. Patty and I are going to see what the last sales are - she already bought the only shoes I wanted out of the place - I want those wispy curtains that aren't for sale, of course...you can't buy curtains here...well, really lousy shower curtains, but not quite what I mean.
The vinegars are beautiful. Purple lowers from the thai basil have turned the vinegar a delicate pink and yet the color of the flowers remain. One of the orange hibiscus bloomed today with a dozen almost ready - and I'm anxious to see how the color will hold; will it turn the vinegar pastel orange?? The whole edible flower thing has me psyched, and all this time I've pretty much avoided many flowering plants in favor of herbs...duh me.
Of course the printer ink wasn't in the store yesterday but Nadine the owner is going to a big island today and has my order. Hopefully it won't be 3 x's the cost of going myself. But then I can do the labels. Wax coming in the mail this week I hope. If it's all in time I can set my table up on the weekend and play bottling for dollars.
The wind is up, little waves are breaking on the rocky shore outside my window and the water close in looks brown and awful, though sun gliints help. The harbour view farther down at the end of the yard is blue and beautiful. I'll look out the door instead of the window...an easy decision on life view today.
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| Carry on |
| 04.26.04 (6:30 am) [edit] |
When I quit my job, it was because of old injuries to my arms that for some reason have flared up again. A doctor says work less, surgery or no use of arms...have you tried not using your arms lately? It's a lesson in being humbled, not my favorite sort, but when forced, quite effective. So I think of things I used to carry with ease and things I carry now, like I used to carry my children as babies, braced upon my hip.
Some things I used to carry or move:
Furniture
Appliances
Boat parts big and small
Luggage (the not rolling type)
Groceries
Books, lots of books, lots and lots of books
Things I carry now:
Hardly anything, that's why god made backpacks and rolling luggage.
Yesterday I carried a huge pot to sterilize my vinegar bottles. I couldn't carry the lid and was too embarrassed to tell my girlfriend (who loaned the pot to me) why, so I said I didn't need the lid. After adjusting it four times to go about 500 feet I hoped like hell I had some foil to use for a lid...
Today I will ride my bike to town to get some ink for my printer at seriously inflated prices, if they have any. I will go to the mayor's office to talk to a friend. I might go to the one market that sells fresh meat. And then my arms will hurt too much to do anymore. I will, most likely, run into my old boss (a trip to town means you run into 10 or more people you know so I try to space the trips) who will cluck with truly sincere sympathy and the hopes that I get *better*. And I will feel very foolish, for not being strong, which is also foolish.
So then to make myself feel better I will come home and try to pound rebar into the ground as fence posts for the chickens that will live here soon - not the wild ones that already live here, but the ones a friend is giving me, fancy ones that lay the most lovely brown eggs. Her husband promises that if I don't want them all to just take them, and he will butcher some for me, but not around his girls. If I hit rock with the rebar and I most certainly shall, I'll stop and play with plants, which require no carrying, only tender touches that remind and reassure me that life does indeed push up through rocky ground and can flourish, no matter what shape it takes.
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| Search engines - the first one is free, then you are hooked... |
| 04.25.04 (8:45 am) [edit] |
I love search engines. How did I get from searching for edible flowers to becoming a consultant? And being a consultant has always been a fantasy of mine, though I prefer the word ombudsman, un PC though it might be. Frankly, I really prefer the title Queen of the World (in my world I'm AM the Queen, but it's a very small world).
This isn't my ego speaking, but of course it is. It's just that...I don't understand why things in the world are so confused when with just a bit of tweaking and common sense, a lot of the bumps, ridges, cravasses, potholes, anguish, hatred, and boiled over bad tasting foods could be just fine.
Take business. I've had tons of jobs, and quite a few of them temp jobs. Each time I have taken a temp job I get accused of working too fast and pissing off the regulars. Well, I have this funny idea about *work* - when you do it, do it, and then go play. But not being motivated by job security, finances or medical benefits gives me a different slant on things. I do have a great time though, which in my accounting of things makes for a right nice wealth on its own.
Also, I don't watch television and haven't for about - oh dear god - well, 30 years seems way too long but it's about that. I don't mean I NEVER see television, I just mean I don't have one so when I do see it, I'm sort of like a deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming train, with a complete duh expression. I don't get laugh tracks, since most of what provokes them doesn't strike me as funny. And what I do think is funny, no one else is laughing about. My children say I simply do not know how to watch television. They would know. Although I cruelly kept my daughter from it until she was six. One day she asked me what country Burger King was the king OF...and I thought maybe I'd gone too far. Which is another saying of my children...Mom, you've gone too far. Well, they used to say that and then I really did go far (but not too far, really, I can get back) - we talk by phone now and it is good.
Let's say (the royal let's) you hire a new secretary. An employee calls in with some bit of info and asks it to be relayed and the secretary says it shall be done and a call will follow to confirm. Two hours pass and no call. So the worker calls back...the secretary indeed has the information required but, ALAS!!! hasn't the phone number of the worker to call back. This is stupid. Time is wasted because the secretary hasn't had the common sense to find someone with the worker's phone number. Kingdoms could fall, lives go on hold, chickens escape across the road, but. Should the secretary be fired? No. Because, while the secretary may be a bit of a dullard, it's not really the fault of the secretary. The fault goes to the TRAINER (and backward from there), who didn't make sure the secretary had a list of all workers and all phone numbers. And why didn't that happen? Because most likely the secretary was plunked at a desk after taking a PC test and left at it, hoping like hell not to make too many mistakes before figuring out what is going on with this new employment.
And as to edible flowers? I'm looking for a consultant.
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| Island Sunday |
| 04.25.04 (6:54 am) [edit] |
A typical island Sunday...sky insanely blue, water a hundred shades of the same, boats moored for the weekend, and quiet. Well, quiet except for the drumming from over the hill. I have no idea where it comes from unless it's Ricky, practicing for a non existent band gig. Maybe the bagpipe man will play soon. He lives on his boat and sometimes I see him going down the street, his Australian bush hat, his hiking boots, his intent look. He never seems to sweat, which very well may mean he isn't human. The sound of bagpipes wafting over the harbour is weird and wonderful and sometimes I go onto the dock and applaud him. He can't see me or hear me, but he's worth the applause, not only for his playing but because he is yet another one-er here.
I maintain that most of the ex-pats here would either be in jail or in an insane asylum if they lived in the States...and maybe at one time or another they were. The sun and heat usually mellows them out, but not all of the time. Anyway, weirdness shows in lots of ways.
One of my favorites is Crazy Joanna (as opposed to Swiss or Diver Joanna (rarely in the islands does anyone know a last name, it's Crazy Joanna, or Construction Bob, or Scary Terry...). Joanna is in her seventies and at the age of 40 joined the Barnum & Bailley circus, soon after that moving here. She is either really funny or really a pain in the ass, usually when she mixes her meds with alcohol. She gets tourists to buy her drinks and the rest of us groan and head the other way, knowing we are going to be accosted soon with weepy eyes and grasping hands. Otherwise, she makes me laugh, screaming down the street that she loves me she wants me she wonders if I'm fucking my boss yet because he sure is a honey!
Sunday morning interruption - Patty out my window, calling for a chat before going out on her kayak, ideas for vinegars, cleaning a spider's nest from the craft before heading out. Patty does massage and healing sorts of things and is a bit witchy, the locals call her brouha, affectionately. She tells me the flowering leaves for bouganvilla are good for many things, and all I hear is that they are edible so will look beautiful in vinegar, as will the orange hibiscus getting ready to flower again. Some hot peppers, small and purple will as well. And I'm all over the map - not unlike Joanna, to go the circle, so am going back to the garden with a coffee and and a spade. One of them will win.
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| Girl future |
| 04.23.04 (3:37 pm) [edit] |
Outside my window two young girls are dancing on a dock, boom box blaring some sort of Madonna-ish music. They wiggle their hips, thrusting themselves about like something out of a ought 4 American Bandstand gone awry. They are maybe 12 and dance like 20 year old college girls on a drunken Spring Break and they scare me as I ponder their future.
I've seen them before while sitting out in the yard, with men friends around who make embarrassed jokes while admitting the strange horror of being semi aroused by child women. The girls are beautiful, long hair swaying, girl laughter flying over the water. Right now they hold hands, dancing down with their knees on the dock, one in a red spandex dress, the other in blue spandex pants and a pink tight shirt. There are the bare suggestions of future breasts, no hips to speak of, though soon soon both, and I wonder if they have any idea how they appear. Now a little brother comes out, to bring food and drink before getting shoo'd away in the eternal big sibling little sibling mode. Everything goes back to normal, the music goes off, and they are just two young girls talking and giggling on a late afternoon by the sea.
Did I ever think I could look so in my then not to the pubic bone fashionable hip huggers? I started my dancing late and now go into my own frenzy to conga drums while Wickie and Jorge grin, playing with taped fingers, on a Saturday night. I may dance with Calixto, slim liquid muscle who makes it easy to laugh at my own clumsiness against the fluid movement of his body. I may dance with Carmen or any of the women here who dance with other women to keep life on a semi even keel. Or by myself, off to the side on the wall of the canal, careful not to fall in. I've danced there on crutches before, held up by friends who knew I had to move, shake out the ya ya's...and watched in awe of the real dancers, the ones you can tell have danced together 20 years until it is no longer a thought, just a breath...
The light of sunset is going and the girls are gone now. They'll be back again and I'll still be scared about their futures, but maybe in that future they will just be girls I grin with, dancing to the congas in the night.
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| Mucho aqua |
| 04.23.04 (10:02 am) [edit] |
Juan, a famous old baseball player I know who can't talk very well but says a lot anyway, told me the other day during a rain that it was aqua. I don't know if he thinks I don't know rain is made of water or if he knows I don't know the Spanish for the word rain. He kept pointing to the sky and swooshing his hand across the bar and grinning at me. Then he'd point to his new shoes and make motions of polishing them. I'd point to my flip flops and make the same motions. He'd laugh for a second, then get very serious again about his shoes.
Juan carries a shoe shine kit around, but I've never seen him polishing shoes. His own are so shiny I bent over to show him I could see my face in them, and I really could. He beamed. I think some local cop gave him the shoes, or that was how it seemed to me. People give Juan a lot of things and he shows them off in his walks around town, with soft grunts and groans and the occasional clear word that never fails to shock me for its very clarity. Judy the bartender agrees with me that the best person to tell a secret to on this island is Juan...he may want to tell it, but no one will listen anyway.
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| Don't say the *W* word |
| 04.23.04 (7:17 am) [edit] |
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I quit my job three days ago. In typical island fashion, I've been stopped on the street three times and visited last night by the Greek with job offers. All I want to do is make herb vinegars and sell things out of my yard to people on their way to the beach. If there are X many dollars in the bank, and I am really careful, I can tell the Greek, again, thanks but no thanks...and everyone else can sit in the bar and gossip about how I survive this place and keep laughing.
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