Fatal Attraction

My parents conspired to exasperate me when they were alive and dead.  I have written about their brief marriage before.  This story is about their last romance and my first contact with my Dad in adulthood.

To briefly preface – my parents met in San Francisco in 1959 and swiftly married.  They were infatuated with each other.  My Dad was a handsome Mexican American, a pilot and accomplished artist.  He was the direct descendent of ‘Californian Royalty’, Captain Jose Francisco Ortega who, on a scouting mission for the Spanish, discovered the bay of San Francisco in 1769.  He has his own Wikipedia page; Jose Francisco Ortega  My Dad was a charismatic black sheep of his family but my mum was smitten.  Equally, he was entranced by the Irish beauty who was as sharp as a whip and very funny.  She worked as a model in a department store in San Francisco but her regular job was with Bank of America in the Foreign Exchange.

After he abandoned us, my mum was careful to extol his virtues to me although I was aware that the rest of her family did not share that opinion.  As I got older, little bits of information were let slip.  He had been in San Quentin prison on forgery charges.  As my mum disappeared into mental illness and alcoholism, she shared more about his real personality.  He was emotionally cruel and seemed incapable of holding down a decent job.  Eventually my mum divorced him in 1976.

Life moved on and I came to an incomplete conclusion about my father.  In my late twenties, I had an overwhelming desire to know more about him and asked my mum if she would mind if I tried to contact him.  She was very open to that and I contacted a mutual friend of my parents who likely knew his location.  Shortly after, I received a long letter from my elusive father.  He seemed happy to resume contact with his only child.  His first letter was very welcome and I pored over his handwriting trying to connect with him through the paper.

A few letters passed and I felt comfortable enough to give him my house telephone number.  My mum also gave him her own telephone number.  When he called drunk in the middle of the night, I started to have reservations about contacting him.  He had not expressed his remorse for abandoning his family or even given a good excuse for his behavior.  I am slow to temper but if you wind me up enough, I will implode with cold fury.  By this stage, I had stopped answering the phone.  Poor Teddy had to deal with a maudlin, unstable father-in-law.  Finally, I wrote a cold letter to my dad telling him how disappointed I was in his lack of remorse and apology.  Further, I was ceasing communication forthwith.

The response to my letter was a deafening silence.  To be honest, I thought he might attempt to reconcile and I was disappointed.  My mum always said I was cruel with words – just like my father.  Then I attempted to just move on in life and pretend he hadn’t existed.  I deeply regretted my foolish need to know my father and thought my mum’s relatives were entirely right in their opinion of him.

Months passed.  My mum shared that my dad had continued to phone her but it was not a problem.  I was blissfully unaware that a spark had ignited between them.  Part of it was my age and theirs.  At age 30, I thought they were far too old to be attracted to each other.  Now that I am in my 60s that seems ludicrous.  They were each other’s great passion and I had enabled their affair to continue.  Then, my mum tentatively said that Dad was coming across to Scotland for a short vacation. “WHAT!”, I exclaimed, outraged and angry.  She said that he really wanted to meet me but I was utterly stubborn.  I had made my decision and that was final. 

What I didn’t know was that those two old loves had planned to live happily ever after.  My  mum was a very good-looking 55, slim and fit.  My Dad had put on weight from recent photos and was about 58 years old.   My father was almost destitute (unknown to either of us) and had embraced the idea of retiring in my mum’s council house with his pension.  My mum managed, barely, on Disability benefit. I was incensed by him coming to Scotland and told my mum that I wouldn’t call her until after he had gone back to the States.

My decision drove my mum to the height of anxiety because in her fairytale he was living with her forever… On the day that he arrived in Scotland, my mum went across to her friend’s house with terrible nausea.  It was a major heart attack and she ended up in Intensive Care.  That evening, I got a call from the ward my mum was in.  She spoke to me and told me that she had had a heart attack.  Although my mum smoked and drank, I was totally stunned by this news.  We arranged to drive down the next day and I had completely forgotten about my dad’s arrival.

When I walked into the ward, I was relieved that my mum looked well.  It was just the start of her heart problems and would later almost die after a triple bypass.  Then she told me that dad was truly worried by her not coming to meet him, that he had phoned all the hospitals in our area and turned up at the ward.  He was very drunk and upset, so much so that the hospital staff banned him from visiting.  I asked my mum if she wanted to see him but I think the reality had awoken her from the fairytale.  He was an old troubled alcoholic and frankly out of her league.  She told me that he was staying in a local hotel.

My mum recovered very quickly and came home where I looked after her for a little while.  Dad did not attempt to communicate with either of us and in the chaos of the situation, I just forgot about him.  After a couple of weeks, I assumed that he was safely back in the USA.  ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish’, thought I.  Some weeks after that, my mum received a call from the local police to say that my dad’s body had been discovered in a Glasgow apartment that he had been renting.  He had slipped into a diabetic coma and died.  A neighbor could see his dead body through the window.

Inevitably, my mum was overwhelmed by this sad news but I suspect a little relieved.  I was horrified.  This was the last thing I wanted even if I was so angry with him.  I phoned the police and explained our estranged situation.  They put me in touch with the American Consul in Scotland who were incredibly helpful and solicitous.  When I explained that this man was a stranger to me (despite the communication I had yet to meet him), they suggested that the Consul contact his ex-wife and see if she wanted the body repatriated.  What ex-wife???  It was just one lovely surprise after another.  This still unknown ex-wife did want his body so I asked the Consul to give her his remaining effects which amounted to $300.

Should I laugh or cry?  If I hadn’t already had been diagnosed with a mental illness, this situation might have triggered it.  This was something that I would have liked to have kept private but I had to tell my mum’s extended family.  One uncle, who particularly disliked my dad, felt that I should have paid for the funeral.  His response shocked me as I owed my father nothing.  He had paid not one cent of the alimony ordered at the divorce.

Now I only laugh when I think about this ludicrous situation.  Could parents be any more annoying?  I feel like Saffron in the British comedy, Absolutely Fabulous.  The sensible daughter always sighing about her parent’s behavior. After I moved to the USA, I found out much more about my paternal family and I have more sympathy for my father.  There is a history of mental illness and alcoholism in our family.  His father, my grandfather, was married four times, I believe, and ended up a pitiful old man.  With the wisdom of age and experience, I now hope that my parents are happily connected in the hereafter.  I will give them a hell of a row when I join them…

Holy Shrimp Boats!

Do you see the name of the boat? It is named after our current Roman Catholic Pope, Francis II – the first Pope to hail from the Americas. Argentina, to be precise. This is the harbor at a magical little fishing port, Palacios about halfway between Houston and Corpus Christi, Texas. The majority of the population is Hispanic, some white and minority of Vietnamese who migrated to Palacios for the shrimping. The names of the boats reflected their heritage.

If you zoom in on this boat coming into harbor, you will see that the owner is Vietnamese. He was waving at us very enthusiastically as we snapped images of him. It was the end of a very long shift for him and hopefully a good catch. Palacios is not a tourist trap so perhaps he was intrigued by the Paparazzi. Our respective grandparents were farmers and fishermen, so we are drawn to working harbors and the countryside.

Why does he always walk into my shots???

We stopped at the pretty main drag to get a lovely cup of coffee. I have a theory about why coffee tastes so much better in remote places. The water is better and the milk fresher, perhaps? Some of the cafes we stopped at have a Mission connection to a small coffee farm in Latin America. Coffee that’s good for your soul. In the school vacations I used to see groups of Texan youth going to Missions in remote places of central America – better than playing video games all summer.

The boat’s names were an intriguing mix of Texican, Spanish and Vietnamese. Palacios has been home to the indigenous Karanwaka natives, then the Spanish conquistadors, French and finally the other Europeans. It is satisfying to see that Vietnamese refugees found a new community in the most unlikely of places.

Then I spotted this random dude that I fancied… I am so proud of my Teddy for losing all his excess weight and getting healthy. He is easy on the eyes too. 💗

Ruby Anniversary Trip

After our anniversary trip was Covid Cancelled, we decided to take a road trip to our favorite part of the Gulf Coast in Texas. Our final destination was Rockport/Fulton, an idyllic fishing, wildlife and artist colony. This is a silhouette of Teddy looking for dolphins at our hotel. We saw them all day, every day. A Mom, Dad and baby dolphin who delighted in taking the catch of the leisure fisherman’s lines.

The sand at Mustang Island is perfectly soft and white. I love getting my toes in the beach but then hate having sandy sandals all day…

We ate at our favorite fish restaurant in Rockport, Latitude 28.02. I dressed to match the shrimp sculpture outside the front door. Drum and Triple Tail were on the menu – local fish and freshly caught. It was so good we went again the next night.

Eagerly awaiting our fish dinner as was the Great White Egret below

We bought each other the same anniversary card although you can see that one of us is more romantic than the other from the inside notation below. Love my Teddy (Oso in Spanish)!!!

It was a perfect vacation, especially since we saw those crafty cetaceans aka sea kittens.

Which suitor did I choose?

It was Valentine’s Day 1976 and I received two anonymous Valentine’s cards.  I can still remember my excitement.  The cards and envelopes were scrutinized as deeply as a Forensic Files crime.  If it was in 2022, I would have extracted the DNA from the saliva on the envelope…  Shortly after I received the cards, two boys in our ‘Glee Club’ asked me out and then I was convinced who sent which one.  But was I correct in my analysis?

I was so mortified by the Dragon card and the pink ‘tail’.  At 15 years old, I understood the implication but I was horribly naïve despite a clinical Roman Catholic health education which, as intended, put me off everything sexual.  Thank goodness Nana had passed away the previous year.  She would have declared it vulgar and made me wear a Burka to school.  Our uniform, which included regulation American tan tights with white knee socks on top, should have been enough to tamp down the boys’ lust!  My mum laughed out loud but I could see that she was thinking, “who sent that?”

The Tiger card was so different – sweet, beguiling and innocent.  The sentiment was delightful and the sender knew I loved all kinds of kitty cats.  The true love of my life was Tibby, my first cat.  I talked about her so much in school, that at our 25-year school reunion, old school mates asked me how she was?  She crossed to the rainbow bridge many years before. 

Kerry, idyllically happy with textbook and sleepy Tibby

Of the two suitors, only one appealed to me. V was an exotic half breed like me.  He was half Italian/half Scottish with black hair and pale blue eyes.  At the time I thought I was half Spanish/half Irish but I turned out to be a Heinz variety.  The other boy, W, was averagely handsome with a vague resemblance to Starsky of Starsky and Hutch fame but there was zero attraction from my end.  With that in mind, I determined that V. had sent the tiger card as he was a soft spoken, kind natured boy (liked by all mothers).  By process of elimination, that meant W. had sent the ribald Dragon card.  I turned him down and went out with V.

My short courtship with V. started so well.  He smelled so good and seemed interested in going further than first base but we didn’t.  We sat for hours listening to Tangerine Dream. His mother did not like me.  I can’t think of any reason for her to feel like that but I suspect she felt very uncomfortable with her oldest son, aged 16, having lustful thoughts for the pretty senorita.  She was lucky that Nana is always in my head or we might have got to second base…

After a few weeks, I was bored and dumped poor V. by kissing another Glee Club member in front of him.  My girl friends castigated me and I remember them comforting V. who was crying in the kitchen.  I didn’t even feel an ounce of regret – hormones make you behave terribly and I was only 15.  Later I went out with another Glee Club Member, M.  I dumped him on a boat halfway to an island on a school trip.  He spent the rest of the trip miserable.  What a heartless floozy I was… 😊

Much later I discovered there were some other boys who had a wee crush on me, so perhaps the senders are still anonymous.  Maybe sweet V. send the rude one – I could still extract the DNA… I hope you have a HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!!

The Un-Woke Series – Texting

Please take this series with a pinch of salt and a titter of laughter…

I don’t like texting.  There, I’ve said it!  Everybody texts these days but I just can’t get used to the brevity of communication.  One girl friend texted, “Hey, girl!”  How do you respond to that and what does it mean??  I know I am incredibly aged and I can prove it – I really liked memoranda and I can write shorthand.  To be fair, I do use texts for contract work and in that fast-paced environment, texts really work. “New ETA for passenger?”, for example.  I still remember sitting in my cold hallway on the fixed landline phone, chatting for an hour to a friend.  In old American movies the phone cords were so long that you could move to another room.

Now I have to go to the grocery store to have a decent conversation.

Maria – “Hey!  How are you?”

Kerry – “Good, good.  How are you?”

Maria – “Great!  Do you have your loyalty card?”

Kerry – “Dang it!  I left it at home”.

Maria – “No problem.  Are these new popsicles good?”

Kerry – “They are SO good and low in calories”.

Maria – “That will be (far too many) dollars, please”.

Kerry – “Thank you so much and have a good day!”

Maria – “See you soon”.

Sometimes I have a three way with the bagging clerk.

Kerry – “How are you, Michael?”

Michael – “I’m FAN FAN FAN FANTASTIC!”

We all laugh.  He has been saying that every day for the last 15 years of more.

I still like emails.  You can write full, grammatically correct, sentences and not sound terse.  At college we were taught that a memorandum was meant to be brief but not rude.  An email is much the same.  An emoticon doesn’t say, “I really miss you and our time together” or “Do you remember when we went to the Wallace Monument?”  Teddy also likes to chat and amazes me that we still talk together about meaningful topics on a daily basis.

Teddy – “What is that idiot talking about!” pointing at the politician on the news.  That provokes a stimulating conversation about the world today that marks us as ‘very old people’.  Recently he snagged a bargain at the thrift store – it is a device to scan your negatives and old photos.  Now we can throw out our stinky old photo albums that are moldy and degraded.

Some conversations are so much better in person.

Teddy – “Whoa!  You were a bit of a chunky monkey in Lisbon.  What year was that?”  I went through to his study to give him a slap but then said, “Jeez Louise, did I look like that?”

Teddy – “Do you recognize this castle (in Scotland)?”  That provoked a back and forth about which of the many castles it was.  Finally, we Googled it and it was Glamis Castle which was the late Queen Mother’s ancestral home.  More importantly, Teddy’s mum performed a Highland dance at the Castle, in front of the Queen, when she was a wee lass.

To be honest the only type of texting that appeals to me is sexting.  You can say so much with just a few words. ‘Come get me, big boy’ or ‘Chase Me’.  On a very cute nostalgic note, I was madly in lust with a boy with an Australian accent in our high school.  We had no telephone in our house – alcohol is so expensive…  My friend in the next street asked me across to her house so that we could phone two boys (the Aussie included).  The excitement was tangible.  We were half way up the stairs, just like Kermit, giggling on the phone.  Then the recipient of my lust sang to me across the telephone line.

“Are the stars out tonight?  I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright. I only have eyes for you, dear….”  I had goosebumps – he fancied me too!  I wish I could say it was my husband of 40 years but it was a ‘Brief Encounter’ on the list of many boyfriends.  The Aussie formally asked me out, taught me all sorts of Antipodean phrases, also taught me how to French Kiss and then unceremoniously dumped me!!  I know – he dumped ME!  I could have dumped him by text, ‘Go Walkabout, Drongo.’

New Wings

Part 4 of the Fairy Blight Saga

Kiera opened her eyes and couldn’t believe the vista in front of her.  She was lying on a sumptuous canopied bed covered in golden silks looking at an oasis.  She sat up and saw some wild camels drinking at the pool.  Suddenly there was a shimmer and Shula El Masri appeared.  He smiled broadly at her and Kiera realized that she was unclothed.  With a blush and laugh, Kiera pulled the golden silk up to hide her modesty. “It is a bit late for that, isn’t it”, chuckled Shula.  She met his twinkling green eyes and smiled as broadly as he had.  “Is this a mirage, Shula?” asked Kiera. “No, this is my home in the Sahara.  I whisked you here before you woke up.”

Kiera clapped her little hands with joy – the wonders of a Djinn suitor!  Lovemaking with a Djinn was a sublime experience.  She felt that they were both transformed into the four elements – fire, water, air and earth.  “What do you see in me, Shula?” asked Kiera very aware that she was an older fairy. “I love your essence, Habibti (darling).  Your kindness, your laugh, your warmth and those blue eyes”.  Shula explained to Kiera, that as a Djinn who was able to shapeshift into any creature, his perception or vision was different from hers.  It was though he could see her every molecule and loved her entirety. “Ana uHibbuka (I love you) Shula” responded Kiera with happy tears in her eyes.

Shula had prepared a light breakfast of dates, hummus and bread.  Kiera ate with relish; her evening had been more energetic than it had been for years.  She was content and warm but aware that they had to get back to the Texas School of Fairies.  It was time to get back to work.  No one seemed to have noticed their disappearance but they both emanated a subtle golden glow.  Shula’s copper treatment for the blight combined with some old potions was working for most patients so there was some reason to celebrate.  The survivors of the Fairy Blight, however, were faced with long term problems.  The worst was wing drop – their wings desiccated and fell off.  This left the fairies unable to live a normal life and they had to rely on others for their care.  The Fairy Crafters had been working on prosthetic wings.  They had used plant fibers, spider silk and balsa wood but it was as impossible as recreating a dragonfly’s wing.

Fairy Blight

As soothsayer, Kiera was again struggling with the feeling of despair in the school and the entire fairy world – the contentment in her personal life contrasted starkly.  Shula noticed how bad she was feeling and asked her to join him in his suite again that evening. “I might have some good news…”  Kiera shook herself out of her gloom and later knocked gently at his door.  The suite was still transformed into an Egyptian scene but this time it resembled a blacksmith’s forge.  Shula’s greatest skill was with metal so she was curious about what he had been working on.  She gasped when she saw that he had constructed a fairy wing out of titanium, the lightest of metals.  Titanium turns into a rainbow of different colors depending on what level of heat is applied to it.  Shula held out prosthetic wing that was colored deep blue.  “Stand back, Kiera dearest”.  He blew a fiery breath on the wing and it changed color to fuchsia pink.

Kiera looked at Shula with astonishment – what skills this alchemist had. “I think this might work because it is light and flexible yet indestructible”, said Shula.  They spent the rest of the night working on ways to attach the prosthetic wings.  By morning they were bleary eyed but excited.  They flew down to the infirmary to try the titanium wings one of the invalided children.  It was attached by a brace around the chest area made of beetle silk, strong but soft.  The first little fairy to try it was a Tumbleweed fairy with a mop of white fluffy hair.  Her name was Teasle and like all Tumbleweed fairies was pragmatic and straightforward.  Her first attempt was a little clumsy but after a few times she was flying around the patio outside the infirmary. “Don’t go too far,” pleaded Kiera.  Teasle gently dropped to the ground her face gleaming with joy, then she ran to Shula and hugged him.  “Do you like them?” asked the caring Djinn, while gently caressing her fluffy hair. “I love them but could they be a different color, please?” – everyone started laughing and crying.  These prototype wings were a deep pink color but Tumbleweed fairies are unusually neutral in color.  “How about a nice copper or golden color to match your outfit?” said Shula with a chuckle. Teasle grinned, her amber eyes sparkling; she was wearing mule hide suede pants with a matching fawn cotton sweater.

As the weeks flew past, lucky little fairies were attached with prosthetic wings of their color choice.  Kiera’s old friend, Niloufar, a Persian Peri fairy, had brought her granddaughter to the Texas School of Fairies.  Little Fariba had lost both her wings to the Fairy Blight.  It was with the greatest of pleasure that Kiera fitted her with delicate bright green titanium wings; perfect for a Waterlily Fairy.  As Fariba took her first faltering flight, Niloufar burst into delighted tears hugging Kiera and then Shula.  Once the excitement was over, Niloufar and Kiera, spent the evening together.  It had been years since they had met but chattered happily as though it was yesterday. “So, tell me all about this handsome Djinn, Kiera”, asked Niloufar.  Kiera laughingly said, “I wondered when you would ask about Shula El Masri!”  Neither of them knew any other Djinn and Fairy unions so Niloufar was fascinated by the details of the courtship. “I think Shula is my soulmate”, sighed Kiera knowing that this might be a fleeting affair.  Niloufar’s beautiful emerald eyes looked sadly at Kiera and she reached across to hug her.

Fariba, the little Peri fairy, and all the others with new wings stayed at the infirmary for a few weeks to make sure that they had truly convalesced.  The day came when Niloufar and Fariba had to leave for their home in Persia; Kiera tearfully waved them off.  Shula spotted Kiera sitting thoughtfully by the fountain. “Would you like to go to the Oasis, tonight, dearest Kiera?” “Yes, please Habibi.” Shula fashioned a golden shimmer around them and in an instant they were at Oasis dipping their toes into the cool water. “Kiera, said Shula, “I need to talk to you about the future.”  Kiera’s big blue eyes looked at him with dismay but she understood without words that his time at the Texas School of Fairies was coming to an end.  The Fairy Blight was a worldwide pandemic and his skills were needed elsewhere. Tears dripped down her cheeks and he kissed her on the forehead. “Would you come with me?” he asked.  She looked at Shula with a tremulous joy.  “We could spend years traveling the globe helping our species” said Shula. Kiera whispered “Yes, Yes…”

Even fairies like a happy ending.

Part 1 – The Fairy Blight

Part 2 – the Visiting Djinn

Part 3 – Magical Healers

Part 4 – New Wings

Magical Healers

Part 3 of the Fairy Blight Saga

It had been weeks since Shula el Masri (Fire of Egypt), the visiting Djinn, had arrived at the Texas School of Fairies.  He, the healers and Kiera, the Soothsayer, had tried a variety of copper treatments, recommended by Shula, for the Fairy Blight. It seemed to work best in conjunction with the older potions. Slowly but surely the little fairies were beginning to recover from the Blight. They were all still in the middle of a long battle against the disease but this is the story for every species on earth. We fear fungal, virus and bacterial illnesses and are incredulous of their power over us. There is no malice in a Blight’s intent, just a thirst to survive. Fairies understood the interconnections better than humans but they still grieved for those they had lost.

Shula and Kiera were exhausted – Shula with all the alchemical formulations and trials on patient fairies. Kiera was emotionally fraught, her shoulders dropped with absorbing the fear and pain of her students and their families. Shula always looked impeccable with a delightful bow tie but this was not his true appearance because he was a creature of fire and air. Every so often Kiera caught sight of a faint shimmering around Shula and wondered if this was fatigue. Kiera had slipped back into the easiest of outfits with little regard to her appearance. They were all getting closer to a realistic cure for this mutation so Shula suggested that Kiera join him in his suite, provided for dignitaries at the school, for a light meal and some rosehip wine. Keira was a little flustered by the invitation as she knew Shula did not need regular sustenance. Blushing, she said, ‘I would love that’ – Shula’ s green eyes flashed with pleasure.

She ran back to her suite and jumped into a bath scented with night blooming Jasmine oil. Then she chose an indigo blue silk robe embroidered with deep pink hibiscus. Her pink silk slippers matched. She walked past the Hall of Fairies, still resplendent with crimson and gold fabrics but empty…  Kiera sighed with sadness but put a genuine smile on her face when she knocked on Shula’s door. He opened the door still resembling a Persian Peri fairy but had chosen to wear an emerald green velvet smoking jacket, subtly embossed with Arabic geometric patterns. ” Please come in my dearest Kiera”, said Shula which made her heart skip a beat. Then she gasped when she saw that Shula had transformed the frankly stuffy suite into a Bedouin tent, resplendent with Arabic rugs, silks for awnings and copper furniture. There were lounging cushions in red and blue velvet.

“It is so beautiful” whispered Kiera. “I feel like I have returned to Arabia, Shula!” “This makes me feel more comfortable in a foreign environment,” replied Shula with a smile.  Over the weeks since the Djinn had arrived, he and Kiera had been chattering in both Arabic and English.  They both spoke many languages but it helped them bond a little better.  Kiera also enjoyed talking in a tongue that was once very familiar. It was obvious to anyone who watched them work together that they also had an unspoken language and were very intuitive.  Shula had laid out some plates with pomegranate and walnut pilaf, herb tabbouleh, baba ghanoush, and Kiera’s favorite Baladi* bread.  Shula poured two glasses of rosehip wine in delicate blue glasses, handed one to Kiera and said, “Mabrouk!” “Cheers!” returned Kiera with a laugh.

Shula was kind enough to join her in eating the delicious dishes.  Kiera felt better than she had for many months, if not years.  She had never married but enjoyed the company of male suitors from time to time. Now that she was older, it was a special pleasure to be courted by this handsome Djinn.  It is uncommon for different species of magical creatures to have a romantic relationship but Kiera and Shula had a natural attraction to each other bound by the Blight.  For months their conversations concentrated on the copper treatment and fairy medicine.  This evening they started to reveal a little of their souls.  Kiera told him about her Baja and Irish fairy forebears. “So, that’s where those beautiful dark blue eyes come from.”  Kiera looked at Shula, the green-eyed Djinn, leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips.  They were warm and welcoming with that now familiar shimmering.  Shula pulled Kiera to him and they fell back onto the velvet cushions.  It was a night to remember…

*Baladi is an Egyptian word meaning local. We had ‘baladi bread’ (a fresh delicious flat bread) and ‘baladi dogs’ (street dogs)

Part 4 to follow

Courtship

These are African grey crowned cranes – although it was silent I imagined I could hear tribal drums.

So many of us start a courtship with a dance.  I met Teddy at my friend’s raucous 21st birthday party and one dance was all it took.  Skip to 38 years later and we just spent a fabulous weekend visiting Franklin Safari Park, just north of College Station.  We rarely took vacations together lately because of our sick elderly cat.  I was desperate to see and touch animals because the house is so quiet and this was just perfect.  Many more amazing photographs to come.

Courtship by an Angel…

I saved my most surprising tale from Merida for just before Valentine’s Day. As you know, I had a marvelous driver, Angel, who I paid to drive me all over the Yucatan. We are both naturally chatty and speaking different languages didn’t stop us. I had a Spanish/English book and he had Google Translate when we were in cell phone range. When we first met, he asked me if I wanted to travel in the front or the back. It would have been weird to have been in the back, as though he was limousine driver, so I jumped in the front.

We learned a lot about each other over two days. He showed me photos of his pretty wife and children. They had been married for 14 years and he was astonished that I had been married for 35 years (so am I…) I think he thought I was in my mid 40’s and I would have guessed he was in his late 30’s. On the first day, we chatted about my Mexican Spanish heritage and I told him about my mum and dad. He asked me if I was famous which perplexed and amused me. I think it was because I told him I was a writer and my mum was a model. As many of you now know, being a published writer doesn’t necessarily make you ‘famoso’ or wealthy.

By the second day, we had got into a good groove with our Spanglish banter. I was feeling good and I put on some mascara and lipstick. Maybe he thought it was for him? Both days I just dressed in t-shirts and leggings because the rural Yucatan areas are quite conservative. My expeditions were into potentially dusty and dirty areas, so no point in being glamorous. He was very intuitive about what I would enjoy and had asked all the right questions. Yes, I wanted to see unusual pyramids (no turistas, por favor) but I got most excited about handling an iguana and seeing fruit bats. Curiously, when I showed him my photograph of the Carpenter Woodpecker he knew immediately what it was. Perhaps he had worked in another field before driving.

I make a good traveling companion, if my health is good, and I could see that he enjoyed all the laughter. He told me that I was a really nice, funny person. There are police checkpoints all over the Yucatan and I said, “Lento, Policia!” which means ‘slowly, police!’ Angel wasn’t speeding (he was an excellent driver) but he thoroughly enjoyed my mime of what I do when I see the Texas police, braking really fast. They seem less afraid of Mexican police than we are of Texan ones…

About an hour before we returned to Merida on the second day, he told me that I was very pretty. I laughed and said, ‘Pero vieja (but old)’ “No, no” he insisted “Muy bonita”. Finally, I just accepted the compliment. Then he asked me if I liked to dance and my face lit up. Salsa is my favorite, I shared, and it is very popular in Houston. “Do you have lots of boyfriends?” “No!” I squealed, “I am married.” “Did I have lots of boyfriends before I married?” I explained that I married at age 21 but yes, I did have lots of boyfriends. Of course I did!

So, after beautifully predating courting me for 2 days he came up with the final stunning question, “¿Haces trampa?” which means do I cheat (on my husband). Another squeal of NO from me followed by delighted giggles. I have had plenty of propositions even in recent years but I was beginning to think I was getting to my ‘best before’ date. Then I explained that even though my husband was REALLY old, he was very romantic, telling me he loves me most days and that I love him.

We reached the hotel, having previously organized that he would pick me up for my early flight the third day. He ran around to open my door (please take note, Teddy) and we shook hands while Angel looked at me with big brown eyes. Just at that moment a few Europeans appeared across the road. One of the men shouted in broken English, “You should take her!” Angel didn’t understand what he was saying but I thought, “He very nearly did.”

I was a little anxious about the atmosphere on the ride to the airport the following morning, after my rejection of my suitor. He usually turned up early and I was pacing at the hotel door. Then the red car turned up and I ran out with my suitcase. A woman got out of the car – he had sent his wife!! She was really very pretty and charming. One of his little daughters was in her school uniform, for an unusual school run via the airport with a strange blond lady who spoke bad Spanish. It is not the first time that a much younger man has approached me, even when they know my age. I am complimented and fascinated. Perhaps some of the ageism has disappeared from society. Maybe a good figure and a fun personality negate the age barrier? Keep it coming, guys, because it makes me feel fantastic!

PS. Before anyone mentions hashtags, bear in mind that no boundaries were crossed. I was perfectly comfortable and he just asked me questions. As to whether he was a cheater; I am not sure. It was curious that he showed me his wife and children immediately. Perhaps I just enchanted him and he saw a once in a lifetime opportunity with a quirky white cougar who might be really good in bed….

Welcome home, Teddy!

New flannel sheets!

My husband used to travel much more frequently than he does now but he recently went to Austin for a conference.  By happenstance, the new flannel sheets had arrived; they not only look lovely but feel amazing.  Why flannel sheets in the subtropics, you ask?  Teddy was a Princess Prince in another life and I discovered decades ago that he could really feel a pea under 20 mattresses.  The bed has to be soft and comfortable, yet perfectly made.  My mum knew how to look after him with perfectly ironed sheets and underwear…

SO FLUFFY I COULD DIE!!!

In the back of my disturbed head, I have a secret fear that he will leave home and live in a hotel if I don’t provide a clean, freshly made bed on his return.  Teddy hates hotels so the fear is not based on truth but more of my own distaste of returning to an imperfect bed after staying in hotels (which I love).

Wine and soap

On the dresser you can see a bottle of Pinot Noir and some handmade soap that were my gift for his birthday.  Shortly after I moved to the USA, I started a new anti-depressant that made me ‘high’ and I was finally able to make soaps (a long held desire).  I am so good at it that friends asked me to sell them.  There were a couple of orders for baby shower favors which made me gasp with horror.  Not only did they know the sex of the baby but they had chosen a name!  In the UK we only gave gifts after the birth just in case the baby did not survive.  How do you know if she is going to be Apple or Peaches or Trixiebelle until you see her adorable little face? Eventually I had to come off the euphoric medication and realized I am allergic to the soap fragrances (even the best quality).  Now I just make them on special occasions and never use them myself as I have a prescription Sulphur wash.

So what is the point of this blog?  I love my husband so I make him comfortable and that is one of the secrets to a long marriage.  I make him soaps even though I get a headache and I can’t drink red wine but buy him his favorite.  That said, Teddy is currently in the wilds of Utah, Idaho or Montana – I don’t monitor his movements.  When he comes back, he will have another fresh bed but he is going on a diet because his shirts are tight…  Guess who is going to eat all the meat and booze that he can in Brokeback country???