Welcome Home

I got up at 5 am, and the first thing I saw was the bouquet of Welcome Home flowers I received yesterday from Brian Bott. We met over mango smoothies and enjoyed delicious conversations spread over a couple of hours, nothing in particular, and not a thing serious, just recapping our lives over the past month. Bri is throwing a small fundraiser soon to help Vallarta Cares (formerly the Vallarta Food Bank). Stay tuned for details.

Today will be exciting – Sharon Gerber Scherer, a couple of friends, and I will be heading out on a Triple C Adventure, starting with the always interesting tianguis in Coapinole. After that, we will hit Costco and La Comer.

For a change, I will be hunting for fresh veggies in Coapinole rather than fabulous fabrics, although I have never been known to pass on extraordinary bargains. We are so blessed here in Mexico to have so many choices of veggies. My sister Patrice and I – both vegetarians – spent around 5 Euros for a side dish of veggies at a restaurant in Brussels. That was to offset our dinner of French fries, which may or may not have been invented in Belgium. Imagine our surprise when a tiny sodden mass of a frozen melange of broccoli/cauliflower/carrot appeared at our table. Ugh. That was the best the capital of the European Union could do in the middle of summer. And, the fries were good, not great.

Brussels was also kinda creepy, loads of non-aggressive foreign beggars standing in front of jumbly but super interesting architecture – a single street of apartments would change facades every 15 or 20 feet. The details were meticulously executed by olden-day bricklayers and masons who clearly enjoyed their work and obviously had all the time in the world to decorate.

But back to food. Before I left on vacation last month, I ate everything out of my fridge, of course, and replenished a few veggies when I returned – enough to get me over the weekend – around the corner from my house at Paty’s store. I need everything and am grateful we will have Claire, Sharon’s SUV, to pack full of fresh goodies. A full report on this morning’s shenanigans right here, tomorrow.

I can’t tell you how happy I am to be home. It isn’t because of the comfort of my own bed or the familiarity of the streets and the people I love who walk on them. Or the blessed warmth and humidity, or my lovely kitty Bogie.

In 1986, when I first came to Vallarta, something happened to me. There were no breezeways at our airport 40 years ago, so everyone had to cross the tarmac to clear customs and get their bags. A feeling shot up through my legs and went straight to my heart – I had this happen once before in Delphi, Greece – but I knew the second my foot touched the ground in Vallarta, I was home. To stay.