World Beginnings

 It is a glorious time of year here at Lake Chapala, Mexico. The sky is clear blue; the lake is full of water for the next year; birds are singing, and wind chimes tinkle. Along the lake's edges are masses of yellow flowers and some white; even though they are weeds, they are beautiful. It is peaceful here, unlike my friends in Florida, huddling in closets as hurricane Ian batters them. It has been a week of excellent and annoying events. My friend, Lissa, helped me catch my cat, who refused to get into the carrier and come to our new rental. That was so good. BooBoo kitty and both dogs welcomed Bobcat home, and soon he found his favorite chair, curling up for a long nap. But in our little slice of paradise, too many people take in a stray, only to leave it in a box or locked in an empty rental. In the last few weeks, more than one person dumped three cats at the Lake Chapala Society, no doubt because it is well known that feral cats are fed there. But it isn't a refuge, and th

Long ago, in a land far away, nope, such a place never existed. Yet it did and still does in my memory. This morning I saw this picture posted by my Lakeside friend, Charlotte Donaldson, of freshly shelled peas and snap beans, and I was transported back in time to my Aunt Janis’s farm in Poplar Creek, MS. That was a simpler time, much like Garrison Keillor’s Lake Woebegone. Kids never back-talked, and when we told to come and shell some peas, we did it. Bushels and bushels of them sitting on the porch, shelling and talking. Purple hull peas stained my fingers purple, and I hated when the butter beans came in; they seemed the hardest to shell and made my fingers sore. And if someone stopped by, seeing folks gathered on the porch, they were given a big bowl too and joined the conversation and shelling. There was a predictable urgency to farming back then. The fields had been plowed, made ready for planting, and at just the right time, the seeds went into the soil. And then the waiting fo

    The Golden Years term, coined in the late 1950s…yes, I knew it had to be a marketing ploy, but I didn't realize it came from Del Webb and his planned, elite retirement community in Sun City, AZ. A place so hot you can fry eggs on the hood of your car in the summer and is flooded with snowbirds in the winter. Of course, he promises paradise in his "active" communities. Just look at this fit, healthy and smiling couple promising, "you too can live a perfect life here." Anti-aging hormones on speed. And then came the sitcom "The Golden Girls", who, while immaculately dressed and coiffed, must live together for survival. A small dose of reality. Yet, they laugh through life's crises, and no one is ever mad very long. I don't know any women who could live together without coming to blows, but this show created that fairy tale, and women still think this is a viable option.  The reality is far darker than the promised summer's gold. Like most

  Cairo, in 1997, was primitive in so many ways, especially in what we would call grocery stores. It wasn’t until about ten years later that a big European supermarket opened up. While there was a store that had frozen chicken, that was what I was on the hunt for, I could tell the meat had been thawed and refrozen numerous times. Often the dirty sliding casing door was left open for who knows how long, coupled with frequent power cuts, guaranteed to melt everything in any freezer. Asking around, I learned of an area that had fresh chicken, so off I went with my minimal Arabic to buy a fresh bird. When I asked for a fresh chicken, the proud shop owner reached behind the counter, pulling out a live chicken, squawking like crazy. I just nodded my head and, in my terrible Arabic, said I would come back when it was ready, the butcher just grinned at me. Thirty minutes later, I picked up my fresh chicken, holding it gingerly at my side. While crossing the street, I touched it and almost drop