Blank Spaces

Posted on April 30, 2015 by janets123

We have a wonderful bread machine that was an impulsive purchase from a few years ago. When we first made bread in it, we both fell in love. For me it was the ease of kneading dough and the timed rising. I think Daniel just fell in love with the taste.

After trying three or four recipes, we started looking for a place to store the machine. That was no easy task in our old house, which really lacked storage space. In our new place, there is a cabinet for everything.

Because our bread machine is so tall, it won’t go in the kitchen cabinets but there is a big cabinet in the adjacent utility room. Perfect! Just fits!

That utility cabinet now holds five-gallon jugs of water and Dan’s insulated bags for work. The rest of it has become a catch-all for cleaning supplies, plumbing parts, paint buckets and lawn and garden doo-dads.

When I used the bread machine recently, cleaned it and tried to put it away, the space was gone. Granted, it was out for several hours making bread and soaking in the sink. Still, I was surprised when the machine spot was taken over so quickly.

Before I could store the bread machine, I had to move the battery charger for Dan’s drill, his box of ear plugs and a plastic jug.

I see blank spaces each time I move something that barely fits. For me, it’s like there is an invisible dotted line–a place holder. For my husband it’s just space and if the thing in his hand can fit, in it goes.

google

White space points us to the main thing

I was a graphic designer and draftsman for many years and I learned about the importance of “white space” on a page. It’s called that because most paper is white but it can be any color; it’s just blank space with no distractions on it. Look at Google’s home page for an example. All that white space creates a feeling of calm and of organization. It also makes the main thing the main thing.

hand on chin Photographers and interior designers use blank space all the time. Blank space has weight and creates balance. It’s a nice way to draw the viewer’s eye to the main subject of the photo, or the room, without the necessity of always putting the subject in the middle.

A busy life needs blank spaces too. There are parties and picnics and vacations and dance recitals. Then there are long, peaceful minutes at the ironing board or the lawn mower. These are times for thought and reflection. Too many blank spaces and we think we’re bored but too few and we begin to feel the stress.

Dan and I have settled a lot of differences in our five years together. Some things, though, we’ve had to realize are simply going to remain the way they are. We’re different.

We would agree blank spaces are there for a reason. I say they are place holders.

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Ways to Lose Me

Posted on April 1, 2015 by janets123

Have you ever said to a person giving you complicated instructions, “You lost me”? There are many ways to lose me because I don’t follow verbal instructions well; I need to write things down. Ask me to divide 444 by 12 and I start looking for a pencil.

When I plan a road trip, I print maps, program the GPS and make sure my cell phone is fully charged in case I need help. North Texas is often in the national news because of some traffic mishap that halts a five-mile line of cars, so one needs to have a detour plan at all times.

When a friend and I decided to go to a ladies retreat in Denton, Texas, I said I would drive if she would navigate. She’s lived in the area many years and been to Denton more than once. She also hates to drive in the rain or the dark or heavy traffic, so she was amenable to my proposal.

Because plans can change and things happen, I also printed maps, programmed the GPS and charged the phone.

My husband, knowing how easily I get lost, told me to call him if I got confused in the least. He also insisted I call him when we started home, so he could check his traffic app and reroute us if necessary.

We made it to Denton just fine, and had a wonderful weekend of worship and encouragement and fun at Lewisville Lake. Then we started home.

It was raining just a bit; traffic was heavier than one might anticipate on a Sunday afternoon.

First rattle out of the bag, I thought we should turn right but my friend insisted we go straight.

“See the sign?” she said, pointing, “It says I-35 South to Dallas.”

“But the GPS is telling me to turn,” I protested, albeit feebly. I have little confidence in the GPS and even less in my “gut feelings” for navigation. So we got on I-35 and headed south to Dallas.

Less than half a mile down the road, the GPS voice said, “Exit right!”

We postulated about why it would say that, and once again overruled the machine.

“Exit right!” she said at the next exit and the next. My friend and I discussed all the negative things we’d heard about GPS systems getting people lost. I protested a little that, though she (the woman’s voice in the machine) often took me on odd trips, she always got me home.

Finally, at Lewisville, I exited right, pulled into a shopping center, and called Dan.

“I’m at the Lewisville exit off 35,” I explained, “and the GPS keeps telling me to exit every mile or so. Is this a good way to go?”

My husband advised that we could go through Lewisville and get home but it was certainly out of the way. He asked if I programmed our address in correctly. (Big sigh.) He recommended we get back on the freeway and ignore the machine.

I turned the computer voice volume down and we traveled on. After an hour of driving south on I-35, my friend interrupted our ongoing conversation with, “Uh, I don’t know what happened but we’re in Dallas!”

Now my built-in logic kicked in and I wanted to say, “Well, duh, if you take I-35 to Dallas, isn’t Dallas where you wind up?”

Dallas skyline

I don’t know what happened, but we’re in Dallas!

Instead, I started laughing. “Really?” I said, “Is this Dallas? I’ve always wanted to go to Dallas but I was intimidated by the traffic.”

In between bursts of silly giggles and carefully navigating heavy traffic at 70 miles per hour, I admired the buildings and saw as much of downtown as I could absorb.

We found a sign that said I-30 West to Fort Worth and made it home in about another hour.

While I drove, I remembered that there are TWO legs of I-35 South starting in Denton. There is a West leg to Fort Worth and there is an East leg to Lewisville, Dallas, Waxahachie and so forth. They meet up way south of the metroplex, lose their E and W designations, and go on south to Waco, Austin, San Antonio and Laredo, on the Mexican border.

My friend and I lost an hour of our day but we got home safely, I saw Dallas and realized I can drive in their scary traffic. We didn’t wind up in Waco or Mexico. I also discovered another way to lose me—just ignore the GPS!

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The Riddle

Posted on March 16, 2015 by janets123

“What has rivers with no water, forests but no trees and cities with no buildings?” It’s a riddle. I’ll give you the solution later in case you can’t solve it. When you read the answer, it will be so simple, you’ll wonder why you didn’t think of it.

We had a riddle at our house this week: a puzzlement, a conundrum we could not crack. But when at last we did, it was so simple we felt silly.

About ten days ago I heard a repetitive, mechanical beep in my office. It seemed to come from up above so I thought maybe it was the smoke alarm. It’s wired into the house current but it has a battery backup. We know because it was beeping when we moved in about ten months ago.

But the beep didn’t seem to be occurring regularly enough for a smoke alarm. I didn’t hear it for a long time and then it beeped while the central heat was on. I decided it could be a squeak from the air handler, which is in the attic of that room.

I told my hubby about it, thinking he might investigate, since that’s what he does for a living. But since that is what Dan does for a living, I guess he gets a little tired of looking at heat and air systems. It wasn’t bothering him and it went on unchecked.

Then one night, Dan was awakened by the beep. Our bedroom is two rooms away from my office but that silly squeak had ruined his midnight hours. When I got up, I found the battery-operated house phones were piled in my office chair and three doors closed between us and them. Whatever it was, he had determined it beeped every ten minutes, exactly, all night long.

Upon further investigation, we decided the beep was in his office, not mine. He could not tell if it was the smoke detector or his new computer. Dan climbed a ten-foot ladder to get close to the smoke alarm in this area. I stood on the other side of the room to be the direction detector.

On the ten-minute mark, a loud beep came from Dan’s desk. The smoke alarm light didn’t flash. It was the computer!

I opened the “hidden icons” to see if there might be a revealing message. It said something about installing a driver for a memory card. His machine is running Windows 8.1 with a touch screen so I’m at a loss to help much. I pointed this out and left Dan to deal with it.

Life got in the way and he simply turned the computer off. I went in the kitchen at the other end of our long house and Dan went outside.

“Beep!” went the powered down computer. I could not believe I was hearing it from 40 steps away! It sounded like it was in the room with me.

Hearing my report, my husband insisted it couldn’t be the computer. We unplugged the battery charger and pulled the batteries out of his atomic clock. We unplugged the battery back-up for the phone system. We checked every gadget that uses batteries. All our devices were deactivated and the beeping seemed to stop.

That night after we turned out the lights, had our goodnight tête–à–tête and got quiet, we heard one more loud beep from his office, which is right next to the bedroom.

Dan jumped up and turned on the light, mumbling something about the portable intercom system.

“There’s one on your desk,” I informed him.

“That’s it!” he said. He took the batteries out and our riddle was solved.

The Culprit

The Culprit

There is an intercom link in my office and in the kitchen. It’s no wonder (now) why we couldn’t figure out for sure which room it was in because it was in all three. We never read the instructions, or if we did, we forgot the system has a low-battery-warning beep. Just like a smoke alarm.

That’s how riddles are. When they’re solved, they’re too easy to be a problem at all.

So do you want to know what has rivers with no water, forests but no trees and cities with no buildings? The answer is so simple—it’s a map!

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Where Is the Mail?

Posted on March 11, 2015 by janets123
Waiting to be filled

Waiting to be filled

A recent aberration in the weather caused all sorts of havoc in the giant metropolis known around here as The Metroplex. (That’s Dallas, Fort Worth and all the little ‘burbs, both the swallowed up and the stubbornly semi-independent.) Late in the season, we had ice, freezing rain, sleet and then, to add insult, five inches of snow.

Because North Texas rarely gets such weather, we are never really prepared to deal with it. So, schools closed, some businesses closed, churches cancelled meetings and people stayed home. Those who did not or could not hibernate, paid the price by sitting in traffic for three to five hours, hopefully with a full tank of gas.

That Thursday, we had no mail delivery. I grumbled something about what happened to “Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night, stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”**

Friday morning, quite early, we had mail and I assumed we were back on schedule. Saturday there was none. I actually looked on Sunday to see if per chance the drivers worked to make up the snow days. No mail again on Monday!

Now my Netflix disk was overdue and I was waiting on papers from our tax accountant, so I was getting steamed up about this. Just before calling to rant on Tuesday morning, I checked the box to find it bulging at the seams.

When I vented to a friend who lives in snow country, she remarked that I wasn’t usually prone to be so “judgmental.” This set me back a bit and I chewed on the subject a little more than I might have otherwise.

I don’t think it was the unexpected snow days that ticked me off, so much as the culmination of years of disappointment with how things are going at the United States Postal Service.

I am old enough to remember when the rate for a first class letter was four cents*** and a penny less if you didn’t seal the envelope. The postman actually walked from house to house putting mail in a box hanging conveniently near your front door. You knew his name and marital status and offered him a cool drink on hot days. His job wasn’t hard but it wasn’t easy and he was paid a decent wage.

But in 1963, things started changing and by 1971 the post office was no longer a government operation.  It became a private company heavily regulated by federal rules. (Sort of like Obamacare.)

Postal workers were paid more than they were worth, so much so that the civil service exam had a waiting list of people wanting to get on the gravy train.

They soon had a month of paid vacation, free doctor visits and fantastic retirement plans. They also had a union that virtually guaranteed a job for life no matter how lazy, unfit or negligent, as long as they didn’t get caught stealing checks from the mail. Employees who did lose their jobs were known to go crazy and start shooting people.

Today stamps are almost fifty cents, we all walk to the street to collect our mail and the postman won’t even wave. If you take a package to the post office, you’ll get the third degree about what’s inside and if it’s liquid or contains a battery… Let’s just say there are so many rules the postal workers can’t agree on what to do anymore.

They have an online service, which I find to be quite convenient and avoids having to observe gross inefficiency at the counter. However, in my experience, there is only a 50% chance my package will be picked up.

A few weeks ago I received a letter for the former owner of my house. It was from a government entity, so I wrote her new address on the envelope, headed it up with “Please forward” and put it back in the box. The mail carrier crammed my new mail on top of it. Twice. So I took the letter to the nearest post office.

“We deliver mail; we don’t pick it up,” she said with a sneer, and advised me to take it to the post office that serves my zip code. I put it in her outside box.

I don’t know but what the whole thing with the post office is my personal problem. I moved here from a small town where things were different.

Five years after we closed our small business, we still got mail addressed there. The postman always waved and smiled. The dog barked at the mail truck because he knew chances were good the mail carrier would pitch a treat over the fence.

And in seventeen years, they never failed to deliver the mail because of snow.

**Post Office Motto

***History of Postage Prices

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Three Squares or Four?

Posted on February 26, 2015 by janets123

Every time I use the restroom, I count the squares of toilet paper. It has been thirty years since an economic crisis made that a necessity for my family but I still catch myself slipping into the habit.

Toilet Paper

How much paper do you need, anyway?

When I think about what I’m doing, I am made keenly aware of how past experiences influence the way I look at issues. If I had never suffered a bathroom tissue shortage, it would not occur to me to be conservative with it.

I also lived in a primitive cabin for a few years and learned to be extremely careful with water. My parents bought only leather shoes and, because they taught me the benefits, I won’t have any other. I learned a memorable lesson when a frightened cat bloodied my arm as I carried her across a busy street, unwilling to let her down in the traffic. Introduced to Haiku at an impressionable age, I appreciate non-rhyming poetry with a strong cadence.

All this is fluff but it makes me sentient about deeper matters, like how a person feels on important things like adoption, politics and spirituality. I have deep-rooted feelings about many things; I am irrevocably set and passionate about some of them. Still, I am able to let others have an opinion that opposes mine and not argue the matter.

I realize a person who has not lived as long or learned as many lessons may have strong opinions and feel a need to give them loud voice. Even in this, I usually am able to give grace.

If a young person says something silly or shallow, it is easy for me to remember when I was just as impetuous and naïve.

When a brassy person forces an issue, I can get loud and argumentative right back and say things that are mean-spirited. It’s rare but it happens. Then I have to extend myself grace!

I enjoy meeting people from other backgrounds, other cultures. Because of my many and varied life experiences, I admire people who have learned English as a second language, rather than despising their awkward use of it. What brave souls they are!

At the grocery store yesterday, I waited for an older lady to back her SUV out of my way. She looked over her shoulder at least a dozen times as she inched out of a parking space. I thought things—impatient things.

But then I remembered when I used to drive a big, long Lincoln and an equally hard to maneuver Crown Victoria. I was known to bump into things and it made me extra cautious about backing up. This gave me grace and patience with the other driver.

There are many advantages to being my age. There are discounts at fast food places. Auto insurance rates are good. The mortgage is paid off. But the big benefit, the important one, is that I can have empathy with people who count squares of toilet paper.

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The Japanese Texan (Profuse Apology Accepted)

Posted on February 12, 2015 by janets123

While we waited on the computer guy to look at and discuss our software problems, he excused himself to answer the phone.

“My greatest apologies,” he said, “I must answer this and I will be right back with you.”

He returned to the caller, listened for a moment and then spoke into the receiver, “My greatest apologies but I cannot buy your product at this time. With your permission, however, I will write down your phone number and give it to any of my clients who might be interested in this. Will this be acceptable?”

He came back to us with, “My greatest apologies. Thank you for your kind patience.”

Kenneth the computer whiz is from Japan. He speaks English with no discernible trace of an accent. But his phraseology is a little formal, awkward in laid-back Texas.

My husband and I smiled and whispered. We couldn’t quite believe Kenneth was apologizing to one of those pesky salesmen.

After doing fantastic work for us and getting to know Dan and me a little better, our new computer geek shared some of his personal story.

How did a black man, over six feet tall, who looks like a linebacker and speaks perfect American English, come to live in Japan so long he became ingrained in the language and culture? His American father and Japanese mother moved there when he was five years old.

So why immigrate to the U.S.? Why Texas? He was born here!

When we complimented his grasp of “our” language, Kenneth told us he longs for the day when people no longer ask him, “Where you from?” We took it upon ourselves to coach.

“Don’t apologize so profusely,” I advised. If you feel you must, just say, ‘I’m sorry.’”

Kenneth seemed to understand and appreciate the help, even as he explained about the importance of politeness in Japanese society.

Dan taught him about “y’all,” a colloquialism particular to the South and as common as cactus in Texas. He caught right on to that one and had us giggling at how many times he could use it in a paragraph.

“I apologize greatly for making y’all wait so long but y’all have been wonderful about it and I really do appreciate y’all.”

How we think a Japanese cowboy might look...if he only had a hat

How we think a Japanese cowboy might look…if he only had a hat

We told Kenneth how pleased we were with his service by plugging his Facebook page and leaving a Google review. Without apology, we think he’s going to fit right into Texas, Japanese style. He just needs a hat.

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Recognizing Brilliant Beauty

Posted on January 16, 2015 by janets123
the deck before

Our beautiful deck needed some repair.

My husband is brilliant! He can fix stuff I can’t fathom. He knows how to install a hot water tank and stop a leaky toilet and unstop a drain. He can rewire electrical things and test batteries. He generally knows what is wrong with the car and the computer. He kills crawly bugs with ferocity and with no fear he climbs up on the roof to trim tree limbs. What a blessed woman I am to have married such a capable man!

It took me a few months to figure out Daniel is not a carpenter. He has some saws and a hammer and he can replace a board. But he has no idea how to build anything out of lumber.

At our old house was this wobbly shelf over the washer and dryer. It was held up by metal brackets that moved back and forth. They were too close to the ends of the boards and from time to time the whole thing would fall down and dump laundry supplies in the floor. I was amazed that my brilliant husband never endeavored to fix it or replace it with a proper cabinet. I propped it up the best I could when we moved out because by that time Dan had admitted he built the silly thing.

It didn’t matter because I was, and am, head over heels in love with the man.

I remember when I first introduced this sweet new romantic interest to my church. One of the ladies remarked about how very handsome he was.

“Do you think?” was my response.

She was incredulous. “Don’t you think he’s handsome? Why are you dating him if you don’t think he’s handsome?”

I gave her some reasons I was attracted. “He’s extraordinarily considerate; he’s a gentleman; he loves the Lord; we have a lot of life experiences in common.”

Later, as I fell in love and found even more to appreciate about Daniel, he became incredibly handsome. I remembered and chuckled about the time when it was not so.

Now our new home needs some repair of the wood beams above the deck. The structure is over thirty years old and still standing because it was built out of Western Red Cedar. Dan has been out there this week removing deteriorated pieces and replacing them with treated White Pine. It was cheaper.

Having grown up with a dad and brothers who knew how to build things and having lived 26 years with an architect, I advised and suggested. Then I sort of tried not to watch.

I see the new deck application isn’t quite as architecturally stylish as the old deck trim. Six inch boards have been substituted for eight inch ones; smooth-sawn for rough-sawn; the planed lumber isn’t quite as thick. I try not to notice but I can’t seem to help myself. I also know it’s going to be at least three months before it can be painted.

Patched together beautifully!

Patched together beautifully!

I refrain from saying much because I know my husband is brilliant about all sorts of things. Shall I fault him because he was never trained in carpentry?

I choose to look at my brilliant husband through eyes distorted by love. I think his work is wonderful, even when flawed. In my eyes, our new deck improvements are simply beautiful!

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No Geese Here

Posted on January 1, 2015 by janets123
We swapped a slow-moving river for a handy freeway

We swapped a slow-moving river for a handy freeway

Daniel recently pointed out that we have no geese flying overhead this year, since moving to our new house. It’s only natural, since we’ve traded the close proximity of a lake for a convenient shopping center and swapped a slow-moving river for a handy freeway.

I was already missing the annual flight of the geese and ducks that seemed to be around most of the winter. I had already noticed the freeway noise had increased when the deciduous trees went bare. I didn’t need my husband’s reminder.

There is something comforting about the sound of geese honking as they organize themselves into a long V, even if they’re only circling around the lake. They seem to be making plans and know what they’re about. I miss being a vicarious participant of the big annual migration.

I have already dealt with other issues of what I was missing about our old home by reminding myself of all the things I love about the new one.

I miss our friendly neighbors but I love our new church. I miss the fantastic view of the sunsets but I’m enjoying my new panorama of sunrises. I miss my big laundry room but I appreciate my new garage.

I really miss seeing the geese as they begin migration across our city, headed for their winter home farther south. Flocks of stragglers, for reasons known only to water birds, chose to winter in North Texas, where the Trinity River rarely freezes over.

I have not yet found a way to counter that. What putty will fill that void? We have fewer airplanes here and that’s a positive but it doesn’t take the place of geese. We have birds, coyotes, raccoons but we had those before.

I don’t want to dwell on what I don’t have because I have so much! I am blessed beyond measure!

I remember a time when I was singing the blues about my circumstances: my spouse had just died and there was a pall over my world. I was cold and sad and lonely and it made everything look worse. On the phone one night, I told my friend all about it and then added, “All I want is a house with warm floors!”

All I want is a house with warm floors!

All I want is a house with warm floors!

“Warm floors?” he asked, with incredulity in his voice. “You mean like radiant heat under the tile?”

“No, although that would be nice. But I just mean floors that aren’t cold. I’m tired of having icy feet.”

Even though I was serious, I laughed at myself. I’m laughing now. I’ve had warm floors for years now. That is, warm enough I don’t need two pair of socks on under my boots. I am quite content.

Some people seem to enjoy beating themselves up over past sorrows. I know folks who’ve been divorced for years but they can’t seem to get over the bitterness of it. Key words might set them off in a tirade against the opposite sex. Friends have been widowed for seven or eight years yet every conversation has the late husband in it.

Yes, each life has regrets but I want to share my discovery with those who dwell on the dark void: there is more life to be lived, new experiences to celebrate!

Migrating geese are nice, really nice, and I miss them but here’s a new year’s toast to warm floors!

 

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Lost on Purpose

Posted on December 15, 2014 by janets123

Dallas TrafficHaving been born with a built-in compass, my husband simply cannot fathom why I get lost so easily. It exasperates him!

Before I drive someplace new, he tries to tell me how to get there. When he says things like, “Look for a Texaco and you’re going to turn right before you get there,” I ask, “Am I going to turn right?” When he says, “Stay in the right lane as soon as it turns into three lanes,” I ask if I’m going to be in the right lane or do I need to move over to get there?” Then we’re both exasperated.

“How many times have you been there?” he asks in a testy voice. I explain that he was driving all those times and I was not paying attention.

I can pretty much count on turning left when I should have turned right, going east when I wanted west and giving up about two blocks before I reach my destination. I am so glad Texas allows u-turns.

This week I had to drive myself to church. I’ve driven it before: Boca Raton Boulevard to East Loop 820 to John T. White Road and turn at the big sign. It is only three miles. I come back the same way.

But this time Dan drove his own car so he could leave early. I followed him around the block into an unfamiliar parking lot. When I came out, I didn’t know how to get to John T. White. I turned right.

When I reached the corner and everything looked strange, I realized I should have turned left. I kept following my nose until I found Eastchase Parkway, where I’ve been before. I turned left and found Wal-Mart. Ah! Now I knew the way home because that store backs up to John T. White Road.

I now know where the church is in relation to the rest of my world: the shopping mall, the freeway, the grocery store. I won’t get lost anymore but I had to get lost to discover all that.
Sometimes I think I know the way but I use my GPS to make sure. Sometimes I leave it in the back seat and only plug it in after I get lost. It is a bit like getting lost on purpose. It helps me figure out where I am.

I am thinking of the ways my life has been like getting lost. A person does the wrong thing, which leads to much difficulty but that’s how people learn stuff. As long as someone else does the driving for us, we don’t learn much about decision making or consequences or how to avoid hardship.

Listening to advice and heeding it is a bit like listening to my husband’s driving directions. It just doesn’t make sense until you’ve been there and been in the driver’s seat.
I wish my kids and grandkids would listen to me. Because of my life experience, I could save them all sorts of heartache. I could save them money and help them make money, win friends and influence people. If they’d only ask, I am full of wisdom and counsel beyond price.

Maybe I should be satisfied if they just keep me in the backseat, just in case they get lost…on purpose.

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We Pushed the Bus

Posted on December 3, 2014 by janets123

Life is full of surprises. They are often not pleasant but they do make life interesting. I’ve found vacation surprises often make the most memorable events.

Cruising in the Caribbean, one of our stops was at Progreso, Mexico, a port not known for excitement. The Yucatan is a beautiful area and the climate is perfect but there is little to do at the port. We booked an all-day excursion to tour one of the ancient Mayan ruins.

The bus ride was a sleepy hour and a half on good roads and in light traffic. Our Mayan-Mexican guide did his best to keep us awake bragging about his amazing ancestors and teaching us some Mayan words which we promptly forgot.

He helped us explore the city of Uxmal, one of the best-preserved of the ancient civilization. He said it was founded around 500 A.D. and was the Mayan capital city from 850-925 A.D. We saw the restored ball court and learned that the winning team captain was sacrificed to the rain god Chaac, or perhaps to Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent. Anyway, winner gives up all for the sake of his community.

We took scads of pictures of rock carvings and stone arches that have survived the rain and jungle for over a thousand years, not to mention the destruction by Spanish conquistadores in the early 1500s.

My husband climbed the steep temple steps, not to commune with a dead god, but just to

Why would anyone want to climb it?

Why would anyone want to climb it?

see if he could. I went shopping while Dan tried to figure out how to get back down. He got a thrill and I got a little art print of yellow birds.

We then rode the bus to the Hacienda Ochil, a henequen plantation built in the 1700s by the Spanish. Henequen is a type of fiber obtained from Agave plants, similar to sisal. The locals still use it to make placemats, coasters, baskets and other pretty handicrafts.

At Ochil, we refreshed ourselves with a sweet hibiscus drink and meat-filled botanos (fritters). We browsed through the museum and gift shop and ambled back to the bus, ready for the long trek “home” to our ship.

I malingered, enjoying the beautiful tropical palms, birdsong and balmy weather as I popped in and out of the buildings. As I neared the parking area, I was surprised to see our entire group standing in the shade, chattering excitedly because the bus wouldn’t start.

Our tour guide was the last to arrive, having rounded up the herd, paid the restaurateur and visited with a few friends. He quickly called for a replacement bus, assuring us it would arrive in twenty minutes or so. He said we would make it to the cruise port in plenty of time.

We touristas didn’t feel so confident, having heard horror stories of passengers being left on the dock. When we found out the bus had a manual transmission and could possibly be started by pushing it and popping the clutch when it started rolling, a group of men gathered around eager to try.

I heard the metal was so hot it almost blistered hands

I heard the metal was so hot it almost blistered hands

Dan pushed, along with half a dozen others. I took pictures and laughed and thought, Only in Mexico!

Feeling confident the cruise ship wasn’t about to sail away and leave forty paying passengers stranded in Mexico, I decided to enjoy the aberration.

They pushed the bus forward, up a slight incline. The driver released the clutch too soon and it didn’t work. Now we were blocking someone else’s bus ride home, which I found hilarious.

The men tried again, this time from the front and pushing the vehicle in reverse. Hmmmm. It seems the parking lot was inclined in that direction also. Another fail and more groans and laughter.

After four tries, the bus got up enough speed for the engine to engage and we had motor power. Hurray! Our hot and sweaty crew piled in, the driver cranked up the AC and we were off, much more awake than we thought we would be. We were a noisy bunch as the guys told their stories of hot metal, shoes slipping on gravel and frustration at ineptitude and the women exclaimed over photos.

Back on the ship (just in time), too tired for dinner and too hungry to wait, we ate pizza for our supper and soft-serve ice cream for dessert, went to bed early and dreamed of the next day’s adventures in Cozumel.

We could only hope they would be as memorable as pushing the bus in Progreso.

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