Friday, November 27, 2009


* Outta the water our first week in Mexico...
We began our leisure here with accidents as soon as we arrived (lost toenail for me, three stitches on the shin for Robert) which kept us out of the water, a week for each of us.
After luxuriating in the silveryblue and undulating radiance of water for the many following weeks (accompanied by the ever amusing pelicans round about, and various fishy shenanigans like a needle fish seemingly spending more time above the water than in etc etc)--

* ...we now end our sojourn, again out of the water, kind of like book-ends:
I am out of the water for a week because I'm currently up here in San Francisco -- thoroughly enjoying each and every one of my extended family members. Thus I am not IN Mexico for our final week. This is a choice I made months ago when I booked my round-trip tix. I will fly back to our humble casita just in time to help pack everything up in bug and rat tight boxes, and hit the road north.
Meanwhile, Robert is out of the water thanks to a scorpion bite.
We each had always thought a scorpion bite would be nothing more than like a really painful bee-sting. I was there when Robert got bitten, saw the guy, and watched Robert knock it off his body and step on it. Not all that painful, he said.... and we thought that would be that.
The villagers know better.
In the explanation from their years of experience, the venom of a scorpion is actually a neurotoxin that is cooling, and so you must keep your body warm to prevent the spread of it throughout your body...
So, besides injecting Robert (actually he injected himself, fearless man)
with an anti-scorpion bite treatment we keep handy in our home, he
followed their advice. For those first few hours especially, stay warm
and quiet. That means: no ocean breezes, no swimming,
no hammocks. Lie down, don't go to sleep.
Odd thing, neurotoxins. Besides numbing the area around the bite,
a typical experience (Robert, too) is that your tongue and lips feel
as though there are ants crawling over them, and the roots of your
teeth ache somewhat. Later on, the villagers say, your hands may
feel numb, too.
None of this was debilitating, of course. Robert kept quiet and
warm, and I read to him while he rested. I suspect that when I
return, this will have run its course.

And are we now daunted? Are we more fearful about living here?
Are you kidding? No way! We have had rattlesnakes by our
creekside chairs in our own Durango backyard, and bears
and mountain lions sometimes prowl our property. Are we
now afraid to live there anymore? You get the idea.
We are at ease, and aware (and love the gentle warmth of the
village neighbors, the inviting radiance of the sea, the ever
more homey beauty we are co-creating out of our humble
casita and land).
Same as you are, wherever you live.

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