PS

At the request of a certain individual, I've gone back and posted some unseemly pictures of us at 3 am on the way to PDX. If you'd like to see them in context, scroll on down to chapter one of Yucatan Wednesday's. :)

Yucatan Wednesdays...A Travel Journal ch.2

Philadelphia. City of Brotherly Love and Broken Brackets-

Fact: Honeymooners are a pain in the arse. They can't help it, also fact. They honestly believe that they are possibly the most In-Love individuals on planet earth and feel desperately sorry for the poor 'older' couples who've let their love die in the gutter after assaulting it with dirty diapers, two year olds and shattered dreams of success.
And so, our story brings us to a bustling and overcrowded airplane flying somewhere over the midwestern United States and to a lovely young couple in seats 22 A and B. In seat 22 C sat an exhausted, frizzy haired woman of a few years more than they. Her once tidy pant suit is stained with airport coffee and she is perpetually raining acid-laden glances down on the smooching young couple next to her. And why, you might ask, is this woman being such a wet blanket on the paradise of their love??? Because they're a pain in the arse. We've discussed this.
The flight to Philadelphia was LONG and as I said, crowded. As you may have guessed, yours truly was seated next to a couple of Love birds.
"So, how long have you been married?" Asks the honeymooning girl to the obviously more mature woman next to her after spotting the ring on the appropriate finger.
"Oh, let's see. Eight and a half years, I guess."
"Oh my gosh- that's like, forever. Eight and a half years ago I was eleven!" She giggles at her funny and I raise an eyebrow. Part of my self discovery this past year is realizing that there's no need for me to be polite to absolute strangers once I've assessed that they're dumb. Case in point, Suzie Q in 22 B.
"Yep. It's been a very long eight and a half years. You'll see. Once the first year has come and gone you, too, will start asking yourself, 'What in God's name did I see in this imbecile? He's broke, uneducated and full of faults. On the hot scale, I'm a solid 8, while he remains firmly lodged in the 3's. By God, I'm gettin' outa here." This is said with a knowledgeable nod of wisdom and a conspiratorial wink to the guy across the aisle from me. Suzie does not see the wink or the man's grin. He is hiding behind his Star Wars novel in a heroic attempt to keep from laughing outright. Suzie flinches slightly and finally remembers to close her mouth. In the seat beside her, her new husband has fallen into a drooling snooze to the soothing sounds of Pink Floyd. The latest issue of Drummer's Monthly is laying open on his lap.
Having successfully stilled conversation with the twittering newlywed, I resume my in flight reading and happily pass the next three and a half hours in silence.
We arrive, still with lingering humor, to a cramped, narrow halled airport and proceed to the ticket agents in order to secure our flights for the following morning. A quick jaunt out to the arrivals zone and soon we are being loaded into an air conditioned shuttle and anticipating seeing this new city.
Ten minutes later and it's clear that Essington is in exactly the opposite direction from downtown Philadelphia and we are going to see NOTHING in the way of the city. Not one thing. We briefly glimpse the skyline before launching onto the freeway in the other direction. We find ourselves later in a somewhat run down district of steakhouses, factories and nightclubs. It looked a little like Powell Blvd back home. Not good.
In an effort to keep costs down, and also to see if we could do it just for the sake of principle, we have not eaten since the day before. It's six in the evening in Philly and we are pretty sure we're going to die of starvation seizures any moment. Next to our cheapo motel, sits mecca- or as it's known in the Northwest, Denny's. But we bypass this traditional choice and take to walking around industrial Philadelphia at dusk, certain we can find someplace to eat that's a little more interesting. We ask around.
"The best place to eat? Oh that's Mike's for sure. That little place on the cornuh, right there. See it? Best Philly Cheesesteak around." Thick Jersey accent.
"What place? Where are you pointing?"
"Right there. See it? With the screen door? Acrossah street."
"That place? really?"
"Yup."

Hm. 'That place' is a tiny, hole in the wall 'joint' with a broken screen door hanging by the top hinge. The diner inside is linoleum floored and looks sticky, even from here, all the way acrossah street. I know there are flies in there. I don't know how I know. I just do.
We ask, "Anything else in this neighborhood?"
"Um. Yeah- there's the tavern. Just go down that street a block or so. You'll see it."
We take a moment to wonder if we're being set up for a mugging, thank the man and keep walking.
Sure enough, a few blocks later, the charming tavern sits huddled in the dark, a few paces back from the road. It looks promising. It's dimly lit and noisy- the first is suspicious, but the second is a good sign.
Cedar paneled walls sport horse racing photo's, there are candles on the tables and the menu boasts pickled beets. What more could one want? I order a dark beer and look across the table at Ryan. This is perfect.
"You know, you were outright rude to that poor girl on the plane."
"I know. I feel bad."
"You do not."
"I know. I feel bad about not feeling bad."
"you do..." he starts to argue "...ok. you know what? just order."

I order the flank steak and he the spaghetti. Discussion with the waitress yields information and we learn that this restaurant has been in this neighborhood for over fifty years and that most of the waitstaff has been here since it opened. You can tell.
Our food arrives and it feels like years since we've eaten last. I am about five bites into the best steak I've ever eaten when I hear the snap. Ryan looks up from his pasta with a "What the?" look on his face. Delicately, with fear, I reach up and remove the wire from where it's stabbing me in the cheek. This has happened before. I was afraid of this. I've broken a bracket trying to chew the World's Best Steak. It's rattling around in my mouth and making it impossible to eat. The rest of my meal goes untouched and the oldest waitress on the planet is slightly annoyed.
"Maybe we should see if there's an orthodontist who can do emergency work." Suggests Ryan.
"I'll be ok." I insist. "It's nine o'clock at night, I'm exhausted. I was planning on drinking my meals on this trip anyway." He rolls his eyes and I wholeheartedly pray there will be no need for me to find an orthodontist in the tiny Mexican town of Puerto Juarez. That just sounds scary.
We pay and begin the walk back. It's fully dark now as we make our way to the main road that will take us back to our hotel. Cars streak by us and I have a moment to appreciate how pedestrian-conscious Portland driver's can be before I glance across the street at another couple making their way in our same direction. They're obviously having a great time and look a little unsteady on their feet. And then, as if it were the most natural thing to do on a Philadelphia streetside, the man drops his drawers and pee's.
Safely back in our hotel room, two miles and thirty seconds later, we collapse. I'm still starving, but have had enough humor to at least keep me occupied today and am rolling in a fit of laughter on the motel bed.
"Did you see that!?" I'm still laughing and Ryan's pulling off his t-shirt and chuckling.
"Yeah."
"Happy second honeymoon!" I guffaw. He looks disappointed.
"I feel bad about this." He says in his serious, discussing thermo-dynamics voice. "We never really took much of a real honeymoon, and when we finally do, your teeth fall apart and strange men are peeing on the sidewalks."
"Would you feel better if it had been someone we knew?" I ask, but barely get the words out.
I can't help it now, I'm hysterical. When I can talk again, have caught my breath, I shake my head.
"We're not newlyweds, thank God. Can you imagine? Nope. We're partners in crime, among other things, and those twittering honeymooning idiots ain't got nothin' on us."
I hold out my hand to him and he takes it. I flip on the T.V. and cruise the cable channels.
"Hey, look. Family Guy's on." He says, feeling better. We get comfortable with snacks for him and water for me and spend most of the night watching the inappropriate cartoon marathon in our jammies.
We fall asleep later to the sound of our own laughter. Our non- honeymoon has begun.

*Please stay tuned for next weeks episode of
Yucatan Wednesday's... Thunder From Down Under*

Yucatan Wednesday's...A Travel Journal

( 3 am)

Chapter 1.
Indecision, Maybe.

It came as no surprise to me to find myself rumpled, undressed and checking email the Sunday afternoon before our Monday morning departure. My suitcase sat empty on the bed in our room surrounded by a pile of shoes, styling irons and various warm weather attire, none of which was actually packed.
Hurricane Ike was making a run through the Yucatan and into the gulf at that very moment and I, with Ryan leaning over my shoulder every few minutes, was closely watching the projections for this cat 4 monster. Needless to say, I was a bit nervous.
"Do you think I should take the Teva's?" I ask Ryan as he goes back to packing after one of the over-the-shoulder checks on weather.com.
"Why? We're going to be at a resort."
"Well, because of the hurricane." Is my exasperated response.
"Because of the hurricane? How will Teva's help you in a hurricane?" Typical man question.
"Well, I'm not wearing Coach flip-flops in 20 feet of water! That's just ridiculous."
Ryan, appreciating my logic and having back packed through a large portion of the Philippines' tropical climate, shrugs his shoulders, "Yeah, take the Teva's. Better safe than sorry."
"Oh, who am I kidding!?" (I'm beginning to lose it now) "Teva's aren't going to help unless they can identify a body by footwear!"
"In that case, better wear the Coach flip flops. No one will believe you own Teva's." At the panic glazing my eyes, he changes his tone and raises a hand for peace, "Calm down, Honey. It probably won't even rain. You'll see." Ryan continues to put things in his bag and is now putting things in mine as well. For fear that he might actually try to pack for me, heaven forbid, I reluctantly leave the minute by minute updates and start the process myself, muttering about varying evacuation plans.
Ten minutes later, and having made zero progress on the packing situation, I am back on the computer, this time having printed a map of the city and am industriously highlighting 6 different evacuation routes, when I hear Ryan on the phone. From his end of the conversation I gather he is talking to a US Airways rep about the flight.
"Oversold? Tell me something..Kathy, is it?...Tell me something Kathy, why is it, do you think, that when there are 150 seats on a plane, the ticket agents sell 175. I know I'm not a rocket scientist, but tell me why that makes sense to you and not to me. I just don't get it."
I can hear only his side of the conversation, but I'm pretty sure I know what's happening and panic starts to rise up in my throat. I can't stop the questions even though I know it makes him crazy when I do this when he's on the phone. I find him in the next room and begin to frantically whisper in his ear.
"Oversold?! What does she mean they're oversold!? How can that happen? Is there another flight tomorrow? When's the next flight?!"
"Ssshhh!" He waves me off with a flick of his hand and marches into the living room. "No, not you Kathy. I was shushing someone else.." He shoots me an incriminating gaze. "Perhaps you'd be able to tell me when the next flight to Phoenix leaves Portland on Monday....Three in the afternoon? Nope. Not going to work. Our connecting flight leaves Phoenix at 9:20 am. Is there another flight from Phoenix to Cancun on Monday? Not till Wednesday?!"
At this point I'm following him around the house, literally biting my tongue and clasping my hands behind my back in a saintly effort to restrain myself from wrestling the cell phone from my husbands hands and ripping the illustrious Kathy a new one. I am repeating, "What are we going to do?" like the whispered mantra of the insane. The logical side of me is thinking it's convenient that I haven't packed yet.
"Ok, Kathy. Here's the deal. I'm taking a second honeymoon with my wife and on top of that, tomorrow's my birthday. I know that doesn't matter to you- but it matters to me. So if there's any way at all you can get us to Cancun tomorrow, we would really appreciate it."
I wait an unending beat while Kathy clicks what are probably ugly acrylic fingernails on her demon possessed keyboard.
Ryan responds with lifted brows, "Philadelphia? And there's a connecting flight? hm. ok, that's an option. Well, let me talk to my wife and I'll get back with you. Thanks." He hangs up the phone and looks at me. By this time I have made a plan. I'm very good at plans. I start talking even before he has relayed her words to me. I caught enough that I've been able to keep up to speed.
"A flight tonight."
"What?" He's looking at me, uncomprehending. "What flight tonight?"
"Is there a flight to Phoenix tonight that we could get on? Then we'd be there for the Cancun flight in the morning and we already know a cheap motel from last years trip." *see earlier post- The Phoenix Shenanigans*
His eyes light up. I can see his Smither's type scheming coming into them. "Yeeesssss....this could work."
He flips open the phone and rapid dials Kathy's associate, Darlene somethingorother to re- explain everything we've just discussed with Kathy. Soon he's hanging up and a panicked look is skirting around on his face.
"Ok. There's a flight that goes to Phoenix tonight and it's oversold by one. There's a good chance we could get on that flight. We'd be there in time for the Cancun flight in the morning IF there's room on that flight for us. The way it looks right now for that flight is pretty sketchy, there's already 6 people on the waiting list and the planes full, but it looks like our best shot."
"We're not going are we?" Despair settles in.
"Yes we are. We are." He insists. "But the issue is that the flight for Phoenix leaves in two and a half hours. The kids aren't packet yet. Your mother isn't expecting them until four. You haven't finished packing either." He holds up his hands, questioning. "What are we doing?"
"I don't know. Is it worth it to rush? I don't know."
"I don't know either." He looks at me for a minute, waits for the plan to formulate in my mind.
"So what are we doing?" He asks again.
"Running." Is my only answer as I speed dial my mother, send her into a panic of her own and begin throwing random articles of clothing into the suitcases. One high heeled white sandal, one parka, three umbrellas... Stop! I order myself. Pull yourself together! Only ONE white sandal?!
I throw the other in and continue on the rampage.
My mother shows up minutes later to finish packing for the kids and get my house ready to be empty for a week. We toss half packed bags into the back of the car, synchronize our watches and blaze into traffic for the eighty mile trip to the Portland airport with a heartfelt wave to the kids out the car window. Gone are the days when we linger over teary good bye's with the children. We wave. They wave back. And then it's back to business.
"We're not going to make it."
"I love how you always have a positive attitude."
"I'm just saying, we're not going to make it." I adjust my newly purchased Paris Hilton type sunglasses and check myself out in the side mirror.
"Would you stop? You look fine." He slaps at my hands that are reaching for the cosmetic bag in my purse.
With a huffing sigh I sit back, try to force myself to breathe. Fifteen minutes ago I was checking the weather on the computer.
"C'mon FedEx. You can do better than seventy, can't you? We're late here!"
"Don't start."
"I will start. Pretend you have late deliveries or something and use that handy pedal on the right."
"That's it. I'm slowing down."
"No! Ok, ok. Fine. I can't even look at how fast you're NOT going." In rebellion I reach for the cosmetic bag and fill the car with the fine dust of Covergirl, sending Ryan into the much anticipated fit of sneezing.

His parents meet us at Troutdale on the outskirts of Portland and his dad agrees to drive us the rest of the way and take our car back to their house. The last fifteen minutes of the drive prove to be the most grueling as Dave tries to get the feel of the Subaru's clutch. We arrive with minor whiplash and most of that covergirl smeared on the back of the seat in front of me. We jump from the still moving car, grab our bags and rush to the counter.
It is two hours later when we call his dad again for a ride back to the Sr. Kendall's. The flight was full.

"Are you telling me..." I begin as Ryan and I make our way out of the airport, "That we just did all of that for nothing? You know I only packed ONE pair of shorts? I'm probably going to have to go around butt naked the whole time thanks to this fiasco."
"Don't worry. The sunglasses cover most of the rest of you."
I slide him an impatient look.
"Give me something to be pleased about here. One thing. I'm begging."
"Well...we're going to Philly in the morning. That should be interesting."
"Doesn't count."
"And why not?"
"Because it's only a possibility. Not an absolute."
"There are millions of possibilities. You could have been struck by lightning walking into the airport tonight."
"Is that supposed to be the thing I'm glad about?"
"That's the spirit!" With a clap on the shoulder he breezes through the revolving doors to meet his dad, still trying to drive my subaru, who's waiting in the arrivals zone.
I have a moment to think, 'Happy Second Honeymoon to Us' before his dad rips into airport traffic and launches us down the freeway in first gear.
Either way, I think sunnily, I'm not driving kids to school or making peanut butter and jelly, taking phone calls or paying bills. I remember Cabo well and how misfortune often turned into adventure on that trip.
By the time we reach the small suburb of Gresham and his dad is cheerfully pulling into the KFC parking lot, I'm in a much better mood.
Philadelphia awaits. Maybe. Or Phoenix. Or possibly Charlotte. For now, we are falling onto the food like starving Ethiopian's and planning a rousing game of Pinochle. For now, I don't curse whoever it was who thought of 'stanby' tickets.
Ryan is chattering with his dad about trying to catch the 5:20 am flight to Phoenix even though it's oversold and there are several people on the waiting list with higher priority than us. I try to talk sense into him, like all good wives everywhere, but he's not listening so I give up.
Later, we crash onto the couches in the Sr. Kendall's living room and set the alarm for three a.m. We will have about three hours of sleep tonight and all for a flight I'm positive we won't make. But I let him entertain his delusions and when the alarm goes off a heartbeat after we've drifted off, I continue to let him have them.
It's Monday. Dave will drive us to the airport, again. Coffee in hand, we set out. Ryan is talking about the plan for Phoenix and I am going over the restaurants in the airport in my head, choosing one that will serve a decent breakfast since I know we'll be there at breakfast time as there's NO WAY we're making the Phoenix flight. I say nothing to Ryan, but am not happy as you can see. Note the contrast between his travel euphoria and my own sense of REALITY.


Little does he know, I also researched several Philadelphia hotels the night before and chosen one with a free shuttle and continental breakfast near the airport. I am nothing if not prepared, and sneakily so.
The drop off is smooth and we check in. It doesn't look good, says the ticket agent to Ryan. But Dave has already left and we're stuck. Through security and down the long corridor we go, lugging our suitcases and the giant carry on I intend to pass off as a purse regardless of the fact that you could fit a large purse, a laptop computer and a medium sized terrier breed dog in there.
We wait. Somewhere there is a TV blasting the Pink Panther theme song all over the terminal.
Ryan is making his eyebrows dance up and down with the music in an attempt at entertainment. It's not working.
Finally the crowd converges, the lines form. The plane is boarding AND (drumroll please) you guessed it. Full flight. No room for standby's.
Ryan looks dismayed. He was so sure.
"Alright you. You're buying me breakfast. Get up." I stand in front of him, hands on hips.
"I was so sure we'd get on." He looks confused.
"You can think about it over french toast and let me know what you come up with. Let's go."
We lug our baggage back down the unending corridor and flop into hard plastic chairs at the diner.
"So," he begins. "I suppose we're going to Philly."
"That's right." I say as I butter my toast, unperturbed.
"You knew all along, didn't you?"
"We have a reservation at the Comfort Inn in Essington for tonight."
"Essington...hm. What other sorts of things do you know?" He's interested now.
"Oh."I say, glancing up at him. "You wouldn't even believe..."

*************************************************************************************

*Please stay tuned for next week's episode of Yucatan Wednesdays,
City of Brotherly Love and Broken Brackets*

Something funny

Well, I just had to share this one-

It is a common occurrence in the Kendall household that when leaving the house, we will often get precisely one block from home and go, "Wait! I forgot my wallet." Or "Oh, jeez- you have to turn around. I forgot my sunglasses." or, often from the backseat. "I have to go potty!".
When I say this is common- I mean practically every time we leave the house. It's daily. There's just so much going on, a veritable hurricane of talking, directing, grabbing things to take (which inevitably are never the things we've forgotten as that would be too easy) that things are left behind. And not the small inconsequential things that you can live without- but the really important things...like going potty and remembering to take our phones or *forpetessake* our wallet/ purse, those are always the things we forget.
And so, now rushed at the thought of an extra 1.75 minutes spent retrieving the forgotten item, we speed around the block and swerve recklessly back in front of the house, where we slam out of the car and race through the front door in search of bathroom/wallet/sunglasses/whatever. Keys in hand, we zip through the house (because there's no way whatever it is that we're looking for is going to be wherever it's supposed to be (except the bathroom which, surprisingly, is, often enough, right where we left it)) scanning furniture surfaces, turning over couch cushions, digging through handy 'organizational' baskets (yeah right) until we've found said item.
We then grab it up and race out the front door, click the flimsy, Good-Thing-We-Live-In-A-Small-Town-That's-Relatively-Safe lock into place and race back to the car, where we clamber in, hastily buckle our seatbelt, look at our spouse (whoever's driving) and go, "C'mon! We're late! Let's go!" only to see aforementioned love of our respective life look at us in an also frustrated way and say, "Keys??"
Oh yeah. I took those in with me didn't I? Hm. Open the clenched fist. Nope, don't have 'em. Crap. Crap. Crap. House is locked. Door could be broken in, but really, what a shame.
Ah yes- the old standby. A skill we hope he will never use in criminal activity, we shout, "Noah! You're going in. Mom (it's usually me who does this) forgot the keys again."
At which point my valiant four-year-old who fancies himself a hero (and really, he kind of is) when pressed into this situation, flips his seatbelt off in much the same way as his hurried mother just did 2 minutes ago, leaps from the car and makes a bee line for the back yard, two steps in front of whatever adult happens to be going to give him the boost. This time it's his father.
Through the gate, down the walkway and to our bedroom windows.
My four year old deftly pops the screen and uses the flat of his hand as traction on the glass in order to slide up the unlocked window. (He's doing all of this while being held as the window's kind of high)
Once the window's up, he scoots a hip onto the sill, swings his legs into our bedroom, and this time (which was yesterday by the way) he slants a look at his father, lays a hand on Ryan's shoulder and with absolute manliness says, "It's ok dad. I do this for mom occasionally." (he seriously said 'occasionally) With that he jumps to the floor (only about 18') shuts the window in Ryan's laughing face and disappears. We know the routine. Ryan meets him at the front door, where our boy is on his way out having locked the door behind him and has the forgotten keys dangling from his fingertips. He climbs back in the car, buckles himself in and sighs a deep sigh of self-satisfaction combined with boredom. Ah, the hero again. The role gets so mundane.
Now, as I mentioned before, this skill could prove to be one we regret instilling in him when he's 25. But for the time being, my four-year-old is pretty handy to have around.

How we spent the summer

It feels weird to post a regular blog after a whole summer of Baja Tuesday's, but, while less funny, this will let everyone in on what the Kendall's have been doing with their 100 degree weather out here in the gorge.
enjoy:)

We did a lot of this....

An embarrassing amount of this....


Put in some time at Relay For Life
Specifically on the GIANT
slip N' slide






A LOT of work went into the electrical system of our house...


And into replacing the water heater that went out in the middle of the electrical project.
(That's my brother, Jimmie ;)


We did take some time off to enjoy the fair in Hood River...


I had braces put on in July... smiling hurt for awhile...

The carousel was the girls favorite ride.

Noah spent some time in solitary...that's the box from the water heater

He liked it....really.


We did a lot of picnicking...


And enjoyed some hiking...


This is Sahalie falls...






The kid's took golf lessons all summer...



...And were rewarded with trophies at the end.



Summer also won a set of golf clubs as a reward for Most Improved Player.

Hope you all had a wonderful summer!

Baja Tuesday's...A Journey Through Hilarity

The Long Road Home...or...Burning Up On Re-Entry

Ah, yes. That last day.

We met up with Dave and Eileen at breakfast on our last full day in Cabo and learned that Dave had been talking with Violet all morning and reporting about the 'romantic' cruise she'd sent us on for their anniversary. He had something planned, he told us. And Ryan and I were NOT invited. Well. So, fine then.
Whatever it was it would certainly not be as awesome as our own BIG plans for the day which included some pretty amazing....yeah, nothing. Nothing at all. We thought about snorkeling, but didn't want to sprint to the other side of the marina to catch the boat that left in an hour. We thought about another sunset cruise on Pepe's boat, but thought that might be overkill. In the end we decided to spend the entire day laying by the pool and drinking Pina Coladas, something, if you'll remember, I had been dreaming about since this trip started but had been too busy to do.
So we laid around, enjoyed the sun, baked a little, put our feet in the pool... and within mere moments, were OUT OF OUR MINDS WITH BOREDOM. We look at each other, take a deep inhalation of the relaxing vacation air, grab our towels and head for our room where dry clothes and a wad of cash await our arrival. We're outa there. Whatever Dave and Eileen are doing it's going to PALE in comparison to what we have to tell them tomorrow morning when we report the previous day's adventures!
We take our cash and hit the streets is search of trouble, two Americans on a mission, soaked now in this seedy southern social climate, we are prepared for ANYTHING!... In the real world, where we live most of the time, we were actually a couple of tourists looking to buy their kids maracas. But NO WAY were we getting hosed by these locals for a couple of shakers. No sir. We were on to 'em now.
"How much for these?" Ryan asked a man at the flea market.
"five dollar." The man replies.
"FIVE? For these??" is Ryan's question.
"Yeah. How much you pay?"
Ryan, seeing an opening, bids low.
"Two dollars."
The man looks up at us for the first time. "Two dollars?? No. Too low." He takes the maracas and walks away. We exchange a glance. Perhaps he does not realize that we are worldly American travelers who are onto him and his grimy capitalist ways.
Nevertheless, he is gone, and so are our maracas.
"What now?" I asked.
"Next booth." Instructs the skinflint.
The same delima occurs, this time with an irritated older lady. "Two dollars!? No!" And the maracas disappear again.
I keep thinking, For the love of all things Holy!, just pay the man/woman/overworked five year old the five pickin dollars!!! But no- because now he is a man on a quest and he's sure that someone somewhere will give him his maracas for two bucks. Have I mentioned yet that it is the hottest day of our trip so far? Yep- well over 90 and climbing. My feet, clad in fashionable Victoria's Secret flip flops are literally on fire and I am leaving a trail of turquoise colored flip flop material simmering behind me on the sidewalk. After about 15 minutes all that is left of my once cute sandals is the tiny strap between my toes. There are millions of zig zagging ocean blue footie prints all over Cabo San Lucas that remain to this day. Should you happen to visit the city, you can retrace the steps once taken by the two stupid tourists who made the first circuitous route through the low slung buildings in search of the Best Deal Possible on a pair of cheezy kid maracas. It's a regular pilgrimage now.
But anyway-
We storm into one shop after another, demanding that these people give us our maracas for our two pitiful dollars until FINALLY we come upon a relatively nice woman who offers them to us for three. Ryan struggles against the idea that he might have to compromise and finally agrees that my red, swollen feet are worth a one dollar concession on his part. Maracas in hand, we leave the sweltering flea market and point ourselves toward our hotel and refreshment.
We spent the rest of the day by the pool wishing time would just stop and leave us there, but eventually, the sun went down on our last evening in Cabo and we were forced to face reality, our trip was over. The next day, we had breakfast by the pool with Dave and Eileen, all of us looking completely exhausted, and then made the last 6 mile walk to our rooms to pack.
We met in the lobby at 9am.

The guys- not a great picture, but I was too tired to care


Eileen and I.

Reluctantly, we climb into the grayline shuttle that will take our now lazy, Mexico-lovin' selves back to the airport where we again wait for a plane. Dave does his thing and cracks a couple of jokes with the guy at the front of the ticket line and the guy returns the favor by making sure we're on the flight. This time, I'm not too happy that he's done that.
Our plane takes off and Cabo San Lucas becomes a strip of arid earth beneath us, the sea stretching forever. I watch the coastline out my window for as long as I can see it, which seems like a long time, until we make our descent back into Phoenix. It's lunchtime and we kill the two hour layover at a pub in the airport before making our way back to the gate where we are told we're NOT going to make the flight to Portland. Surprise, Surprise. None of us are talking, Dave, Eileen and Ryan because they're just too tired for words and myself because I am industriously planning a way to get myself back onto a Cabo bound plane.
I am busy hatching a plan involving three toothpicks and the one tampon I have left in my purse, all of which I will stealthfully employ in my mission to reboard Air Mexico, when the flight attendant informs us that they can get two of us on the flight after all. So now the question is: Do we want to split up?
Dave and Eileen encourage Ryan and I to take the flight, but we refuse. I'm not absolutely sure they'll get on the next flight if I'm not there to fuss about it and also- I have not completed plans for my escape and need more time to finish the identical 'Melissa look-alike' that I am constructing out of paperclips, playing cards and random things found in airport trash receptacles. Look-Alike Melissa will go with Dave and Eileen and my unsuspecting husband whilst I make my exit and head south of the border never to make gooey smiley faces in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches again!!! Bwah Ha Ha!!! This marvelous plan is disrupted by sanity eventually and we find a more realistic use for the playing cards...

We were able to make the delayed connection and found ourselves landing in Portland a short two hours after departure. It was 11 o'clock pm. Fourteen hours since we left the Tesoro Resort.
We step away from the gate into the long corridor of PDX and begin walking...

"Honey, keep walking. What are you stopping for?"
"I don't want to go home. I'm going to get back on the plane.."
"You can't get back on the plane. And even if you did, you'd still be in Portland."
"They might take me back."
"No they wouldn't"
"How do you know? I hate you." This is said with shoulders drooping, devastated resignation.
"You're right. You should get back on the plane. You never know. They might take you back."
Spurred now by his mockery, I retort, "Look, honey, a muffin counter! I think they might still be open!"
He has no response for this jagged riposte and I take the opportunity to turn on my heel and tackle the long corridor. Outside the windows of PDX, the city is dark, obscured by the sheets of rain that are dumping down from low hanging clouds. Selfless Brother Kyle will be waiting for us in the portico outside the main doors. The airport is quiet, abandoned almost, and the bustling atmosphere of Cabo seems very far away.
Ryan catches up to me, slings his arm around my shoulder.
"You know, I think it's a pretty good idea to take advantage of these company benefits on a more regular basis. We should plan another trip maybe. How do you feel about Jamaica??"
I look at him the same way I looked at that airport employee when we first landed in Cabo, skepticism and suspicion creeping around the edges of my expression. "Really?" One eyebrow raised.
"Why not? We can start planning for next year and see what we can do. Think about it and let me know where you want to go."
I smile because I know he means it. Kyle is waiting outside, just like we knew he would be. It's pouring, a cruel reminder from Mother nature that the week of fun has ended. Dave pops into the front seat of the minivan and I wonder if he has to force himself to speak English.
"Well, it looks like you're all tan!" Says Kyle from the front, which opens up the floodgates of story time and we tell him all the things we did that made us tan. I lay my head back against the seat and try not to fall asleep. Ryan is holding my hand and chanting the names of other exotic places that he promises to take me sometime in our lifetime. Just the promise is enough for now.
I make a mental note to buy muffin mix when we get home.
Cabo has been amazing, but it's time to look ahead- other adventures sit poised on the horizon, the golden eyes of sunsets yet unseen. I breathe. I preserve the wonder gained from a thousand experiences in 7 days. And finally, peace. There will be more.

*This has been the last post of Baja Tuesday's. Thanks to all who read and enjoyed the posts! Perhaps there will be Yucatan Wednesdays in our future ;0)*

Baja Tuesday's...A Journey Through Hilarity

'I Think We Might Be On The Wrong Boat...'

Obviously this was a photo op that could not be missed. We came across this little piece of irony as we were strolling the boardwalk on our way to dinner. Ah. FedEx. The World On Time..., apparently employing any and all means of transport to provide the world with L.L.Bean shirts and Harry and David Gift Baskets. We raised our hands in salute as we passed, thanking the company that offers such discounted travel to such impoverished souls as ourselves.
We were on our way to our boat, strolling in an unhurried fashion among the small fishing boats along the western docks. The middle of the marina and the north shore where our hotel was located, were reserved for yachts and other large ships that were actually sea worthy. I hoped as we walked that our cruise ship would be among them. I could see the scene now- sitting in the lap of an over-seventy total stranger while eating undercooked kabobs of unknown meat served semi warm in a tiny over-crowded dinghy like the one pictured above, the ocean spray splashing my face as the large woman next to me spews said kabobs in a bout of either sea sickness or food poisoning. My own stomach telling me it probably isn't sea sickness... In spite of all Mexico's charms and relaxed atmosphere, I was still a skeptic. I'm an American. I can't help it.
In spite of my vivid imagination and nauseating fantasies, we arrive at the dock and join a line of individuals who are also waiting to enjoy the dinner cruise. To my amazement, and if possible, further skepticism, we are escorted to a lovely cruise ship, small but comfortable, where a BBQ is fully cooking what appears to be chicken. It smells wonderful and my feet have barely touched the deck before a waiter is asking what I'd like to drink. Well, alright then. Now we're talkin'.



Upstairs or down? We debate and fully hold up the line of would be cruisers as we discuss the pro's and con's of indoor dining versus the open air, al fresco, wind in your face and bugs in your food experience. Up, we finally decide. Definitely up.
We ascend the steep staircase to the upper level and are pleased to see semi-comfortable looking benches around the deck. The captain is at the wheel, his back to us. Dave and Eileen seat themselves on the port side and breathe in the sea air. The deck fills with a surprising number of people and soon we're crammed between several golden agers, once again festooned in palm tree shirts and straw hats. I'm not kidding. Just wait, I'll show you. I have pictures.

See? I have no idea who these people are, I just took pictures of the shirts for proof.
As I mentioned once before, I LOVE boats, so I'm sitting there, totally happy, or almost...if it weren't for the fact that now I'm remembering all the boating trips we took as kids and all the many hours I spent driving my dads boat around the lake or river or wherever we were that particular day. I would rather be on a boat than just about anywhere and have never suffered even a brief moment of sea sickness in my life. Perhaps I was a sea captain in a former life, if I believed in former lives, which I don't think I do but haven't decided yet.
Anyway- The engine roars and the propellers begin to churn and our ship moves slowly out of the marina. The captain is standing a mere 10 feet away, the instrument panel calling my name, the wheel mocking me with each turn.
We are brought our drinks and I notice immediately that I've NEVER in my life had a beverage this STRONG. Interesting. You'd think a bartender on a ship like this would know how to mix a drink. I shrug and drink anyway thinking the next one, if there would be a next one, would not be as strong and would balance this one out. Makes sense, right?? Apparently alcohol doesn't work like that, but I didn't figure that out until later. And that doesn't really have anything to do with this story anyway.
We leave the harbor and are smoothly making our way out to the arch, the sun sinking low in the sky. Dinner is announced and we opt to wait a few minutes until the crowd thins a bit before trying to maneuver down the killer staircase. Meanwhile, El Capitano hasn't turned around and I decide to once again, test my psychic prowess by forcing my eyes to bore into the back of the captains neatly ironed shirt. In this fantasy, he turns in a proud captain-ish way, singles me out of the crowd of fifty people, offers me his hand and says, "Would you like to drive the boat?"
I am in the middle of this 'scorch him with my willpower' technique when, no kidding, he turns around, singles me out of the crowd, offers me his hand and says, "Would you like to drive the boat??"
I am shocked. What now? I hadn't gotten any further in the daydream but I figure the only thing to do is say yes. This is quickly becoming the best moment of my life and the memories of my dad and the lake are flooding back, simple times of childhood with no complications or regrets. Just happiness. Also- Pepe's kind of a hunk and hanging out with him aint such a bad deal either. I look at Ryan who see's exactly what I'm thinking. He smiles and nods his head. Giddy, I jump from my seat and head towards our captain who relinquishes the wheel.


"She's like a woman. Very sensitive." He says. And suddenly I'm the captain. I don't take my eyes off of the horizon. He shows me a space in the distant blue and tells me to point towards that. It takes several minutes but soon I have the boat under control and am steering gently, without overcorrection. Pepe and I talk while we cruise along. He asks about the states and I learn that he has a teenage daughter. I completely miss dinner and Pepe orders me another drink over his radio. This scene has been pulled directly from a Danielle Steele novel, I'm pretty sure. I'm questioning reality only slightly and would have thought I was losing it if I hadn't turned around a few times and seen Dave and Eileen and Ryan smile at me.


Pepe points over the bow of the boat to where a family of porpoises play in the harbor. A stingray floats to the surface and lays it's wings across the warm water, a nautical angel. We talk about the whales. Their migratory season is from November to February, in those months the waters near Cabo are full of them.
I actually thought I was doing pretty well as La capitana until an older gentleman came forward to announce that several passengers were sea sick. Pepe shrugged him off and said, "It's a boat." in his thick spanish accent and kindly, did not take the wheel from me.


It wasn't until the sun had set and we were heading back towards the marina that he escorted me back to my seat, told me how brilliant, beautiful and amazing I was, and ordered the waiter to bring me my dinner. No, I'm not kidding. That's exactly how it happened.

One would think the story would end here... Oh, no. Everyone knows the real fun happens after the sun goes down. Well, everyone knew that but us. As I mentioned in last weeks post, this was Dave and Eileens 36th anniversary, a special occasion certainly. Dave was whispering sweet nothings in her ear and she was wearing the silver necklace he'd bought her the day she and I were having our massages. They were generally being a cute little couple and we were all (Ryan and Dave and Eileen and I) preparing for the sad, yet timely, trip back through the marina when all of a sudden the deck of the boat starts vibrating with a funk-ay rhythm. Dave looks at Ryan, Ryan looks at Dave. What's happening here?
Eileen and I raise our eyebrows and glance at one another. We're not immediately alerted to the situation for some reason that even now escapes understanding. You'd think that as the first few bars of aforementioned funk-ay beat begins to rumble across the water that we'd say, "Hey, this isn't romantic. What have we done here?" But no. We wait. Which is, I suppose, all we could do since we were still a few hundred yards from the marina and stopped dead in the water. What are we going to do, swim for it?
And then we hear the infamous Sir Mix A Lot pronounce those now famous words,
"I Like Big Butt's and I cannot lie...You other brothers can't deny..." Well, you know the rest. Dave and Eileen, turning seven shades of red, are wearing the looks of the proverbial deer in the headlights. Ryan's grinning from ear to ear, reliving his vacation bible school escapades in which he would sneak from class to repeatedly play this song with his buddies and laugh themselves blue at the horrifying and not at all Bible related lyrics. I can see that it is only sheer will that is keeping him from jumping to his feet and doing The Stir in the middle of the deck. I too, I must admit, am grinning ferociously. But I'm in my twenties and can handle Sir Mix. I'm young enough to think it's funny. Or perhaps just perverse enough to think it's funny. At any rate, our romantic dinner cruise morphs at that moment from romantic bliss to a par-tay. Surprisingly enough- even the golden agers are up dancing and the waiters are paid well to make sure the now-tipsy travelers have the time of their lives. This explains the curiously strong beverages we'd been served all evening. Here's a few pictures for your viewing pleasure...

Yes, you're right- that's the YMCA

Not sure what he's reaching for here...

And no, that old guy beside her is NOT her husband. Her husband was the glaring, livid gentleman hidden behind her inebriated, jolly self. As you can imagine if you've ever been on a booze cruise, the games definitely become more intense as the evening progresses. The YMCA was only the beginning. Tequila shots, games heavy with sexual innuendo and some obscene dance moves performed by the staff were only a part of the lively fare offered up for entertainment that particular evening. Eileen spent the whole night hidden behind her brochure laughing hysterically, Dave tolerated the display with a good natured grin that also said, 'I might have to eat one of these Mexicans if he comes near my wife', and Ryan and I laughed heartily through the whole thing while also praying that none of the waiters decided to try their moves on us. It became a vicious cycle. Eileen would giggle, Dave would growl, Ryan and I would look at each other and start to laugh which would make Eileen peek up over the edge of her tattered brochure and she would start the giggles all over again.
We ended the cruise much later and I thanked Pepe heartily as we stepped back onto the boardwalk. I added, See the Whales in Cabo, to my list of things to do before I die, and we headed back to our hotel, strolling slowly in the evening heat. Tomorrow is our last full day in Cabo San Lucas. Ryan and I have planned to spend the day shopping in town and laying by the pool, something I haven't done at all since our arrival several days ago. I breathe in the night air, heavily scented with salt water and tobacco, the scents of grilling meat at the little cantina near the Tesoro. Eileen is still giggling about the cruise and Dave keeps looking at her out of the corner of his eye. We laugh at them, wish them a happy anniversary and head to bed.
I hear Eileen yell down their flight of steps before their door closes, "What happens in Cabo Stays in Cabo!!!!!" then SLAM. They are gone. Tomorrow we will absorb every moment since they will be our last here. The party continues beyond our balcony, but we leave the sliding doors open so that we can hear it all. I mentally resolve to NOT get back on the Portland bound plane and am contemplating the logistics of this maneuver when, unbidden, sleep comes.

Please stay tuned for next weeks episode of Baja Tuesday's...'The Long Road Home' or 'Burning up at Re-entry'.