I know we're supposed to be intrepid voyagers and all that, but every so often it's interesting to get back into the 'suburban' from whence we sprung.
There was a 4th of July party here at the marina, which is American-owned. We did manage to rustle up a few Brits who said they would celebrate their own narrow escape, and Germans, who maybe came for the brats.
No fistfuls of hotdogs and watermelon could compensate for the lack of fireworks and the Sousa marches which will always signify July to me. Maybe they'll come around (or their equivalent) on September 15, when Guatemalans celebrate their independence from Spain.
The main event was the blind dinghy race. Well, okay, food and pool volleyball were events too, but I don't have pictures. All inflatable dinghies, the driver blindfolded, the navigator unable to man the tiller. And it was all men. I could see that coming, and ceded my place. But I should have stuck it out. My plan was to steer Doug's knee as if it were the tiller, hoping he could follow like Ginger Rogers. But guys, as we know, do it differently. They sit far apart and try to find the right, or left, words and their modifiers, on a 'just in time' basis.BLIND DINGHY RACE The result sometimes was that they'd snag the first mark they circled, which would in turn pick up every other mark they circled. The resetting clearly puzzled the man fishing nearby using the same soda bottle/styrofoam floats.
Por las mujeres, "Ladies Day at Nutria Marina"
My mother once bought me a gift certificate for a "Spa Day". So I went. Massage, facial, haircut, all in a nice smelling, dim little womb with candles and interesting music. I came out feeling silky, but working hard in my mind to justify such blatant self-indulgence. My inner sybarite, however, ignores the guilt and has her antennae tuned for other opportunities. One presented itself recently.
The wonderful NZ/OZ manager of another Rio Dulce marina gathers together local beauticians, a travelling masseuse from the cruising community, and gringa ladies in need of - what? The woman who was applying my facial asked: Porque necesita un facial? and I was a little surprised. No es necesario, I tried to say, es una luxe para mi, porque me compleano es cerca. (thanks for letting me use your picture, A!)
Whatever I might have said instead of what I intended, (I don't need it, it's a splurge because my birthday is near)worked, because now I know that the stuff running down my neck was honey and orange, with vitamins A and C and other beneficial stuff mixed in, which will all keep me young, and that the tomatoes are good for my eyes, and I'll be better soon, or live to 100. Or something like that.
Could someone send me on a 'facials of the world' tour, please?
Basta las pedicuras, however. So much about it is weird to me. Maybe it will be my next 'frontier'.
Another recent event: that cumpleano. I'm running out of 'xx is the new 30'(those are algebra xx not Roman XX) headroom, but I have to say: access to a nice three-mile 5:30 AM tri-weekly walk, plus room to swing my limbs flexibly around in fake yoga poses in my palapa, plus a heavily fruit and vegetable diet, is doing wonders!
I made it myself, carrot/pineapple cake with cinnamon and Chinese 5-spice powder in lieu of whatever my grandmother used to use. No one complained, especially not me.