You Don't Have to Shovel Rain

(Continued from No Electricity No DSL Feb. 8 ) It was pouring buckets of rain all through the 1:00 book signing, but a few brave souls ventured forth and bought my book. They were all from northern climates so cool air and rain didn’t deter them. One lady said, “Hey, you don’t have to shovel rain.”

After the signing, my agent, Chris and friend Gayle went to Zeste, a local bistro, for a late lunch and of course, a celebratory glass of wine. As we were admiring the local art adorning the walls, the artist, Carol Plumb, and her mother came in with some of her small paintings. It was fun to meet and talk with another “local” struggling to let the world to know there is talent on this tiny island!

Before long it was time for the evening book signing. (Still pouring rain!) I was super excited and for good reason. Visiting with friends and making new ones was special, not to mention hearing compliments on Keeping Faith. I was truly fortunate to have the signing at Paragraphs on Padre. Not only is it a beautiful store, it is homey and welcoming, and feels like a book store should. The owner, Joni, and husband, Griff, were wonderful hosts and kind enough to provide hors d’ oeuvres and wine.

To top off what turned out to be a very special day, in spite of the dubious beginning in the early hours, a group of us went to The Shrimp Haus where Leslie, unquestionably the best performer on the island, was singing ‘50’s music. Of course, there were so many “Winter Texans” there that we couldn’t find a seat. Heck, at first I was thinking I should have had my signing there.

At least a 100 Q-tips (you have to have read The Q-Tips Are Coming to understand) filled the place, but then I was brought back to the reality that these people are “tight as Dick’s hatband,” (Did You See the Blue Moon) when I noticed the tip jar had about four one dollar bills in it, and Leslie had been singing her heart out for at least an hour and a half. These folks must have thought we were back in the 50’s! It was a magical day and night, and one I won’t soon forget. Hey, it’s not every day that a person is blessed enough to read a passage of her own book to strangers and sign a copy for a friend.

Remember when I introduced you to the Q-Tips??? Well, now that it is November, they are arriving in greater numbers, especially since it seems Ole Man Winter has decided to hit the West with a vengeance.

I met a couple about three weeks ago from Eastern Idaho who live near the Tetons and they had already had several snows—in October. Now, that is just crazy so here they are in nice and toasty South Texas. Seemed like nice people, but I noticed she had a tattoo on her ankle! Now, I know that is just the way things are these days, and I am trying to get with the program and not be judgmental, but on a 70 year old woman!!! It just seems all wrong.

At least it probably won’t move around a lot anymore which is not the case with the younger gals. I tell these young girls who are getting cute little tattoos on their boobs, “Honey, that isn’t going to look like that butterfly when you get my age. Nope, you are going to be sporting a hawk a whole lot lower to the ground. Gravity sucks.” But they don’t listen to their elders any more than I did at their age. I’m just glad tattoos weren’t the hot item back then. I might have a hawk!

I figure, however, this might open up some business door for me in a few years. Since tattoo parlors are such a big deal at any resort place, I’m thinking in about five years of opening up a removal parlor—might get rich. I haven’t really figured out why the tattoo places are so abundant at resort areas—maybe folks lose their inhibitions or, perhaps, think the tattoos will disappear when they get back to the real world. Anyway, I certainly don’t want to offend any potential book buyers just because they have a tattoo, and if I have to I will have the words “Keeping Faith” burned into my buttocks, but let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.

Besides I started this blog to revisit the Q-Tips and got carried away with the other issue. The main complaint today with these winter folks is the post office, which on a perfectly wonderful day is a major pain. Since we don’t have door-to-door delivery, only P.O. boxes, a daily pilgrimage to pick up mail is required.

The first concern is the parking lot—seems these people refuse to look in the rear view mirrors or otherwise they figure they are like Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes—“older and more heavily insured.” The insurance part is a good thing! They just barrel out of their parking spaces like they are going to a fire and never look back! And if you are walking in front of them, you best not figure they are going to stop!

But worse than this is the line once you get into the post office. If I don’t have a package or other notice or need to mail a package, then it is a straight shot—just go to my box, wind around those who are standing in my way talking about what has happened in their lives the last six months to a fellow snowbird, and get my mail. But if I must get assistance for something, then I have to stand in the dreaded line. See, it costs $40.00 to rent a box for the entire time they are here, but general delivery is free. These are people who are paying $3,000.00 a month to rent a condo, and standing in line for mail!! Go figure!

I took the day off yesterday and went to Progresso, Mexico for an “outing” as my parents would have called it. It is always fun to visit this dusty little Mexican village which is about an hour’s drive away.  Not only is the change of culture something unique, the time warp is equally interesting.  It wasn’t until a few years ago that the streets were paved, well sorta paved, and only a few buildings lined the main drag basically to nowhere. Back then, the street vendors sold tacos and other mysteries folded in tortillas (which I am neither brave nor stupid enough to eat), silver jewelry, and almost every “knockoff” ever made available to us gringos.

The street vendors are still there along with some of the early wares from days gone by, but now there are curio shops everywhere, along with at least 100 farmacias and as many dental offices. I will not get my teeth worked on there either, although that is the main draw for the Q-tips—that and cheap medicine. In a few weeks, the cobblestones will be overrun with the winter visitors, especially those who stay in the motor home villages close to the border.  Cheap margaritas will flow and guacamole will be in large demand. I thought now was a good time to miss the crowds although it is fun to see the “winter gringos” wearing their sporty windbreakers, embroidered with the names of their trailer parks. Some wear big nametags, adorned with pens denoting the number of years staying at that park and other similar affiliations. This name tag custom I have never quite figured out.  Are they afraid they will forget their name or forget where they are staying?

Actually, I do somewhat understand, and maybe this is a very good idea because the margaritas in this tiny town are not like those here in the States. None of that pre-mixed, watered down stuff for these hearty bartenders. These drinks are where the lyrics from the country western song by Lorrie Morgan and Sammy Kershaw must have originated: “He drinks tequila and she talks dirty in Spanish.” These are potent concoctions, just the way these visiting folks like them. After all, they haven’t lived this long for nothing, which is another reason my friends and I were there for the day.

Now, as you know I really like wine, and my good friend Judy likes her whisky. But my other good buddy, Carlene, has been a bit of a teetotaler until recently when she read a novel where the protagonist was drinking tequila shots. She decided that she had been good too long, and as she is approaching another birthday, she wanted to do a few things she has never done and drinking a shot of tequila appeared to be one of those “things.” As I said about the street tacos, I am neither brave nor stupid enough to go there—again—in my life.  But for some strange reason, the lime and the salt and the tequila were just the right mixture for my friend…and your friend, for many of you reading this. So, to pique your interest this is “to be continued”.