Learning The Art Of Living

This is the Curmudgeon Gal, sitting today in beautiful Baja, California, Mexico where you get twice the fun at less than half the price! Like for instance, a one bedroom condo with ocean view, pool, one and a half bath for $119,000 where a similar one might be a bargain at $575,000 on the other side of the border.

We who hunker down on the North West coast of Mexico have been encased in what is known as "May Grey" and "June Gloom." This year it's lasted from the middle of April and is still going on - almost two months longer than usual. The fog drifts in from the ocean and usually burns away mid-day only to come back in the latter part of the afternoon. It's the fog that keeps the temperature down and gives both Baja and San Diego the reputation of the best climate in the world. In Mexico, just a few miles south of the border, we have the same climate at a fraction of the cost. Ya gotta love it!

Al Gore is probably right about climate change, or we are in an El Nino effect? Whatever! I'll leave it to the climate experts. What I want to talk about is just the art of living, no matter what the climate, country, continent or coast – pick what gives you the most pleasure and go for it!

I spent over 45 years as an attorney and executive, much of it behind a desk and the rest on the road, or should I say "in the air," all over the world at meetings and conventions. Talk about a schedule? One trip around the world I had 40 flights!

My regular routine was to be at the office between 7:00 and 7:30 AM, much to the angst of the team who worked with me. Some thought they had to come in early too, maybe to impress me, maybe they thought I was checking what time they came in. Both ideas were wrong. I came in early to miss the commuter rush, relax and enjoy my coffee, call different time zones and get the jump on my day.

Today I live most of the time in Baja Mexico North. My roommates are four dogs: Gertie, Lorenzo, Daisy and Henry. Daisy and Henry are what I call "Mexican Street Poodles." They are the ones sold on the street not yet weaned and most destined to die unless they are grabbed by a crazy gringa lady like me who gives them a chance at life. Lorenzo is a small Yorkie-Poodle oooops who never met anyone he didn't love on sight, and Gertrude, a rescue from a puppy mill in Oklahoma who was in three homes before she came to me. Gert, as she is fondly known, is a poodle cross of some unknown sort, but from her temperament it must have been a pit bull. She constantly mutters and is the official CEO (Canine Executive Officer) of the house…she who must be obeyed!

I get up early but now first order of business is to let the dogs out. Then I enjoy my coffee and still get the jump on my day - like writing this blog, or podcasting, for instance.

For all those years in business, I was on a tight schedule, checking my watch to see if I was going to be on time for my next meeting, court appearance, or flight. I had planes to catch, people to see, deals to make. Like that.

Now my schedule is basically set by the mutts. They demand to be fed relatively on time. They don't seem to mind an hour or so late, but if I go much longer they get snippy and Gertie makes a big deal out of it. She has been known to gently nip my ankle if I don't feed her promptly. Food is a big deal to her, the others could care less. I make sure to let them out so they can attend to their business.

The dogs are more schedule oriented than me. For instance, if I don't head to the computer by 9 AM, they crowd my feet and herd me into the office. Are they afraid we won't have enough money for their next box of dog cookies? Anyway, as soon as I sit at the computer, they relax and head for a snooze on their respective pillows. I can hear them let out a sigh of relief as they drift off to doggies' dream-land.

A while ago I was sitting at a sidewalk table talking with some friends. We were watching people walk by. Epiphany! Like I was struck by lightning, it all came back to me. Those days of rushing by sidewalk cafes on the Croisette in Cannes on my way to the next meeting. I'd look longingly at all the people sitting at the beach restaurants. There they were, enjoying the sun, a good meal and sipping a nice cold white wine and their friends. Damn! It made me jealous.

I thought back to the almost thirty years I spent in mid-town Manhattan. I used to dream of a day off to just walk around the City and see parts of it I'd never seen before. My reverie included sitting at a sidewalk café in Greenwich Village sipping espresso as I watched people go by. I never did it. There was no time left for sitting while I went to college and worked several jobs, then law school, the bar exam, taking care of a family, practicing law and eventually succeeding in business.

It seemed there was never enough time to just relax and enjoy. I checked my watch and drummed my fingers on the table. Time to go, time to work; make money, next class in Graduate School, next meeting… Who the hell wants to smell the freaking roses anyway?

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I loved my job and was joyful as I went to work. No day was ever the same as the one before it. Imagine being paid to travel around the globe spending time with some of the world's most interesting and intelligent people – those who program the world's television stations. It was great fun and I considered it a privileged village to live in.

Slowly, I began to figure out there might be another life out there as well, but it took stupid me until I was over fifty years old to get it!

One day, at the end of a convention, I was off with Yvonne and Will from Amsterdam, Bill from New York, Stanley, a Dutch friend living in Cannes, and my husband, Pierre, the consummate Frenchman. Our end-of-convention-celebration was lunch at the famous Columbe d'Or in St. Paul de Vence in the South of France. We had one of their famous meals of about a dozen or more hors d'ouvres followed by fillet mignon, poulets aux champignons and Dover sole, with several bottles of excellent red wine. The entire meal was spiced with entertaining conversation. After stuffing ourselves with all that gourmet food, Pierre and Bill strolled off to the local bar. It's a perfect place overlooking the boulles court, catching some sports on TV while enjoying an afternoon drink. Yvonne, Will, Stanley and I wandered around the Columbe d'Or hotel lobby and common rooms admiring the art by Miro, Picasso, Braque and Calder. Stumbling about in a stupor of good food, art and wine we ended up by the pool and, still in business clothes, made ourselves comfortable on the surrounding chaises longues. Within minutes we were all sound asleep. A while later Bill came by to find us snoring in the late fall sun. Heaven! It was the best snooze I can remember.

We stretched, ambled over to the little bar to sip some coffee and watch the boulle games. The teams were locals and included a bricklayer, waiter, storekeeper, several artists, and retired movie stars who make St. Paul their home. No one seemed to care who's who. They're intent on the game. We were intent on the players.

I thought of that day again these past few weeks. With this encouragement in mind, I've embarked on a new venture in learning. I call it the "Art of living." Think of me as a student, now only in Class 101. I've been making a mental list of all the delights I partake of here in Baja, Mexico, and there are many!

The 4^th of July I went to a party in a spectacular house recently purchased by friend Lyndie. It's on a rise overlooking the ocean between Rosarito Beach and Ensenada, Mexico. We stuffed ourselves, not with French food, but with good old American fare of hamburgers and apple pie as the waves washed against the rocks below. Nancy was with me, and we only dragged ourselves away because it was time to feed our respective dogs. It was a great day doing nothing but chatting with Debbie and Chris and other buddies and eating. After all, how bad is that?

The next day I played bridge with pals Patria, Lynn and Joann in Nancy's condo directly on the ocean front. The place is beautifully appointed with tile floors, granite countertops, and a substantial balcony looking down on beach, rocks, pools and seals playing in the waves and Sargasso seas. Tough life, playing bridge to an ocean ambiance, waves lapping…someone's gotta' do it…right?

Then, a few days later, four of us sat around a table in the Playas de Rosarito City Park to listen to music from "Carmen." We sampled local cheese and wine, Mexican drink concoctions with vodka and clams, from the tented vendors who circled the park and watched people stroll by. An elegant lady in 1940's style hat and white gloves watched the crowds filled with families in native Mexican garb, tattooed gang banger wanna-bes, kids flashing by on skate-boards, punks, young lovers and moms pushing strollers while hanging onto toddlers. We watched the people and the lady in the hat.

One of our group, Bill, a tall and big man of a certain age, inadvertently moved his chair too close to the drop at the edge of the cement walk where the tables were placed. Nancy and I, Rosemarie and another friend, also Bill, watched in horror as his chair tipped backwards, as if in slow motion. Rooted in place, we couldn't move fast enough. As if by magic, two gentlemen, each from different tables, arrived. Before the rest of us could close our mouths, they lifted big Bill to his feet, dusted him off, made sure he was unharmed, threw the broken chair away and had him securely in a new chair far from the edge of the walk. As we tried to give thanks they melted away back to their respective tables.

Friends, acquaintances, kids, dogs, all passed by. Some stopped to chat; others stayed a while to watch the endless parade. Four and a half lovely hours later it was time to feed our respective dogs again. We gave our table over to others. What had we done? In the scope of things, not much…but it was a wonderful day!

The next day friends piled into my car and we drove south to Splash, a rather funky place with good food perched on a cliff. If you sit in the first row of tables on a windy day, the waves will splash you. Our entertainment for the afternoon was conversation, wave-watching, people-watching and listening to a good guitar player. I had a Tequila Sunrise and a little of my favorite Mexican beer, Negro Modelo. The food's good, friends even better.

I'm working hard now, practicing my lessons in the art of being in the moment. Taking those wonderful times and enjoying them as they happen and recognizing them as precious.

A friend who recently passed away once said of our travels together around the world, "If I had known they were going to be the good old days I would have enjoyed them more." She was right. I did enjoy them, but to a limited extent. I was always antsy to get on to the next meeting, convention, catch a plane – whatever - rather than fasten my attention on the pleasure to be had around me.

I wish my husband was alive to enjoy with me – now, that I've finally got it. It's the kind of times he loved. But now I'll enjoy for both of us, I guess. Maybe that's a gift he left me - his share of the fun.