New Year—Old Me

 

               New Year—Old Me

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Scraping along on the heels of Christmas, we celebrate the beginning of a New Year. Many of us regard the new year as a time of reflection, of taking stock of our lives, perhaps resolving to make changes.

For me, I’m the same old bag of skin I was last year, still filled with some sad and some glad, much joy and a hint of mad.

As for making changes, I have a note on my desk to turn on the bat light at night for the next week. That will keep the itinerant group of bats from making a new home in the rafters of my patio roof. I like bats, but I would rather they not be overhead. May they find a new home. Soon. Not a personal change but a necessary one. The only change on my agenda today.

My friends Kathy and Richard, whom I’ve known twenty-plus years, longer than anyone in our little community, are returning to Victoria, BC next week for medical tests and care for Richard. There is excellent health care here, but at home they know the doctors and know the language. More comfortable.

I’m sad they are leaving and glad that Richard, who, by the way, is a retired physician, is finally seeking medical help. His wife and friends have been worried. Richard kept saying, “It’s nothing.” The river of DeNial runs deep and strong.

Just yesterday I was telling Kathy that I, even after these years here, I can hardly believe the life I am living, the life I have stumbled upon. I could not have made this up. Remember seminars or weekend retreats when the focus was on goal setting? What a laugh, for me, looking back, thinking I could map my future.  

I’ve come to believe, based on nothing substantial, that my life is built on little decisions. You may label the consequences of decisions, if you wish, good and bad. I’ve made them all. I choose not to label my decisions. Sometimes, in my life, what at first seemed disaster turned out to be rich with blessings. Others, well, I’ve been known, out of necessity, to back up and take a different direction.

I said to my daughter, “After a life of work, work, work, I can’t believe I’m such a sloth. I’m a lazy sloth, and I love my life.”

She said, “Mom, you are always busy. It’s just that now you are free to find joy in simple things. Things like kneading bread or reading your favorite book under the mango tree.”

We are entering a New Year. I hope to keep slothing along, doing my own chores, cleaning my own house. We don’t know though, do we? Every day brings something new, new joys, surprises, grief and pain. We don’t choose what’s in the grab bag. We only choose how we deal with what we grab, seems to me.

Happy New Year and may the coming year, made up of a day at a time, bring you much joy.

Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

December 31, 2025

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The Christmas Truffle Mystery

 

          The Christmas Truffle Mystery

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In the early morning light, my first thought when I went out onto my patio was that something was not right. “The Barbarians have landed,” I said to my faithful pooch, Lola.

As everyone knows, any common, garden-variety Barbarian comes to pillage. This Barbarian left a bag of Belgian chocolate truffles on my table. No ribbons. No card. No note. No signature.

Not just one or two truffles. A two-pound bag of Belgian Truffles! That’s a lot of chocolate! I read the fine print, looking for a clue (no signature) and looking for legitimacy. The truffles shipped from Belgium.

Not only did the Barbarians invade in the dark of the night without a sound, they had to get past the vicious, snarling, slavering jowls of my watchdog and faithful protector and low-tech security system, Lola.

“Lola, did someone dangle a huge hunk of steak through the gate and you left your post and let them inside? Let me smell your breath.” Lola clamped her jaws shut and waggled her tail with a look of chagrin. “You are no help,” I told her grimly.

While my neighbors and I often share around trays of cookies, slabs of cake or Janet brings plates of her specialty, a loaded pizza, as a group, we are more thrifty than gifty. We don’t do birthday and Christmas presents.

I did what I do best. I wrote to my near neighbors, told them pretty much the above, with the addition that maybe it was that sweet, so friendly, white-haired man who is one of the garbage pickup crew.

Replies flew back. “Not us.” “Nor us.” “Warn’t we.” And such. Each one latched onto my white-haired man comment with much speculation. You can put that one to rest. Stat.

This morning Julie, who lives up the mountain a half-hour away on bad roads, wrote. She’d come by in the evening when I was probably in the shower. Julie is a good friend who used to live on the Rancho and Lola wagged her the go-ahead. These are really creamy, really delicious chocolate truffles, addictive, no doubt.

Julie suggested I go ahead and indulge in a chocolate high. What a good idea. I think I will.

Merry Christmas to each and every one, Merry Christmas.

Sondra Ashton   HWC: Looking out my back door   December 24, 2025

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To Be or Not to Be

 

               To Be or Not to Be

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I’m a “doer”. It’s the way I was raised up. My family never sat me down and discussed choices. If “be” came into any discussion, it was accompanied with a “not”, such as, “do not be idle”. Ever.

There is nothing wrong with that. It served me well. I suspect Life gives us what we need to cope.

Along the years I became aware that my life worked better if I balanced “do” with a smidgeon of “be”. Little bits at a time. Things like a day at the hot springs with the kids. Or an afternoon walk along the river. Little bits.

Then came physical challenges that nudged me to choose retirement and a whole new way of life came into being for me. I’ve never run out of things to do, things to do that I like to do. I gradually developed a “guide”, if you will, or way to approach each day.

Every morning I begin with a list, mental or written, of things to do. By one or two o’clock, I’ve pretty much finished my list. With one exception. I like to leave one of the items listed for tomorrow, sort of a seed. That leaves me my afternoon free to relax, read, putter in plants, just “be”.

It never works, of course. The list gets muddled. Opportunities for being come in the morning. I pay attention. Sometimes afternoon gives over to doing. Almost always, life brings an entirely different agenda than mine.

Take the other day, for example. I had a quite extensive list of things I intended to do. My phone rang at 8:30 in the morning. Leo asked, “Would you like to go to Oconahua for breakfast?” There is a small open-air eatery with excellent food.

“Yes, of course.” After we’d eaten breakfast, I asked Leo if he’d take me to the little hospital for a flu shot, one of the items on my floating list, and then as long as we were back in Etzatlan, I’d do a little grocery shopping. My plan.

After my flu shot I revised my plan. “I feel really good, Leo, but I’d like to go home. I can give you my grocery list.”

Doctors here in Mexico advise us to take the day, to do no work, after any kind of vaccination. It makes sense. Being a compliant patient, (here I sense every doctor I’ve ever had cringe at that outright untruth), I spent the entire rest of the day immersed in a good book. I bumped my list of things-to-do into tomorrow.

The following day, still feeling quite healthy, I also felt that I wanted another do-nothing day. So I granted that gift to myself. Bumped my list into the next tomorrow.

This went on for three entire days. Mind you, I’m not a total sloth. Lots of little things got done. Dishes did not pile in the sink. The bed got made daily. Lola got fed and walked. I took care of myself. Cooked my meals. Visited with friends, some I went to, some came to me.

Along the way, I paid attention. Little things, mostly. A pair of Western Tanagers in the bottle brush tree, surrounded by six fledgling hummingbirds, all feeding on the flowers that look like brushes. Hours out in the mottled shade of the mango tree, just watching, listening, smelling, feeling the breeze, being. I spent some hours thinking about my mother and her side of my family, felt another layer of my personal onion skin peel away. That kind of being.

Those three days gifted me. I didn’t set out looking for anything, no agenda at all. It’s hard for me to put this into words. I feel more complete. Grounded in a better way or different way. The simple moments are the most precious.

Guess what! My list of things to do did not disappear. It’s all still there for me to do. Tomorrow I absolutely must mop the floor and iron that pile of clothing before the pieces begin mating and multiplying. Absolutely must. Unless something or someone comes along to change my mind. Life. Ya gotta love it.

Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

December 18, 2025

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Winter, No Wonderland!

 

               Winter, No Wonderland!

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My family has returned to the Cold, Frozen North where Winter is firmly entrenched, leaving me alone down here in the cold, but not frozen, southland.

My house is empty but my heart is full.

Today I plugged in my little portable heater for the first time. Woke to pelting rain in the night.  No storm or wind. By morning, the rain settled into a steady light rain, hour after hour after hour.

I realize it is hard for you to dig deeply to find sympathy for my cold woes but please keep in mind my house is made of one layer of brick, no insulation, no heat source. I recall with great fondness my beloved Hearthstone Woodstove from my former home in Winter Wet-Cold Washington.

That said, I also must report that with my new windows, my wee heater is doing a good job of keeping me from huddling in blankets all day.

Meanwhile, please feel free to grab onto all your feelings of superiority and lord it over me, the wuss of winter, griping because my house is cold and damp. I do remember, with no fondness, Montana winters with freezing rains, snow which turns to ice, cars with plug-ins sticking out the front, snow shovels, bitter winds, clunky Sorel boots and puffy parkas that turn the population into Dough Boys.

I grew up huddled in a rocking chair over a floor vent over the furnace in the basement, so, really, sitting in a chair near my little heater, book in hand, waiting until the warm comes, is not so different from old times.

Full disclosure. True, there are not that many similarities. Today is cold. Tomorrow will be warmer. We are assured of much colder days here in this rather temperate country. But the cold days are interspersed with afternoons which bring toasty warmth. And by February, most of the cold has creeped back to its den, wherever that is.

Winter. People are beginning to string Christmas lights and a few decorations. Tiendas display more toys and gifty items. I miss my daughter and my grandson. I’m grateful that we had a great week together.

Today’s rain is just that—Today’s rain. No snow, no ice, no wind. My winter.

Sondra Ashton,  HWC: Looking out my back door, December 11, 2025

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Greetings!

 

Greetings!

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Sondra, otherwise known as my mom, has decided to take a break from writing this week because she is busy entertaining my son and me.  Two months ago, I decided if mom wouldn’t come to me, I had better go to her. 

I am not known for vacationing.  It has been 6-7 years since we have seen each other except over Zoom.  We talk daily, but it truly isn’t the same. 

In case come for a visit, I will give you an idea of what it was like for me.  I got the passport and tickets, then let mom know the dates.  The trip here is rather easy until you get to the connection in Salt Lake.  Many nationalities were seen in the waiting area to go to Mexico.  The messages were only in Spanish.  Luckily Tyler has a language translator on his phone.  We caught about ¼ of the messages.  We got on the plane.  

The view over Guadalajara was so beautiful.  The mountains and trees and green grasses were lovely.  When we landed, we followed the crowd to get our passports scanned at security, declared at customs, showed our passports a few times. They will either check your luggage or shoot you through to the outdoors.  We got sent on our way.

Mom’s friend Leo picked us up at Starbucks.  We went to the car and prepared for a 1.5-4-hour trip, depending on traffic.   Leo is a wonderful tour guide.  He showed us all the new construction to sponsor the next Olympics.   The sights and sounds of the flowers, birds, trees mingled with the buildings and shanties.  We stopped at a little overhang where a family sold ice cream.  Flavors nothing like I’d had before.  I got vanilla and it reminded me of snow ice cream.  Leo got elote (corn) and it truly tasted like corn.  I decided it was best to skip the tequila ice cream.

I had asked mom not to schedule any major site seeing because I just wanted to rest and be.  My first view of mom’s home is exactly as the pictures and descriptions she has given before.  Her brick home is small and full of color and personality.  Her outdoor areas are covered in fruit trees and plants that people back home pay a lot for to have a tiny bit in a pot.  Here they grow wild.  She has a pathos on the garden wall with leaves twelve inches across and 18 inches long!  The patio is covered and has a seating area that is so relaxing.  I can look from the patio through mom’s whole house because the windows are so large and watch the butterflies flitting around from flower to flower in her backyard.   

We have done a little shopping in town, and the sights and sounds have been so fun.  I am not sure I am brave enough to drive here yet.  The roads are frequently made of cobblestones or red dirt with many sharp rocks. In towns, the streets are close together and there is little room for one car to get through.  If there is asphalt, there have been speed bumps very close together. 

We went to a cathedral, Templo de la Purisima Conconcepcion. In English, The Temple of the Immaculate Conception, which is over 500 years old!  Everything was beautiful. 

The stores are not like the stores at home.   They may be 10 feet wide at the most.  On one street there was a brick maker, drinks maker, fruit stand, tortilla maker, and used clothes and shoes for sale.  Little tables are set to eat on the sidewalks. 

At a stand we went to for breakfast, I had the best refried beans I have ever had in my life.  While we ate, we watched as a man across the way whacked the tops off coconuts and prepared the milk and fruit for sale.  Dogs, cats, and birds roam freely.  I haven’t seen any bad animal and/or children behavior.

My son Tyler is more adventurous and has gone sightseeing with friends or walking to the stores for something to eat or drink. 

I lounged under the trees and chatted and read to my heart’s content.

I am writing this with the sound of birds, geckos, and wind chimes in the background.   It is time for siesta here.  I love this time of day.  I may have to bring the institution of siesta back home. 

Deborah Robart for Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

December 4, 2025

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Renta Goat?

 

Renta Goat?

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For my daughter’s visit, it was necessary for me to rent a car. Etzatlan is not the Big City. Leo, our all-around helper for anything necessary, makes a lot of the Big City Trips.

A few years back Leo quit driving his own car for the back-and-forth airport runs. Around town, hey, no problema. His car has aged out of the long trips. Kind of like me.

Several years ago an enterprising local entrepreneur in town began purchasing automobiles for rental purposes. He started out with a multi-person van, seats ten. We rented it with the driver the year we had our class reunion here in Etzatlan. These days he has a fleet of rental vehicles, a very small fleet.

Leo took me to the rental garage, way out on the west end of town, to see what cars were available. I wanted one large enough for four long-legged adults to ride in comfort.

The Rental Man had a quite large storage building. I don’t know how many cars he has in total. The day I went to look at those available, he had three cars plus three large ten-to-twelve people carriers plus empty spaces for other vehicles.

In the back of the garage, he had a stable with two horses and a goat and an area for chickens. This is not Hertz or Enterprise or Budget.  

Leo and the Rental Man entered into what might have been haggling but was more likely something like this: “How’s your Dad doing these days?” “Pretty good for an old man. You know, some days good and some days harder.” “Your brother still working in Fresno?” “Oh, no, he’s in Phoenix these days, managing a gaggle of Auto Zone stores.” “Say, I heard your Grandmother passed. My condolences.”

This kind of conversation can go on for hours and often does. It is the polite way of easing the way into the real business. We Americanos are rude. We just say, “How much and where do I sign?”

I have just enough Espanol to be rude and not enough to be polite.

I wandered over to talk to the horses and goat while the men conversed.

After a while, Leo took me aside to see which car I wanted. I eyeballed one of the big people carriers just to watch Leo blanche. That’s my kind of vehicle. Then I chose the larger car, the one with the most leg room.

I couldn’t help but wonder, though, if the goat pulled a cart.  

Sondra Ashton HWC: Looking out my back door, November 26, 2025

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Under the Mango Tree

 

      Under the Mango Tree

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I am happy to report that I’m back in my proper domicile, which is no longer a sieve, newly windowed, and I revel in the changes.

The five weeks it took to achieve the changes left me discombobulated. When my house is out of order, I am out of order.

My home with wraparound windows, with hardly any walls between them, has always made me feel like I live outdoors, beneath the trees. Without the iron curlicues dividing up the window spaces, my views are even more unobstructed. I like that opening a window does not take up indoor geography. I like that when windows are closed, wind, noise, dust and rain stay outside.

 During the weeks my life was a mess, my new favorite place has become in the back yard, under the mango tree. I planted the mango my first year here and now my tree reaches to shade a sitting area no matter the sun’s place in the sky.

November is heading toward December at lickity-splickity pace. The Fresno trees, like the Cottonwoods up north, are either dressed in golden yellow or naked. The Fresnos stand tall and straight, unlike the tortured-looking Cottonwoods.

The Jacarandas are beginning to drop their seed pods, which resemble clam shells on the beach. The African Tulip Trees are in full orange bloom, as is my Magnolia.

What rather stuns me is my Fuerte Avocado tree, which now sports a full head of blossoms, completely out of season. This year there was no fruit during the normal time for fruit. Now it is near winter and the poor confused thing has flowers?

Another change, that bothers me greatly, is that there are hardly any yellowhead blackbirds, whose flocks in the thousands always darkened the ground with shadow for minutes at a time. We seem to be right in the path of the flyover and watching their movements, morning and evening, was pure joy. It is painful to see a hundred or so, some days maybe two hundred, some days none. What happened? Where are they? It’s a mystery.

My Lime trees are filled with fruits in various sizes, true to their season. My new Fig tree, still baby small, has baby fruits, maybe ready to eat in a month. My Lavender Tree, otherwise known as a Grapefruit, has sixteen marble-sized fruits!

Bees, birds, butterflies and me, under the Mango tree, watching fruit and flowers grow. Life doesn’t get much better than this.

Sondra Ashton, HWC: Looking out my back door, November 20, 2025

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