Mateo just called to say one of his teachers told him they heard me on “Perspectives” this morning–a 2-minute personal essay written and read by listeners of KQED, our local NPR affiliate. Apparently the station re-ran my piece from a few months ago. So if you missed it the first time 
here it is again! PS: I needed to hear this myself, actually, as the distractions of summer end and I’m faced with a blank page.
Perspectives Redux Read More Ā»
I grew up at the Jersey shore, in a hundred-year-old house one block from the ocean in a town called Loch Arbour, near Asbury Park. Mine was a free-range girlhood, with rules but no supervision, in the days before cellphones, computers, and cable TV.
This past weekend was my grammar and high school reunions–St. Mary’s of Deal class of ’72 and St. Rose of Belmar class of ’76. Fifty and forty-six years respectively, if you do the math.
Of course I made the trip! How could I not? We knew one another as children, not yet fully formed but already becoming the people we are now. Dear friends for life.
I’m thankful for the values we were taught, the education we received, the memories we share. Our history.
My birthday was this week and itās a big one. Mateo knows I love āSound of Musicā so here are my āRaindrops on Rosesā and his card to āMy Favorite Thing.ā The magazines are subjects he says Iām interested in: Scotland, Ireland and āMenopause Monthly.ā
Only Mateo!
At home in California Iām a hermit who rarely leaves the house except to walk the dog, run errands, and chauffeur kids. But in Guatemala, Iām out constantly. Hereās our group pausing for an afternoon refreshment at CafĆ© Condesa with Ben Fossen, founder of Adoptees with Guatemalan Roots. Ben and I have known each other virtually for years and it was fun to finally meet in person.
Olivia and I also enjoyed a lovely breakfast with Mari Mayen and one of her daughters, Marlin. We met Mari and her family in 2003, when Olivia and I lived together in Antigua while her adoption was finalized. Mari took care of Olivia in the afternoons during the hours I studied Spanish–Iām still not fluent!–and a more loving nanny you will never find. Our families will remain connected forever.
Finally, weāve spent time with my dear friend Wende, whom I met a decade ago in the swimming pool at Hotel Antigua. As Wende swam her daily laps, Mateo and I played the ādive for a coinā game. Wende and I struck up a conversation and have been close pals ever since.
People ask why I return to Antigua year after year. This is why. Antigua feels like home.
After Chichicastenango we headed for Lake Atitlan. Our guide Alex, founder of Atitlan Adventures (who speaks Mam, Kaqchickel, Spanish and English), told us stories from his life in the highlands and stopped at a mirador for group photos.
We stayed a few nights in San Marcos la Laguna at the beautiful Airbnb Casa Paloma, where we kayaked, swam, read, walked to the neighboring town of Tzununa, and stared at volcanoes.
One day we took a boat to San Juan la Laguna, known for its weavers and art galleries, and, in recent years, fanciful streets. We ended the sojourn in Panajachel and visited friends and local markets. Water, sky, volcanoes. Lake Atitlan restores my soul.
