Three Years Earlier

My husband and best friend was dead. Was I angry? No. Was I confused? Yes, but mostly just terrified, petrified, and, oh God, so, so afraid.

I couldn't fight my fear of being alone in a place that every second reminded me I now would be facing life on my own. I made the decision to return to Canada, the country of my birth, after many years in a small Mexican village. At least in Canada I would have a daughter, sister, son, and grandchildren. I would not be alone.

I'd forgotten two important things. One, that being alone and being lonely are two entirely different states of mind, body, and heart. Second, if you run away, you have to take yourself with you. With time, I was to learn both these lessons.

The years had flashed quickly by. Cassy, my daughter, and I had good times. We both loved laughing at foolish things when they hit us funny. Most of the time no one else understood what we were finding hilarious enough to make us cross our legs to keep from wetting our jeans. Cassy's husband, Steve, just shook his head in bafflement, not getting it or us.

I was happy with my family and my apartment, don't get me wrong, but I still had the emptiness inside. My friends were my daughter's friends and in-laws. I needed to renew friendships with people my age, who shared similar memories.

I had loved my three years in Canada with my family, but I needed home, sun, familiar surroundings, and life. I needed to get out of the cold and snow and into the sunshine. Bottled liquid vitamin D just wasn't cutting it.

I made a decision. I'd go back! I'd spend next winter in Mexico, returning to the small village of Bucerias. I was going back, back to my home where I'd have old friends and memories.

Ten months later, I waited for West Jet to depart as scheduled. The two-hour wait at the Halifax airport hadn't been so bad, thanks to wireless. Cassy stayed with me until I had to report to my gate, so we got in a couple of smokes outside.

I know, I know, I shouldn't be smoking, but what the hell. I don't have much else to do, and yes, I know, ha-ha, that's a cop-out! I haven't even tried to quit! Anyway, I wasn't just going for a smoke; Prin had to go out several times.

Everyone still calls it the Halifax airport, likely always will, even though in 2007 the name was changed to the Robert L. Stanfield International Airport. Why they chose a premier's name is beyond me. The airport welcomes over three million passengers annually. That morning it had a nearly deserted lounge. Maybe everyone had earlier flights.

During the thirty-eight-kilometre drive from the city, I missed seeing the dragon's head in Miller Lake. When had the large, green dragon's head gone missing? It was a famous landmark, and the flaring nostrils and two large white fangs were a reminder that soon you'd be high. High in the sky, that is, and on your way.

Scout leaders who camped on the island had anchored it there years ago. The camp, built in1926, had been enjoyed by scout leaders then and scouts now. I wondered why it had not been replaced. Maybe I could find out on the web. That could be an interesting few hours while sitting on the beach with a frosty margarita or bucket of cold beer. I had to remember to put it on my list of things to do when I got around to it.

"Jeez, hope I get one of those round-to-it thingies soon. My list keeps getting longer!" I giggled.

Enough foolish thoughts; I had to think about my trip instead. Important things like what I would order at my favourite beach restaurant for dinner that evening. Mussels? Tequila shrimp? Ohhhhhh, I might have to buy a larger size in jeans if I kept thinking this way.

"I'm leaving on a jet plane—"

Bag checked, customs cleared, bottle of water purchased. Prin and I were just waiting to board.

"All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go—"

The words to the old John Denver song kept running through my head. My trip and vacation were taking off, literally. Oh, I was so excited but also a little anxious at the thought of beginning a new life.

The first leg of the flight went well. Prin was her usual princess self and caused no problem.

The airline was fantastic. After four or five hours of wine, eating, and napping, I gazed down at the land. Alberta, land of oil, beef, cowboys, and so much more. Home to the world-famous Calgary Stampede and home of the XV Olympic Winter Games in 1988, marking the first time that Canada hosted the games. The sixteen-day event transformed the western cow town into a city boasting top-notch sports facilities. All the facilities have remained intact and available for either training or competition.

Calgary is still the Canadian centre of training for winter athletes. It is, as a result, interesting, full of life and history. I'd love to spend some time here and get to know this city better. The layover, however, was only two and a half hours, so my interest would have to wait for another trip.

The airport is one of my favourites, with good sit-down restaurants, fast-food stops, and lots of shops, busy in an unhurried way. It's a pleasant space to spend two to four hours. Most attractive to me, and Princess of course, is the dog exercise area outside! Now how considerate is that? We plan to visit that area several times.

Back on the plane for another four or five hours and then I'd be in Bucerias. Though I knew it would be different after three years, I was so looking forward to that first blast of hot air that hits you in the chest like a five-pound cannonball when you step out of the plane. I'd put a change of clothing in my carry-on so I'd be ready. Yes, I was ready, more than ready, for whatever the next five months would bring.

"Here we go, we're landing! Soon we'll be able to pee."

Shit, I'd said that out loud. I looked at the man seated beside me, and the look on his face was enough to send me into fits of laughter, but I turned away and pretended to look for something in my bag. Darn, I'll have to be more careful. I'm so used to speaking to Prin, I forget I'm talking out loud. I've never spoken to her like a dog, more like a child of two or three years, and sometimes people don't realize I'm chatting to her.

He'd have a funny story to tell his wife about the crazy lady on the plane who thought he'd have to pee. I'd love to be a mouse in the corner to overhear that conversation.

We landed without a bump, and as I looked out the window, I felt a chill with goose bumps running over me! I must be more excited than I thought.

I collected my belongings and put my bag in order. Didn't want to have to look for my papers and carry Prin at the same time. It didn't take me but a couple of minutes because I hadn't loaded down my carry-on.

Trouble Starts

I wasn't disappointed. Even in shorts and a sun top, I got hit with the cannonball of heat! Taking in deep breaths and holding them, I warmed my lungs and blood and hurried for the baggage pickup. All bags look alike to me unless they are brightly coloured, and I had tied a pink ribbon to mine so I could see it coming before it got to me. Going for a bag on a turnstile is the same as putting your hand into the middle of a herd of running horses. I always got the handle and ended up being dragged four to six feet farther along the darn thing before I could manage to swing it off.

I saw the pink ribbon coming that I used to identify my bag and got in position to catch it when a man's hand shot out and neatly swung my bag to the floor. I turned to say thanks, and he started walking away with it.

"Hey." I grabbed his arm, spinning him around. "What the ... That's my bag, you ... you ..."

"I don't think so, lady. It's mine."

"Look, I'm sure a handsome man like you doesn't tie a bright neon-pink ribbon on his suitcase." Oh for god's sake, did I just call him handsome? The stupid jerk.

We both had a grip on the handle. No way in hell was I letting go. By now we had acquired a small audience, and I waved to a security guard. The jerk quickly relinquished his hold on my bag when the guard asked what was going on.

We both were talking, and the guard was having difficulty trying to sort through two conversations in English at the same time. I switched to Spanglish (my extremely bad Spanish) and got the message across.

"Look, here is my passport, and my initials are right there on the bag. S-O-S written on the tag attached to the handle," I quickly explained to the guard.

Turning to the handsome, silver-haired jerk, I spoke in the most intimidating voice I could muster. "I'm sorry, I don't know what your name is, but mine is Susan O'Brien Shaw. That's what the initials S-O-S mean. So I suggest, unless you want to spend your vacation in flowered shorts, sun tops, women's pants, and bras, we open the suitcase. Then I think you'll want to wait and find your bag in the next load to come down the chute. This one is mine."

He shook his head no and said to forgive him. He must have been mistaken. I quickly turned and started to wheel my suitcase over to the lineup for immigration. As I glanced back, he was nowhere in sight. Ha, thief and fast getaway artist!

"Darn, Prin, the first really good-looking man my age I've seen for years, and of course he'd be a jerk. Why would he want to steal my bag? A big bright-pink bow, really? I don't think so. No way had he believed that was his bag! He's only a thief looking for jewellery or cash likely."

Everything went as smooth as silk. I danced through customs with a green light (hip hip hooray) and found Hugo, my longtime friend and, this year, my landlord, waiting for me, waving like crazy. I found myself engulfed in a bear hug. He flung Spanish at me so fast I couldn't have caught it if it had been a basketball. Laughing, I pulled back.

Hugo hadn't changed one bit in the three years since I had last seen him. Taller than most Mexicans, he was muscular and always was moving something—his knees, feet, head. He couldn't be still. He even talked with his hands and arms waving around. I'd witnessed two or three bottles of beer or glasses of drinks knocked off bars while he was explaining something to someone. He still was wearing his hair short, but not a grey strand did I spot.

"Hugo, por favor, slow down. After three years, my Spanish is rusty, and your English has improved, and yes, I'm glad to see you too and be home again after so long! Let's get out of here. This is Princess, Hugo, but call her Prin. I'll take her outside for the bathroom and have a smoke, and then I've got a story to tell you."

"Well, hola, Prin. Welcome to Mexico. I'll put your things in the car, Sue; you tend to your dog. It won't take us long to get to Bucerias. We'll have time to talk though."

Hugo walked away, and I knew that during the forty-five minute drive to Bucerias, he would catch me up on news of the town and folks. He was a dear old thing, and we had known him our entire time in Mexico. Thanks to Facebook, I would recognize most of the kids, even though some had turned into young men and women while I was gone.

First, I told him the story about the silver-haired man who tried to steal my suitcase. After hearing about the incident, Hugo was surprised, saying that the airport is very secure with few thefts reported. He was amazed that someone could even get into the baggage pickup area unless he or she was a passenger on a flight that had luggage coming in.

"Well, someone found out how. Of course, I don't know that he wasn't a passenger," I answered, laughing.

"I can't believe all the new buildings and lanes in the road, Hugo! I knew things had changed—I've been in touch with a few friends—but this is much more than I expected."

"Wait until you see Puerto Vallarta, Sue. Bucerias has not changed as much as you think, but PV, wow, it now is huge. Oh, there is a new Walmart and Mega near us also. You won't have far to go for supplies."

"I'll be happier to find that my little carniceria and corner store are still there. You know I like to buy locally. I can hardly wait to get to the Sunday farm market. I'll get everything I need at the corner store, even my beer and smokes, until Sunday. The carniceria always had more tender meat than the big stores anyway."

"You'll be one of the few then," Hugo stated, laughing at me. "Sue, everyone goes to Walmart and Costco now. Here we are at the apartment house already. The trip didn't take as long as I thought. We missed all the dinnertime traffic. Come on, Sue, I put you in the first-floor bachelor for now. I'll switch you to a bigger one-bedroom as soon as one becomes available."

"The town doesn't seem changed that much from what I could see on the drive, but we didn't come down the main street. I'll be okay. You go on home, Hugo. You're missing dinner with your friend. I just want to settle Prin in and go out to eat. Thanks for picking us up and bringing the key. See you in the morning. Knowing you, it will be bright and early. Give my best to your amigo, Hugo, and thanks again."

Until Hugo got down the street to the corner, I could hardly stand it. One last wave. I checked to see how he and my friend Syl had stocked the fridge. All I needed for morning—juice, coffee, and milk—was there.

I unpacked Prin's food for her breakfast and added that to the fridge supply. Believe me, it didn't take long, and, after snapping on her leash, we were out the door and down the street.

"Oh, Prin, just feel that glorious heat. I hope you can manage it without having to get a haircut! You are so pretty, my good sweet girl."

Prin was very happy to squat and relieve herself, and I knew from the way she sniffed around that she was going to do okay and fit in.

Back To Beauty

The walk to the beach took only a minute, but I had chosen the street and took the three-minute walk to my favourite beach restaurant. Giving Prin time to smell the road, I wondered if dog smells were in different languages or if she could smell in Spanish. Entering the restaurant, I was surprised to see my favourite table vacant and made a beeline for it. Sunday is still a very busy day and evening, I noted. Many locals choose Sunday as their getaway day and head for the ocean and beach. There is no better way to spend the day than at the uninterrupted, thirty-eight-kilometre stretch of beach here. Lots of room with tables, umbrellas, chairs for family gatherings, and safe, shallow water for the children.

A sign on my old table, printed in pencil, said, "Reserved for an old friend." I understood why such a good table was still vacant. I was expected. Nancy had of course seen to that! I was disappointed not to get a hug from my friend, but she had left for the day.

Everyone seemed delighted to see me again and had many questions about Canada and what I had been doing for the past three years. After many offers of "welcome back" drinks, I decided to accept a glass of wine, knowing it would go well with my mejillones al ajo, mantequilla, vino blanco, y pan cruijient. Ha ... ordered without a hitch: mussels with garlic, butter, white wine, and crusty bread. Not all my Spanish had vanished, especially the words for food. It was wonderful and delicious, and the warm welcome back was the icing on the cake. My heart and stomach were full.

Other customers on the floor and beach needed attention, so while the boys, men now, were busy doing their jobs, I looked out over the water and the view that was still my preference.

It was dusk, and the sun was setting. Never can you tire of the sunsets. Each evening it is diverse, never the same colours, never the same reflections on the ocean, and always moving with the seasons.

The reflections this night were pinkish purple on the ocean's surface, absolutely perfect for the first night sunset photo I took. My plan was to have a file of sunset photos of each night. That way, I could keep track of the movement while here.

Prin and I left, walking down the beach to enjoy the beauty and see what changes in businesses had taken place over the years. When the golden globe dipped his colourful head into the ocean to end the day, we left the beach in near darkness and walked up the street to the town plaza. So much had changed. I knew it had. Following the news and photos on Facebook had prepared me. I was still amazed as I took in the beautiful new diver sculpture, arches, and trees. I had to admit it was an improvement, but not my memory of the town plaza. Now I had a new memory to add.