CASH AND PESOS

I'm back in Mexico—Ajijic, Mexico, on Lake Chapala. What was once a quaint fishing village has grown and changed. Now there’s a mix of Mexican families and expats, mostly from the USA and Canada.

I like being here. The people are warm and welcoming. Family life spills out onto the plaza, streets, and small shops. Festivals dot the days with mariachi bands, traditional dress, parades, and lots of fireworks. And of course, the food is great, whether from a street cart or a sit-down restaurant.

Can you see why I love being here? 

Now, on to the story. It’s a preview from my next book, coming in 2027.

If you’d like to see what I’ve been writing about, you can check out my recent book on Amazon, Adventures of Purpose & Wonder.

I need cash. Mexican pesos. A friend tells me about a bank. Neither of us are certain about its location. So what else to do, I consult Google Maps. I discover it’s all the way on the other side of town. So I better start walking.

Soon I discover distance is not the only challenge. The sidewalk is sketchy and crumbling. Walking with a cane, I have to be deliberate with each step, navigating dips, cracks and uneven patches. Too soon I’m worn down and dripping sweat.

The bank is harder to find than I thought. A battered sign farther down the road catches my eye. Faded ATM letters are painted across its peeling board. For an instant, I wonder if I’m even in the right place.

I almost miss seeing the bank’s facade. It’s hidden behind rows of cars in a small parking lot. But there it is—a welcome sight. Up the half-dozen steps and through the heavy glass doors, I make my way inside. I’m in air conditioning. So cool.

But as I look around, I begin wondering. Maybe I’m missing something. I don’t see an ATM. Where is it hidden? I locate an attendant, and she says, “Lo siento, aquí no.” (Sorry, not here).

“Ugh.” Unbelievable—nothing here. What now?

Eventually, I’m given directions to a satellite bank. And guess what? It’s back along the same road where I’ve just navigated my walk. Imagine the feeling.

Then, perhaps overhearing our conversation or reading my exhausted body language, another bank customer volunteers, “I’m looking for an ATM too, and I have a car. Want a lift?”

Yes, indeed. “Eureka!” I jump into the car and introduce myself to this kind stranger. She’s here on vacation. Her name is Jennifer—the same name as a favorite niece. We start a conversation and in less than a chatty ten minutes, we arrive at the satellite bank.

Soon I’m walking up steps again and slinging open another glass door. Standing in a corner is, indeed, an ATM—blinking a welcome.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised, but of course, all the instructions are in Spanish. I wonder again. Is this going to be another challenge to an already arduous morning?

No need to worry. To the rescue, a nearby attendant sees my need and offers help. She speaks some English. Soon with a few clicks, I’m surrounded by English—on both the screen and in person.

I introduce myself and learn that her name is Monica. I tell her about my morning. Our conversation flows. I ask how she acquired such good English. She mentions school, university, and then adds, almost like a confession, “Speaking is still difficult. I get afraid of making mistakes and feeling embarrassed.”

I wonder how many others have similar experiences. They get introduced to English in school and may even attend classes. Still after years of effort, they have few opportunities to actually use their English.

My mind begins brain-storming. What if there were a place where people could simply come and speak the English they already know? Not another class, but something more like casual conversation. People getting together, sharing experiences without judgment and perhaps discovering something new.

I leave Monica and begin my walk home to my apartment. It’s a familiar walk, but my mind is fresh with ideas. Monica’s words keep coming back to me: “Speaking is still difficult. I get afraid of making mistakes and feeling embarrassed.”

I remember my Peace Corps days in Ukraine. Back then, business and government leaders wanted more practice with English. So we started a weekly gathering called Leadership English. It wasn’t really a class. It was a place to use English—talk with one another, ask questions, exchange ideas and simply become more comfortable speaking.

Maybe something like this could work here in Mexico? I smile to myself. An idea is beginning to take shape.

Over the next several weeks, I talk with people—Mexicans who have studied English and want more chances to speak, and English-speaking expats who are looking for opportunities to help. Both are enthusiastic and add ideas.

The conversations grow, but I keep hearing the same thing: people want to talk. They want to use their English without feeling that every sentence has to be perfect. So I sit down at my computer and organize ideas into a simple digital poster.

LET’S TALK

Intermediate English — B1

We get together to use our English.

We talk without worry or judgment.

It’s a club where everyone gets to speak.

We’ll have fun and discover how much we already know.

Join us.

I tell the people at the Lake Chapala Society about LET’S TALK. The Society is a gathering place for the local foreign and bilingual community, so they understand immediately what I’m trying to do. They’re enthusiastic. 

They offer to spread the word and help find participants. Even better, they offer their community library as a place for us to meet—Saturday at noon. Who would have thought it—searching for an ATM would lead to this?

As I finish this story, I’m so surprised. I went looking for cash and discovered that conversations—even chance ones—can make good things happen.

Even Storms Have Beauty

Rooster on My Door

In times of upheaval, find solace in the fact that every storm ushers in a new dawn. Embrace the dawn; it is pregnant with promise.

—Maya Angelou, Author

I’ve lived in a tall co-op apartment building for many years. When I first moved here, I had no idea that tucked inside these sixteen floors, I would stumble upon a small community of artists. It wasn’t something announced or advertised. I discovered it the way many good things are discovered—by accident.

One artist had a habit of posting a watercolor on her apartment door. The first time I noticed it, I was surprised—there, breaking the long hallway of plain black doors, was a burst of color.

I remember thinking, What a wonderful idea. Art can live outside galleries. It can greet people where they live. I felt a nudge and soon began posting my art on my own front door.

My artist friend had other ideas too. “Let’s take a few of our paintings to the Community Center’s art show,” she suggested. Before long, we were loading the trunk of her car with paintings. That became my first public display—tentative, exciting, and, if I’m honest, a little scary.

With that small leap, others followed. Soon we joined with other artists and organized an exhibit in our own co-op, turning the lobby into a gallery for a weekend. 

Surprisingly, I sold my first painting. A friend teased me, “I guess that makes you a real artist now.” I smiled, amazed at how far a new friend’s habit—a sharing a painting on a door—had carried me.

Her small gesture keeps unfolding. New friendships are formed. Possibilities open. Art moves from private spaces into shared ones. Sadly, she passed away a few years ago. But what she set in motion continues. I’m practicing what she inspired—painting, and posting art for others to see. I think of it as a way to honor her legacy. Art breaks through ordinary living and can pull others into new awareness as they happen to pass by.

Over the years, neighbors pause at my door. Sometimes they smile. Sometimes they just slow down for a moment before moving on. Now and then, someone tells me a story of how the painting stirred something within them—a memory, a question, a feeling they hadn’t expected. These exchanges are brief, but all so wonderful. 

Truly, art matters. It needs not be in a grand setting to do its work. It can happen anywhere—even on a door in a co-op hallway.

Recently, I come across a half-finished watercolor in my pile of scraps—a rooster sketch. I had started it long ago and then set it aside. Oh my, I think, I really ought to finish that. So, I set it on my easel and begin again. 

As I work, the watercolors start working on me. They take hold, gather momentum, and move from hand to paper in ways I hadn’t planned. I follow, hoping—always—that what stirs in me might somehow spark something in others.

Making art gives me time—not clock time, but a meditative kind. As the brush lays down color and water spreads across the paper, thoughts come and blend together. 

It feels like stepping into a current. And I’m letting go, not knowing where the work will lead. I try to set aside worries about perfection and rename mistakes into happy accidents.

As the image of the rooster begins to take shape, hints of its meaning emerge. I’m reminded that in many traditions, the rooster signals good news. That’s why it shows up on rooftops, weather vanes, and spires—high places where the first light of dawn arrives. Stationed there, it proclaims the start of every new day. Morning comes, and with it, the chance to begin again. Indeed, roosters carry a promise that darkness—no matter how deep—never has the last word.

That message feels so essential now. Each day brings story after story of cruelty and harm to neighbors. Like many Americans, I’m shaken by what I’m seeing in cities and towns across the nation from Oregon to Maine—families torn apart, children terrorized, people forced to the ground, shots fired erasing human life in moments. 

We see those images on screens. The headlines lingering longer than they should, until we have to turn away. The weight presses down. It’s hard to know what to do with the sorrow and anger we feel.

I return to my watercolors. I finish the painting of the rooster and post it on my door. Alongside, I write a few lines. In cruel times, art calls us to hope. The rooster crows. Wake up to freedom and justice for all.

Now-a-days, my phone is programed to wake me from sleep with the crowing of a rooster. Sure, it’s just an ordinary alarm, but these days, it doesn’t seem so ordinary. 

It makes me think. Maybe my rooster—this watercolor—has become something more. Not an answer. Just a reminder—Wake up. Get going. Each day holds possibilities for hope.

So, each morning, when the rooster crows, I hear it differently—not as an alarm, but as an invitation. Pay attention. Begin again finding ways to carry justice and freedom into the day with lots of kindness, respect and generous support for one another.

How wonderful! As Maya Angelou said, 

Embrace the dawn; it is pregnant with promise.

Why This Blog Post — And Why Now

 A friend calls from another city. We haven’t talked in a while. After the usual catching up, he asks, “Have you stopped writing your blog?” The short answer is no. The more honest answer is that the writing has been happening—just in a different way.

Over the past year, much of my energy has gone into something more focused. I’ve been writing a book, Adventures of Purpose & Wonder, which is now published on Amazon. That’s why this space has been quieter—not abandoned, just taking a detour into deeper reflection.

The book begins in an unexpected way. I’m in Mexico, teaching English as a second language, and I suddenly find myself with more time than I anticipated. Joint and mobility issues limit how much I can walk and explore. Traveling by bus to some of my teaching sites becomes harder if not impossible. I start wondering what I’ll do when I can no longer teach. I’m frustrated. Restless.

While grumbling to a friend on a Zoom call, he says, “Why don’t you write that book you’ve talked about for years?” I pause. Something clicks inside and I say to myself — Yes, why not give it a try?

As the stories take shape, a pattern emerges. Again and again, they circle around purpose, adventure, and wonder. Sometimes these appear in big moments—crossing borders, standing in the sweep of history. And just as often, they arrive quiet moments — tending a spring garden, listening more carefully, noticing what usually rushes past.

Readers of this blog know that a pivotal moment for me was retiring into the U.S. Peace Corps. That decision opened doors I never expected, but it also taught me something simpler: meaning in life is often close at hand if I slow down enough to notice.

THIS EFFICIENCY APARTMENT BECAME
MY BOOK WRITING SPACE

In the book, I expand on these stories and add others—marching for justice on the National Mall, learning from Lakota elders, listening to the history of the Crimean Tatars, and standing with families during Mexico’s Day of the Dead.

There are also moments that ask for a different kind of attention. Visits to Auschwitz and Hiroshima offer a glimpse of the horrors humans are capable of. They hold no easy reflections. They invite silence, humility, and a deeper reckoning with suffering — and with our responsibility for one another. These stories don’t resolve anything. They ask us to stay present.

What I hope this book offers is a sense of shared experience—as if we’re moving through these moments together. Beyond the pages, I hope it naturally finds its way into conversation in book clubs, coffee breaks, social media threads, or quiet exchanges between friends.

Those kind of conversation can continue in simple ways. Some readers may choose to reply directly to me—I’d welcome hearing from you. Others may want to leave a few words on Amazon, not as a review in the usual sense, but as a brief reflection that might help someone else decide whether this book speaks to them. If you’d like to do that, you can share a comment directly on Amazon.

None of these stories are prescriptive. They don’t tell anyone what to think or how to live. They open space—for questions, reflection, and reconnecting with values that matter especially during uncertain times.

That’s why this blog post appears now: to keep conversations alive. It feels especially important as many of us look to one another for ways to strengthen our communities and re-imagine purpose and wonder in everyday life.