Watching the inauguration this morning, I was reminded how much power hope holds. Hope that the leaders of our country will make the tough choices to improve lives: through economic decisions, through social choices, through tolerance, through understanding, and through compassionate leadership. Not just the lives of Americans, but lives throughout the world. The situations remain the same as yesterday, but the potential solutions seem so much more promising today.

I don’t know if he truly understands me, or simply tolerates me, but either way, he’s won my heart. 

I smiled at the immigration official. She met my smile with a cold gaze. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

“So, how was your trip?” she uttered in a monotone.

“It was great. It was beautiful weather, and so relaxing. How were your holidays?”

She harrumphed. “Stayed here. Didn‘ go nowhere. Guess it’s okay, though, I’m gonna be a granma this year.”

I was sincerely surprised. “Congratulations! But, you don’t look old enough to be a grandmother!”

A flicker of a smile crossed her face. “I am. Baby’s due in June. My son’s already twenty years old; ’bout time he started making babies.”

I checked carefully for another flicker of a smile. Was this perhaps irony that I wasn’t getting? No. She was serious.

I’m overcome by sadness. It’s our last night here in Mexico and I’m packing, preparing to leave for the airport in the morning. This is the same feeling that used to wash over me at the end of summer vacation and currently visits me every Sunday evening – the feeling of enjoying something so much and not wanting it to end. Of wanting just one more (and more and more) day.

The discussion last night focused on what time we should leave this morning. The receptionist said Coba opened at 9; three websites said it opened at 8. It would take us an hour to drive there, so we suggested splitting the difference and leave at 7:30. That way, if it opened at 9, we’d only have half an hour to wait; if it opened at 8, we’d still beat the crowds. Bob was adamant that we beat the crowds and get there before the tour buses. We would leave at 7. Wearily we woke at 6:45 am. This is vacation, right?

We inspected the ancient carvings, which always seemed to depict a mighty warrior standing on two servants acting as footstools. We climbed to the top of the tallest temple pyramid, amazed at the view, jungle in every direction, the sea further out, lakes dotting the landscape. We retraced our path along the sacbeob (white ways connecting the temples), encountering first a few people, then larger and larger groups, until we reached our starting point. Bob looked at us knowingly. Two and a half hours had passed.

Before we departed the jungle to return to the parking lot, Bob stopped us. “For ice cream, how many tour buses are in the parking lot?”
“Are we including mini-vans?”
“No, only large tour buses.”
“Price is Right rules, if you’re over, you lose.”
“Four.”
“Eight.”
“Five.”
“Six.”

The tune was familiar, the words I didn’t recognize. I listened more carefully. Where was it coming from? I walked from our porch onto the beach. There stood a large group of all ages, children to elders, singing “How Great Thou Art” in Spanish. I watched as one member, cloaked in a white robe, waded from the beach into the water, deeper and deeper, until he reached a trio of men, waist deep in the ocean. The one in the middle wore a long sleeved, fancy snap cowboy shirt, cowboy hat shielding him from the noon sun. The other two stood reverently beside him. They received the one from the shore with open arms, then gently plunged him backwards into the sea, submerging him totally. He stood, lifted his arms to the heavens, then returned to the shore. He joined the larger group, his voice melting into the sweet notes, as one by one other members waded to salvation.

I bit hard on the mouthpiece. I chomped my teeth up and down on the plastic nodules on each side. It’s been years since I snorkeled. How hard could it be – it’s like riding a bike, right? I thought back to the last time I snorkeled, in Hawaii, maybe six years ago? Most important thing, don’t inhale water. I remembered that, the burning sensation of salt water in your lungs. Not something I wanted to repeat.

I plunged my face underwater and started swimming. I hadn’t swum far when I saw the first fish. I floated, still, my eyes scanning the area. The lone fish darted in and out of the coral and among the short sea grasses. I watched it carefully and in my stillness noticed more. Tiny, eel-like fish, nibbling on unseen treats. Fan coral, gracefully waving with the movement of the water. Sand colored fish, camouflaged against the sea floor. I slowly swam on. The next hour or so was a balance between swimming to new locations and peaceful observations. Noticing the big flashy fish first, then seeing everything else dwarfed by its existence. Circling a non-descript rock to discover the backside hollowed out, hosting dozens of spindly, prickly sea urchins. Drifting along, trying desperately to see further ahead, then glancing down, shocked to find myself above a school of dozens of velvety black fish, each with a shocking neon blue streak on its back. And then, as I navigated my way across the channel where boats enter the bay, struggling not to get caught in the rope, noticing a sea turtle just feet below me. In awe, I watched as it flapped its feet, gracefully advancing across the sea floor. I held my breath, not wanting to draw any attention to myself. Another turtle swam under the first and nudged it playfully on its underside. The first one swam upwards, closer, closer, and closer until I wondered if I should be afraid. Do sea turtles bite? Was this a turtle of the snapping variety? I gently propelled myself backward, out of the turtle’s path. It came to the top of the water, took a breath, then dove downward, oblivious to me.

Denver Airport. Gate 16. 9:30 am.

“Hello everyone. We’ve got a full flight today. If anyone has flexible plans, please come see me at the podium. If you’re willing to delay your flight, we’ll provide you with a hotel for this evening, a coupon for dinner, and a guaranteed seat on this same flight tomorrow en route to Mexico.”

There was no movement in the waiting area.

I looked around. Mothers fussed over fussy toddlers. Couples snuggled together. No one entertained the United Airlines representative’s offer.

“Denver is a lovely city. This is a great offer – you can spend the day in Denver at United’s expense. If there are any single travelers in the waiting area with flexible travel plans, or even any couples, please come see me at the podium. We’ll also provide each of you with a round-trip ticket to anywhere United flies in the continental United States.”

I thought for a moment. I could use a free round-trip ticket. I could use a day on the beach in Mexico even more.

A few more minutes passed.

Her voice became more desperate. “People, we’re in a recession. This is like free money. This has value. We’re offering a free round-trip ticket anywhere United flies, you can spend the day in Denver, we’ll pay for your hotel and lodging. Come see me at the podium!”

I imagined the thoughts going through people’s minds. Day in Denver, snow on the ground, 27 degrees vs. arriving to Mexico, balmy winds, start of a tropical vacation. So not even a choice.

I’m making cardamom shortbread. I place the sheet of delicate shapes into the oven. I glance at the recipe.

Bake for about 12 minutes, or until lightly browned and firm.

I think to myself, “That’s what I’d like to be: lightly browned and firm.”