“When are you guys leaving?”

If I had a dollar for every time one of us was asked this question, I still wouldn’t know the answer (I could maybe get half a tank of gas though). “Technically” the cruising season in Mexico starts November 1 – this is when hurricanes are statistically unlikely, and the brutish heat of the Mexican summer has safely retired for the year. However, Northern California’s fire season can stretch through October and into November, so this year, we as informal neighborhood firefighters have answered that irksome question with “when it starts to rain.” Rain, it has. Left, we have not.

As Thanksgiving approached, we wriggled and squirmed and politely declined invitations to dinner. Boat supplies and parts got purchased but the to-do lists, usually Harry’s, didn’t seem to get any shorter despite long days of work. Sometimes it was projects he’d put off for months but all of a sudden needed doing, other times it was an emergency where someone needed his help for “just a few hours”. Around Monday before Thanksgiving, we looked at each other and said “well, I guess we’re here for Thanksgiving. But we’ve GOT to leave before Christmas.”

December is where I personally kicked into gear…ordering stuff online and paying extra for faster shipping in case we were gone in 2 weeks. I even started packing and making sure we had a large enough supply of medication, cat food, etc. We went to a few get-togethers and told everyone this is “our Christmas” since we’ll be gone by the 25th. Harry did start dedicating some time to our needs; it was still only 30/70, but was something. We got to go to the White Elephant party I’ve been going to with friends for 20 years, so I was happy…. But when the single digits of December turned to double was when the worry set in.

Then came a most concerning development; one of our close neighbors went into the hospital not feeling well (but not covid). She is my best friend in our little neighborhood group – we hang out a lot, took a road trip this summer, sew together, drink wine together. I lost my only Grandma quite a few years ago, and while she would probably rankle at the thought, that’s how I see her (albeit a SUPER cool Grandma…or maybe the Super Cool Great Aunt…that sounds better.) I love her, and she makes the time that we have to spend here so.much.better. As I type this now, through tears, I know that barring a miracle, her time with us is quickly approaching the end.

Through this difficult time, I have been grateful we hadn’t yet left. It’s hard to imagine being anywhere but here. We also dearly love her husband, who is Harry’s best friend in the neighborhood. He has been needing and will continue to need our love and support. Between this, and with Omicron raging, it’s hard to imagine leaving at all.

We WILL go, however. Even if it’s just to put the boat in the water for a few weeks to make sure that she still floats and we still remember how to sail, all while not coming into close contact with anyone. But our already modest plans of sailing “only” halfway down Mexico and back to Guaymas for the season feel in jeopardy. We are both double-vaxed and boosted, but Omicron doesn’t care. Other cruisers are doing it – I see their pics on social media. But Omicron hasn’t hit Mexico at the level it’s hit the States. It will though, it will, and in a much less-vaxed population with way fewer health resources.

I normally try to keep my posts on the lighter side, or at the very least to end on a positive note. Today all I can say is hug your loved ones. If you can’t, send them a note to say you’re thinking of them. It’s about all we have right now.

Epilogue:

Sheri quietly passed away in the early morning hours of December 31, 2021, while her beloved held her hand. She is greatly missed. Love you, Sher.