December 27, 2001 December's final two weeks I spent in Floresville, Texas, 30 miles southeast of San Antonio, population about 6000 mostly agricultural souls, visiting with my mother and her neighbors, including my Aunt Charlotte, who lives next door, and two donkeys (Coal Miner & Goober), who also live next door, on the other side, in Hilda Bednarz's backyard. .

My parents both grew up here (my mother in town, my father just outside, on a farm), and moved back here in 1982 after retirement. My father's sister and brother still live here, and three of my mother's younger brother's kids, and their kids, live in surrounding towns.

Since both sets of grandparents lived in Floresville, a block away from one another, our family spent its vacations here as my sister & I grew up. We'd stay with my mother's parents, Roy & Nellie Atkins; Grandmother Atkins sold Avon, and specialized in cornbread; Granddaddy Atkins would walk LaNell and me down C Street (they lived near the corner of 7th and C), past the home of the Svoboda grandparents, Emil & Albina, to the Conaly Drug Store, run by I. D. "Nash" Flores (a descendant of the Canary Islanders who settled the area, and gave their name to the "ville"), for a dime limeade. Daily we'd visit my father's parents, Granddad Svoboda in his carpentry shop, and Grandma Svoboda in her kitchen (her fried potatoes and kolaches defied description).

Floresville prides itself on being the Peanut Capital of Texas. October's second weekend is Peanut Festival time, with royalty (King Reboog and Queen Tunaep - reverse them for a special message), a parade, and other festivities. Sales of the locally made peanut brittle soar. I can't recall when the large, beige statue of the peanut that now sits on the courthouse lawn first appeared there, but I regard it as a must-see for all first-time visitors to Wilson County's county seat.

This December the sky's attractions rivaled those on the ground, with Orion (a regular visitor to winter's evening sky) and his dog Sirius joined there by the sparkling Jupiter, in Gemini, and two notable celestials in Taurus: the sober planet Saturn, right next to Aldebaran, Indian mythology's Red Cow Rohini. Jupiter broadcasted benevolence expansively into the space around him; Saturn payed out cable, keeping Rohini and the Pleiades on a tight tether.

Prime viewing time was midway between dusk and dawn, in the Pecan Park, just next to the hospital. (My father used to joke that he lived between the hospital and the cemetery, conveniently located for any eventuality; he now lies under the massive oak that shades several Atkins relatives as well.) The lights in the Pecan Park shut off promptly at midnight, which makes the denizens of space all the more dazzling, and the Milky Way all the milkier.

Laura continues to teach a Sunday School class at the First Baptist Church, and December is the season for Christmas music there, and at my sister's church in Houston. I took in both, and brought that music with me to the park each evening, to offer it to the stars. May the grace of the Baby Jesus, whose birth heralds the sun's return to life and the promise of a return to spring, be with us all in the coming year!

December 14, 2001 Costa Rica occupied my family (mother Laura and sister LaNell) and me during November's last days and December's first week, a week of distinct highs and lows. The highs: a resplendent full moon, inviting beaches (we visited Cahuita and Manuel Antonio), a river full of crocodiles, assorted other wild animals (a variety of birds, troops of coatimundis and monkeys, and the odd sloth), friendly people, and gallo pinto. Most spectacular: the Volcan Arenal, and the nearby Tabacón Hot Springs resort, where from the window of one's room one can watch red lava cascade down Arenal's flank after enjoying a dip in the hot river. We all enjoyed massages there (Laura's being the first ever for her, after 85 years), and Laura & LaNell made an initial foray into skinny-dipping (in a sheltered pool). Tabacón is a place to which we plan to return.

The one thing Costa Rica does not have going for it is its road system. Giant potholes, drivers who blithely pass around corners, and narrow roadways in the mountains with no passing lanes all discourage speed. On our second evening we were sideswiped by a truck as my sister tried to turn left; but there were no injuries, and a good Samaritan from Dollar Rent-a-Car stopped and choreographed the many details of the consequences (translating for the police, arranging for a tractor to tow our damaged vehicle to a nearby service station, putting us into a taxi for the next town). All this even though he was on vacation, with his wife and two young children in the car, and we hadn't even rented our crippled car from Dollar!

After that all went well, until our last day, which found us waiting at a barricade for six hours on the wrong side of a one-land bridge as local farmers obstructed the road to punctuate their demands on the government. This caused us to miss our plane back to Houston, but after a night in the nearest town we made it through to the airport and got accommodated next day on the next flight; again, no harm done. From Texas I proceeded to Sonoma & Seattle, trading Central America's inviting warmth (and ubiquitous salads of hearts of palm) for the chill of the north, and coffee nearly as good as the freshly roasted beans that the Ticos grow. Saboroso!

December 1 This November both Italy and England were most welcomely warmer and sunnier than during any previous November I could recollect. I flew into Bologna at the invitation of PAC, a company that makes skin and body care products from Ayurvedic herbs. The people at PAC, whose offices and factory are located just north of Bologna, in the town of San Giovanni in Persiceto, always make me feel right at home. While in the neighborhood I stay just outside Crevalcore, a nearby town, with Elvira Frabboni and daughter Divya. Divya's father, Maurizio Splendiani, is PAC's head, and after a day of accommodating he and I, colleague Francesco Merenda (a man with excellent taste in ties and music, and a new baby son), and Dr. Ramkumar from the Ayurvedic Trust in Coimbatore, India, drove to the beach resort of Riccione, where Ramkumar and I would address the aestheticians who work with PAC's products.

Riccione prides itself as the pearl of the Adriatic (at least in Emilia Romagna, the region of Italy in while Bologna also lies), and though the weather was cool (and the sea cold), the ambiance at the Grand Hotel des Bains was most agreeable, and the food superlative. The Congresso went well, from my point of view ("well enough" from Maurizio's), and after another night in Crevalcore, I bid a fond farewell to my Italian friends (and to Ramkumar, who had also been lecturing in Palm Springs), and proceeded to the UK.

This trip to England was too brief to permit excursions, so I induced Robert Beer to come up to London from Oxford to attend a stage revival of My Fair Lady. Robert had just returned from New York, on his first-ever trip to the USA, where his first-ever exhibition of his paintings won plaudits (and sold well) at Tibet House, 22 W. 15th. The show, which also highlights copies of his work created by the Atelier of Marc Baudin in Jaipur, India, runs for another couple of months - should you be in the region, do stop in for a peek.

The remainder of my time in England was taken up in consulting and lecturing, except for a Saturday-night excursion into the world of London's private clubs, at the invitation of local restorer of antiques Shim Patel. The occasion was the birthday of videogame designer Jake, and in addition to a spot of dinner and dancing, and a fine time being had by all, it was a wonderful window into yet another human domain.

Departing London for Texas (sitting next to two Bolognese on the return flight) I got back just in time to head to Costa Rica, and the next Full Moon ...

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