Thursday, December 11, 2014

88 Westcourt Lane

After the 2012 election, Jon and I knew that we needed to leave California. On many levels, it was a difficult decision. We would leave friends made over eighteen years, a house we loved, a community in which we were comfortable and a beautiful ocean environment. On other financial and philosophical levels, not really a tough call.

The transition to Texas started years ago when we thought 2015 was the escape target date. We researched communities in Arizona, Nevada, Colorado, Utah, and New Mexico.

In November of 2012 we visited San Antonio for the birthday of a dear friend from our former stint in San Antonio. On a whim, we made an appointment with a realtor and toured neighborhoods.

Three weeks later we were back for serious research. Before the end of the year we bought a lot in the gated (ugh!) community of The Dominion. We still have many friends and connections here. There is a golf club for Jon. Retail shopping has caught up with the population growth so products of all kinds are available. Downtown, non rush hour, is 25 minutes. (Rush hour is 28 minutes.) Cost of living is soooooo much lower than California - read taxes and everything else. All in all a good long term decision for us . . . as I fully intend to die here . . . as opposed to the "home."

We found our architect, Gustavo Arredondo. Yes, he is a swarthy Latino with slicked back hair and chest hair peaking from his open shirt with contrasting color and cuffs. And, yes, his competition was plain George Smith. (Kid you not.) However, objectively, his ideas and designs were much more interesting.

So then we found our builder, Jim Boles. Going against our prior experience we should have chosen Jim first. But we thought we might get an advantage in cost if we got competitive bids. Turns out we would have not missed a couple of errors and might have been able to cut costs better if we'd had Jim on board from the beginning.

Construction began mid-September. Nine months later we moved in . . . then promptly went on the amazing trip I just recounted.

Anyway, below are photographs our builder had a professional photographer take. They, and, more importantly, the house turned out great.

 Fountain outside Dining Room window.
  Dining room left.              Great room.

 Painting on lift to hide TV.

 
 Kitchen
 Master Bedroom and Bath



 Guest Bedroom
 Guest Bath

 Patio and Pool/Spa/Firepit

Will dredge up regular photos of Jon's office, the exercise room, laundry, and garage soon.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Final thoughts



            I am so grateful to have been born a woman in America. However, my sisters in other parts of the world are so much less fortunate.
            I have visited France, Italy and Germany in Western Europe. German and France actually rank higher than the US on the 2014 Global Gender Gap Index. But, lower employment rates, more temporary occupations, under representation in government and violence against women are still the norm in all these countries.
            In cosmopolitan Rio de Janero, Brazil and Capetown, South Africa the dramatic difference between rich and poor gives the illusion that wealthy, educated women are doing well. But we know these cultures spread misinformation about AIDS being cured y copulation with a virgin and continue patriarchal traditions that de-value women. In the rural areas of these countries little has changed for women.
            In the large cities I have visited in China, I got the sense that communism leveled the playing field, everyone was equally miserable. But gendercide of baby girls, forced abortion for gender selection and higher suicide rates for women combined with the high number of sex workers creates an oppressive environment for women.
            Even with my experiences of traveling to these countries and eleven others throughout the world, my eyes were opened to the plight of women in the world when I recently visited Turkey and Morocco, both Islamic countries. It is one thing to know something in the abstract and quite another to see it for yourself.
            My visit to these countries occurred during Ramadan and perhaps that is something that influenced my perceptions. People flocked to Istanbul and Marrakesh during the observance of Ramadan to celebrate their faith.
            I saw their obedience to their religion on the grounds of the Hippodrome as they waited for the Iman’s call from the Blue Mosque in Istanbul with sumptuous picnics laid before them. I saw women covered in burquas, veiled so completely that they had no choice but to be led by their husbands through the throngs . . . because they simply could not see well enough to navigate on their own.   
            In many ways Istanbul is very cosmopolitan. On a single bench I saw the full range of appropriate dress, from a completely veiled woman to a woman in a burgua with her face uncovered to a woman in a “coat” over western clothes to western clothes with only a hajib to a woman in shorts and a t-shirt. They were chatting gaily among themselves as if their clothing was of no consequence.
            When men were present, these same chatty women became quiet and seemed to draw into themselves. Even alone, they were reticent to make eye contact with me. And, if they were curious about me, they seemed afraid to engage with me.
            Even though I dressed with respect for their culture in a long skirt, long sleeved shirt and scarf at the ready to cover my head, I experienced the contempt and disgust of several men when I walked by. Just being “western” and obviously foreign was enough to invoke the disapproval of many of the men I saw around the Hippodrome. Frankly, it disturbed and frightened me and I asked my husband to never leave my side.
            These women of Islam are victims of a religious dogma that never blossomed through a reformation to acknowledge the value of women in their society. What I saw confirmed my belief that the demeanor of the women is in place to protect them from the consequences of a system over which they have no control.
            Again, I say, I am grateful for having been born a woman in America.
            In Morocco, the Islamic women wore colorful caftans with hoods thrown back leaving their hair and faces uncovered. They walked with a lighter step, spoke to me and looked me in the eye. However, they too were never alone, never far from a male or other women or children. While I felt their situation was much improved over the Islamic women of Turkey, I knew they were subject to many of the same restrictions. There weren’t women shop keepers, or taxi drivers or waiters. The women seemed to occupy the lower levels of employment, maids and cooks. In the  2014 Global Gender Gap Index, Morocco ranks 129th out of 136 countries in the state of women in four categories; health, education, economy and politics. So their situation over all, is actually worse than Turkey that is ranked 125th.
I also had the privilege of visiting the Republic of Georgia on my recent trip. Georgia is primarily orthodox Christian. The women in Tbilisi, the capital, were open, dressed in Western clothing and the ones I met were cosmopolitan. The women I met in the remote villages of the Caucasus Mountains were relegated to the kitchen in which they prepared the amazing traditional dishes for our dinners.
Only my female traveling companion and I were allowed to sit at the table with the men. I learned later that this was because we were considered honored guests, a status conferred upon us because of the men with whom we were traveling. We were expected to participate in the numerous toasts but were instructed not to stand as the men did with each toast.
The women of rural Georgia were much more outgoing than the Islamic women I encountered in Turkey or Morocco. They dressed western clothing and their peasant scarves were for warmth first and covering their hair when they entered a church second. They were proud of their culinary accomplishments, and rightly so. But they were not allowed to eat with us. This tradition, formed over generations of isolation in the mountains, felt very different from the subjugation of the Islamic women I’d seen. However, I have to recognize that subjugation is subjugation regardless of the reason or motivation.
Some of the most impactful moments of our trip were when I ventured into Georgian kitchens after our meals to thank our hostesses. Even though I spoke no Georgian and they spoke no English, we were able to make ourselves understood. Tears glistened in all our eyes as I took each of their hands in mine and thanked them for the honor of dining at their table. Somehow they knew my sentiments were heart felt.

As I reflect on this amazing experience, I am reminded of how lucky I am to have been born a woman in America. My options are almost limitless. Yes, there are still things that need to change to make American women as equal as American men. But, after seeing the way women in other parts of the world live their lives in constant fear of the men they “belong” to, I am proud to stand up and say I am an American woman.