‘Tis the season for the Jacaranda. With three in my backyard, it doesn’t take much of a breeze to set the petals flying.
Raffi is over for the day while his momma, Janna, visits Queretaro.
And, Spring is springing. Jacarandas, warm winds, flying dust, and the return of creepy-crawlies. I just mopped my bedroom floor with Ajax Expel. Not for cleanliness, no, that floor will never be clean (I will remind you that it looks *exactly* like the patio floor the dogs are playing on outside), but because the Expel seems to live up to its promise of providing a “protective barrier” indoors. For weeks after I mop I gain a great deal of satisfaction sweeping up dead spiders. [I KNOW they have their eco-niche. But, it’s outside, k?]
To the tune of Tina Turners “I Can’t Stand the Rain”:
tra la la …. I can’t stand the dirt … at my window …
Clint summed it up for me the other day when he said, “You have a Mexican house.” I presume this means that gringos build their houses “tight” so dirt doesn’t sift in through the windows and under the doors. And use better interior finishes so concrete doesn’t flake off the walls or paint chips drift from the ceiling. We are a privileged lot, though at the moment, I am not and frankly, it’s disheartening. I will never have that peculiarly American self-satisfaction of having done a bang-up job of cleaning to finally survey, if only for a moment, a gleaming household. Thermodynamics: wearing me down.
This makes me lazier than I might be otherwise. Though my days of peak fright over a medical emergency, and the inconsequential distractions I’ve used to forget it, appear to be coming to a close … while my dental adventures wind on.
Darlene just dropped by for a visit. We sat on the patio, watching the dogs, talking about San Miguel. She’s been down here from Ohio for close to two months on a reconnaisance mission. Retired from the Post Office, her dream for the last three years has been to bring her horse Merlin down to San Miguel and build an off-the-grid casita in the campo outside of town. My dream of course was to retire in a pleasant climate.
Dream, meet Mr. R.
It can be a jarring clash, though I think I’m done with that for the time being since I’ve decided to treat reality like a dream. In some weird way, Darlene and I have met in the middle. We both agree that San Miguel de Allende is a FABulous place for a vacation. But, for reasons personal to us each, probably not an end game.
Funny how you can slog through your own stuff for months on end …
and then figure out you miss old friends.
Friends who will roar with laughter when they see this:
If I had (more) money I’d love to visit San Miguel de Allende for a couple of months each year. But then, if I had (more) money I could also visit the U.S. for medical treatment, and to be in the physical presence of my friends. Many people do just that and, for me, that would be an ideal.
Hmmmm … Janna wants to move to Queretaro because San Miguel is so over-priced. Earlier she told me that 3 kilos of oranges cost 10 pesos in Queretaro, while she pays that for one kilo here. I can believe it, which is why I hate articles about San Miguel like the one recently published in the Travel section of the New York Times. It’s titled “36 Hours in San Miguel” but I re-titled it as “San Miguel for the Uber-Rich.”
O.k., last view of Mia playing with Raffi:
She’s nobody’s push over!