Malcolm Lowry, a raving alcoholic who died prematurely, wrote a book titled Under the Volcano. Literary types have proclaimed it a masterpiece though, in fact, it is mostly incomprehensible.
I sleep under a wool sarape on chilly nights, and I think Under the Sarape would make a fine title for a book, but an understandable one. Clarity and sobriety are always preferred.
It would also make an excellent title for a blog set in Mexico.*
Just this week we’ve begun sleeping with the bedroom window open because it’s starting to get a bit stuffy in the evenings. But by 4 a.m., it’s cold, and a cover is required. I toss the sarape over me. It’s kept at the foot of the bed.
It even has fringe on two sides.**
We’re in a transitional phase, weather-wise. A month from now, the night bedroom will start out stuffy, but it won’t be cold at 4 a.m. It will be pleasantly cool, and no sarape will be needed. We will sleep in PJs under a sheet and light blanket.
But the intersection of thoughts of the drunken Lowry and the sarape under which I snooze gelled in the Under the Sarape idea. Remember that it’s mine, but you can use it for a reasonable monthly fee.
Under the Sombrero is another fine idea, also mine, but you can have it for nothing if you are stone sober. Under the Volcano is taken.
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* Consider it copyrighted, amigos.
** I do not, however, sleep in a sombrero.