Damned love

IN THOSE FARAWAY days, when I awoke in the inner suburbs of Houston, Texas, the only thing I ever heard was the occasional woof of the dimwitted dog next door, the one the Baptist pastor owned.

In these present days, when I awake in the hardscrabble outskirts of my mountaintop town, I rarely encounter silence. Sometimes it’s just the chickens next door or a loudspeaker atop a pole in the next block where someone is announcing something totally incomprehensible due to the poor quality of the decrepit loudspeaker.

Perhaps it’s firecrackers and/or a small band on the plaza at dawn or in the street blaring trombones and trumpets to the Virgin Mary. Sometimes it’s a love song from a neighbor’s full-tilt music machine, which can erupt at any hour.

This morning, it was Vicente Fernandez crying in his cerveza over Tu Maldito Amor, your damned love.

* * * *

(Only in Mexico might you wander into a rural cantina with sadness in your heart, thirst in your throat, a song on your lips, and there is a 10-piece mariachi band dressed to the nines waiting to give you musical backdrop.)

11 thoughts on “Damned love”

  1. I never heard birds sing when I lived in Iowa. Maybe there were no birds there. Living among noise means not having to say you’re sorry when your dog barks loudly and nonstop for 24 minutes at the zombies waiting at the gate.

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  2. New to reading your blog, I found it rather ironic since I posted to my blog today about the similarities of life in El Campo, Tx (approx. an hour south of Houston) to life in Mérida. I often hear the same Mexican songs wafting from the open windows of my Mexican neighbors here in El Campo that I hear in Mérida. But the latest — we have a vendedor on a cargo bike peddling fresh bread, and we have a neighborhood fresh vegetable vendedora. She has a rather old van to drive. I assume it is all “under the radar” here in El Campo. I can’t say for sure one could see this in downtown Houston, but I bet I know of an area of downtown Houston where you could. It appears there are getting to be more similarities when comparing parts of Texas to parts of Mexico than there are differences. We have a Mexican cantina a block from us complete with a sign on the outside that reads: No menores de 21 años. I feel conflicted as I can’t decide if I like having what is so refreshing to me when in Mexico so readily available to me in Texas, yet I must add I get excited over these little tastes of everyday Mexico.

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    1. Bev: Even before I left Houston over 14 years ago there was a section north of downtown where you would almost think you had been transported to Mexico via that gizmo from Star Trek. It was very interesting to me at the time. I now oppose the long-running multicultural experiment in the United States. Nothing much good will come of it, and history demonstrates that repeatedly and bloodily. I do not support the Mexicanization of Texas (or the United States) nor do I support the Gringo-ization of Mexico à la San Miguel de Allende. I think a nation should be what it is, a large family that shares a common language, culture, religion, etc.

      So for tastes of Mexico, I favor visiting Mexico, not South Texas. Or simply moving here, which is what I did. A great decision.

      Thanks for the feedback. I appreciate it.

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  3. “GAS, GAS, GAAAAAS!” That is my favorite sound of old Mexico that would make my hair stand on end…

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  4. Nearly every morning, a truck plies the streets of our village, announced by a male-female duet taking turns shrilly crying “¡Polllos! ¡Polllos!”. (“Chickens!!!”) That is our current favorite.

    Saludos,
    Don Cuevas

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