High and dry

High at over 7,000 feet above sea level, which is permanent, and dry because it’s Springtime, the most miserable season of the year. When one says Springtime above the border one thinks of lovely days, romance, the occasional shower and flowers, perhaps the end of snow. When one says Springtime where I live, we think dust and heat.

And no A-C.

Easter Week (Semana Santa) starts soon, April 4. (Correction: Actually, it starts March 28.) It normally rivals the Day of the Dead for tourists and traffic in these parts but, like the Day of the Dead last November, most of the hubbub is canceled because of the Kung Flu hysteria. No massive artisan market on the downtown plaza and no parades in the evening. This pleases me because I am neither Christian nor a fan of bumper-to-bumper traffic.

It is bad for the local economy, however, which is already suffering due to the previously mentioned Kung Flu hysteria.

The video freezes in time a few seconds from this morning as I stood on the stone sidewalk and pointed the Canon up thataway. The photo below is my very favorite yard plant, the bottle-brush tree. I don’t know what the Mexicans call it, but that’s what it’s called up north. It’s seven or eight feet tall now, and still growing. I planted it years ago when it was just a little tyke. I wish I had planted one or two more. It’s lovely, and often in bloom. The hummingbirds love it.

Though Springtime is here, it still gets chilly overnight, and we still have the wintertime goose-down comforter on the king bed, but that will come off soon, the bedroom window will stay open, and the tower fan I bought just last year will keep us partially refreshed during the nights. There is no perfect world.

Hey, did you see “President” Biden bumble through his first press conference a few days ago? I predict that will be the first and final press conference. He’ll be drooling before long. It won’t be a good look. As Trump would say: Sad.

The hummers love this tree with all their hearts.

15 thoughts on “High and dry

  1. It is called escobillón en español. Semana Santa is the week prior to Easter Sunday. It starts today.

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    1. Antonio: Aha! You are right. I was one week off. That explains, I imagine, why I’ve seen a couple of folks walking around with their corn stalks or whatever that is.

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        1. Antonio: Yep, I figured that out. The combination of my not being a Christian, even less a Catholic, combined with the lack of normal festivities here, had me swimming in a sea of ignorance. They did hang the colors around the plaza downtown over the last few days. That should have provided me a clue, but it didn’t.

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          1. Antonio beat me to it. This is Holy Week. Easter Week is next week. Until I moved to Mexico, none of that made much sense to my prottie ears. In truth, it still doesn’t.

            Whatever we call the days, I hope you and your bride enjoy them. The highlanders are already invading the beaches here.

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            1. Señor Cotton: Now you’ve really got me reeling with confusion. I thought Holy Week was Easter Week. I remember when I was a kid, and that Sunday morning arrived after the previous night’s visit from the Easter Bunny. That was the end of it all at that point. I had my candy.

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  2. I actually thought the cardboard-cutout-in-Chief held out remarkably well. I disagreed with virtually everything he read, but at least he was able to pull it off to some degree.

    Yeah, they are gonna put him back on the shelf for another several months. We’ll see how badly he is deteriorating next time they dust him off and wipe the drool off his lips. 🙄

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  3. What is really scary, is that he is one year and nine months older than us.
    What do we have to look forward to?

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  4. He may be a doddering old coot, but he managed to parlay his elected position into being a millionaire if not a billionaire. Hang on to your wallet. He wants to change the tax law and pass a massive infrastructure bill to benefit his family, friends and cronies.
    We may be old, but at least we are somewhat honest.

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