Wet, cool and green

It’s been quite a spell since I posted one of these shots. I took it yesterday afternoon just before my child bride returned from the gym. Indeed, no more than three seconds later, the green gate opened, and her red Nissan pulled in and parked to the left where there’s another carport.

There was light rain falling though it’s not visible here.

There’s some big news hereabouts. Just four blocks away from the Hacienda, there’s a major intersection where the four-lane highway down to the state capital collides with a right-angle two-laner that heads to a small town named Tzintzuntzan about 15 minutes away. There are ancient pyramids on the edge of Tzintzuntzan.

But I digress.

The intersection in question has always been perilous. Accidents are not rare. There is no stoplight, no caution signs, no nothing aside from some piddling speed bumps installed just a couple of months ago. We were delighted with that, but the speed bumps are gone now because a massive construction project is under way.

We’re getting a huge roundabout, a traffic circle, a glorieta, whatever you wish to call it. It will slow people down. Mexico is fond of traffic circles. There are some doozies in Mexico City, and one entrance to San Miguel de Allende tosses you around a circle. About a year ago a big lovely, chaotic one was constructed here closer to downtown.

Normally, people pass by my woebegone barrio at warp speed, but this will slow them down. It will make a big change in our atmosphere. We will sport our Big-Boy Pants, and perhaps it will inspire economic growth because people won’t be able to barrel by at 200 mph.

They’ll notice the roasted-chicken restaurant where we eat at least once a week at that intersection, the spectacular building that houses the carnitas emporium, and the pizza parlor. If they hang a right at the glorieta and go down that way a bit they’ll find ice cream and wrought-iron yard furniture and more roasted chicken.

We used to be a separate village, but we’ve long since been annexed to the mountaintop town four miles away, making us just another neighborhood, but our past explains the big, tree-filled plaza and its obligatory church, all just off the highway, unseen.

And soon a glorious glorieta.

The morning bird

Our mornings do not vary, but they have varied from, say, a decade ago when I would depart bed in the dark around 6 a.m., leaving my child bride in place, sleeping. They say that as one ages, one needs less sleep, but I’ve gone in the other direction. Perhaps it’s just laziness. I’m in bed now till after 7, and we get up at the same time.

I go into the living room where I slip my feet into the Crocs that I always leave in the same spot the previous evening. I continue to the kitchen to take biscuits from the fridge and place them at the ready inside the mini-oven for a hour later.

I take grounds and filter from the coffeemaker which cranked up at 6:30. I put plates on the table. I pour a glass of water, and break off a piece of ready-made toast, the kind you don’t normally find above the Rio Bravo in supermarkets, or at least you didn’t decades ago. Maybe you do now with so many of my new paisanos lurking there.

Today, looking through the window above the kitchen sink, I saw a solitary bird, just sitting. He was on the Garden Patio roof. I walked into the living room to get the Canon, thinking he’ll be gone when I return, but he wasn’t. He was waiting for me.

I took his photo. It’s not a black-and-white shot. It’s color. That was the color at that early moment on this chilly, July day.

A stark contrast

Above you see a typical Trump rally. Below you see the CNN “Town Hall” staged by Biden’s handlers a few days ago in which the “president” stumbled and mumbled his way through the event.

When it ended, Kamala Harris tossed a sack over Biden’s head, steered him out the back door, heaved him into the limo where Hillary, Bill and Barack were waiting, drove him back to the White House and propped him up again behind the desk in the Oval Office with a bowl of warm porridge. And soon it was bedtime.

Are those empty seats?

Mexican walkabout

I opened our front gate for perspective on the location of the two storefronts under construction. Directly across the street.


It was a lovely midday, and I had no pressing chores, so I decided to walk a bit, shoot some photos, all within two blocks of the Hacienda, for your edification.

This is the butcher shop just a few steps beyond the storefront construction on the same side of the street. The butcher is a young man, also named Felipe. We exchange greetings every morning as I head out on my morning exercise walk to the nearby plaza.

And here is the plaza. City workers just yesterday cut the grass, which was very high due to the daily rains. Interestingly, a few years ago nine of those tall trees were completely uprooted during a massive storm. I think a tornado touched down, though no one reported that. No one saw it because everyone was hunkering down inside.

It was a very, very big blow.

Returning toward the Hacienda via the back, parallel street, I passed this house. Now that is orange. And here below, shot from the next corner, is the block behind the Hacienda.

Believe it or not, that street is cobblestoned, but there’s so much dirt that’s been allowed to collect that it looks like what it originally was, Dirt Street or, during the rainy season, Mud Street, usually.

It’s a dead end. At the distant right, the orange-and-yellow, two-story edifice, is the sex motel, the rear entrance, no pun intended. Just before that, on the same side, is the back of the Hacienda. We have a rear door to this street, but it’s very rarely used.

From that same corner above, look 90 degrees to the right, and this, below, is what you see. Not too far up there is the railroad track where trains travel frequently, night and day, but we’ve long become accustomed to the noise.

Walking up that way and turning left at the first corner, you’ll see the butcher shop on your right and a bit farther the storefront construction. Then, looking left and walking into the Hacienda grounds, there is this ivy, which has been growing like mad the last few weeks, even grasping that archway. I hope it doesn’t make a nuisance of itself.

It won’t if it knows what’s good for itself. I own clippers.

“Pase ud” means come on in. But phone first.