I enjoy shooting photos, and I’m good at it, better than average. This is due in great part to working on newspapers for decades. You pick up things, skills.
My preferred subject matter is faces, but the Kung Flu hysteria over the past year has made that difficult. All the face masks. In spite of the pandemic’s drastic reduction recently — pandemics come and go — the folks in my mountaintop town cannot kick the habit. They are junkies. Face masks are everywhere. And gel.
But I still catch a nice shot on occasion though there’s a face mask in this one too. It’s resting there, like a toddler’s jockstrap, between two of the crosses. This woman sells artesanías on the sidewalk. The photo was taken downtown last Saturday just after a rainstorm. That’s a sheet of plastic behind her. Perhaps you can see the raindrops.
I hope we can put aside the mask fetish soon and return to normal. I have.
The two of us headed downtown this afternoon to do lunch at a restaurant and complete a few chores like paying the annual water bill for the Downtown Casita and tax bills for the Casita and the Hacienda. Unlike some years ago when they were boring, time-consuming procedures, it went like a snap today.
For a few minutes, we sat at my sister-in-law’s coffee shop, out on the sidewalk, and I shot this photo of a chess game. The young fellow with the black mask is one of our numerous nephews. He was just learning to play, which heartened us because normally all he does is lie in his dark bedroom playing video games on his cell phone.
The guy with his back to the camera is also a nephew who is visiting from Querétaro. Both the boys are 17 years old. The older guy standing up is giving them some chess pointers. Below is a photo of him that I took three or four years ago at the same location.
He’s an artist who needs a pair of glasses. Reminds me of Tom Waits.
My child bride was born at home in Uruapan, Michoacán, a bit over 60 years ago, but the family quickly moved to a smaller town nearby, a place called Taretan. As some of you know, her father was a doctor, and he delivered her, as he did his entire throng of offspring.
It usually went well. The only time it didn’t was baby No. 5, a delivery that resulted in mama’s death, which surely was very hard on the doctor, but he went on to marry again and have five more children. He was fond of kids, perhaps to a fault.
Today I was looking through photos, and here are three. My child bride is in them all.
And not just any virgin, mind you. It’s the Virgin of Guadalupe whom we are celebrating today. It began this morning with lots of explosions, which is how Mexico prefers to celebrate, and the explosions begin at dawn or before. Such fun.
It it’s a repeat of last year, and it likely will be in spite of our being told not to gather in crowds, we will have not one but two bone-shaking concerts on the nearby plaza. Those will be accompanied, of course, by more explosions. The virgin likes blasts.
At 8 a.m., it was 10 degrees Celsius and 50 Fahrenheit outside, which is just fine. An otherworldly cloud hung in the sky, perhaps Guadalupe gazing down on my hardscrabble barrio. I hope so. We need all the help we can get.
Being Saturday, chores are in short supply. It’s mostly a day of rest, but I do have to water the potted plants in the downstairs terraza. Then I’ll sit a spell in the rocker, trying to ignore the racket that’s already under way on the plaza just up the street.