A morning tradition

MOST EVERY morning following croissantitos and orange marmelade or Costco bagels and cream cheese lite, plus café americano negro, of course, we retire to the living room and sit on the red sofa.

The music machine is already playing. I turn that on before bagels or croissantitos. This morning it was Madeleine Peyroux who was serenading us. She’s been our morning music for quite a few weeks now.

And will remain so till we weary of her.

This is how the scene appeared this morning. It doesn’t last long because we are a very busy pair, but it lasts long enough to count.

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(Note: The rather loud tick, tock, tick you hear is my Aunt Ned’s (R.I.P.) antique wall clock which dates from about 1885. I date from somewhat later than that.)

Blowback from the break

SINCE MY CHILD bride broke her arm recently, life has taken some significant detours here at the Hacienda.

Some affect her more than me, and some affect me more than her, but everyone is affected. Perhaps the worst part is that she cannot go to the gym, something she’s done regularly for about 30 years.

This is driving her nuts.

Since her car has an automatic transmission, and her broken arm is the left one, and she’s right-handed, she can still drive, but she’s nervous about it, so she’s not driving. I am now the full-time chauffeur.

She cannot easily put cream cheese on her bagels in the morning or orange marmalade on her croissants. I do that for her.

Neither can she iron clothes, which she’s done since we got married. I am fully capable of ironing clothes, and I ironed clothes all the time during my previous marriage. Now I’m back to ironing clothes.

But I don’t do it as well as she does because the occasional wrinkle does not bother me. I’m more laid back about creases’ locations.

She still sweeps and mops, but not very well. Oh, well.

When she showers, I have to tape a plastic bag around her cast. She does remove it, however. We’re using lots of bags.

Which brings us to her hair, which is curly and very long. There’s not much she can do with it wielding one hand so I have been drafted. I am not good at it. Sometimes she looks goofy.

Her weekend pastry sales on the downtown plaza have been suspended, so she’s unemployed. I continue her benefits, however.

Today ends the first week of this new life. According to the doctor, it will continue for another three to five weeks. We’re praying for just three.

Neither of us had broken a bone before, and neither of us had lived with someone who’d broken a bone, so we’d never given it much thought.

It’s kind of a pain in the butt.

Soggy Sunday in late Spring

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Sheep’s tail relishes the aftermath of rainfall this morning.

IT RAINED yesterday, and it rained again this morning. It’s supposed to rain this afternoon. We embrace this even though we’re not sure of the cause.

It could be the start of the five-month rainy season, or it could be due to the hurricane out in the Pacific, or it could be both. No matter. We’ll take it.

Sunday is a good day around here. There’s a certain sameness to Monday through Friday, and Saturday is devoted to pastry sales downtown. Sunday is up for grabs.

There is some routine to Sunday. My child bride usually irons. We invariably go to a restaurant for lunch, and we usually watch a Netflix movie in the late afternoon.

But if we wish to change all that, we have the right.

Every morning of the week, after croissants or bagels at 8, we move from the dining room to the living room and plop down into the cushy sofa for a spell. Put our feet up. It’s one of the best times of the day, every day.

If the light is just so, a cobweb or two around the big living room becomes visible. We really should have a maid, but we don’t, mostly because we are solitary people who don’t want anyone underfoot. So my child bride does the best she can, ever bitching about why didn’t we build a smaller place.

I help a bit, but most of my work is in the yard. Plus, I’m ancient.

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Even the Jesus Patio table welcomes the rain.

The rain has cooled things considerably. We didn’t have the cooler blowing upstairs last night, and we only turned on the ceiling fan in the bedroom. The tower fan stayed in the off position.

Not only is it fresher, but we’re feeling good, which is notable due to both of us having some health issues in the last few months, things that appear to be resolving themselves. Sunday is usually a great day.

Even better if you’re feeling fine.

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From the downstairs veranda this morning, also enjoying the cool air.

Eternal bloom from the barrister

orchid

STEVE COTTON, a retired barrister from Oregon who now lives occasionally in the “little Mexican village” of Barra de Navidad, Jalisco, and writes now and then on his website Mexpatriate — In the Key of Steve, came with family in February to stay in our downtown casita for a spell.

Señor Cotton, being a well-bred sort (tip of the sombrero to his Mom and Pop), as a token of apreciation — I didn’t charge him for the rental — left this orchid for us. We transported the flower from the downtown casita here to the Hacienda where we live, and we sat it atop the dining room table.

As I said, that was February … of 2017.

Yes, the orchid has graced our table for over a year, and it’s never lacked flowers. I find this remarkable. I didn’t know any plant flowered for more than a year.

So every morning especially, as we chew toasted bagels with cream cheese or the occasional croissant with orange marmalade, we think kindly of the former Oregon barrister who now lives occasionally — when he’s not flying all over the place — in the “little Mexican village” of Barra de Navidad, Jalisco.