Sunday at the cemetery

Lots of folks have seen cemetery photos from Mexico’s famous Day of the Dead, but far less seen are those same places photographed a month later when the pizazz has worn off, and the mourners have moved on. We took a Sunday drive and passed the graveyard in the picturesquely named village of Cucuchucho.

We parked the Honda by the cemetery’s front gate and found it unlocked.

Dead birds, sheets & towels

We’re having a scaled-down Day of the Dead this year due to the Kung Flu hysteria. Normally, there’s a massive artisan market installed all around our big, downtown plaza, but not this go-around. Instead of the market, they installed this decoration, which is cordoned off, appropriately, with crime-scene tape.

To stand where those people are, you enter from the right, way over there, after having your temperature checked and a glob of anti-bacterial gel dumped on your hands, no matter that the virus is not bacteria. This year, all good sense has sailed out the window.

I took the photo yesterday.

This morning, I trimmed some bushes, raked up some crap, found a dead bird, tossed him into the trash, and picked up rotting, mystery fruit that falls from the neighbors’ tree that they have growing directly against my property wall. Yes, my wall, not theirs.

Later, I ascended to my roof via the circular stairway atop the dining room to check on something to do with the defective solar water heater and, while up there, I noticed the sex motel next door was drying sheets, towels and blankets. Directly on the floor.

I’ve noticed this many times over the years, but I’ve never photographed it. The sex motel has two or three giant washers in a room that sits on the backside of the roof, but what it lacks is even one dryer or a clothesline, which I guess would look low-brow.

So, flat on the roof they go. Nobody knows but me.

Yep, right on the roof. Towels, sheets, blankets, whatever needs to dry.

Votes, death, spiders, mail & flu

I sent my vote for the Blond Bomber toward Houston on October 1, registered mail, figuring it would have plenty of time. This was assuming registered mail here moves at least a bit faster than unregistered mail, a dicey assumption.

It arrived at the Mexico City airport 27 days later. I could have driven there in five hours, give or take. Registered and express mail from here can be tracked on the Mexican postal system’s website, and then it can be tracked on the USPS website using the same number.

It has been visible on the USPS website for a couple of days, so I’m assuming it made it over the Rio Bravo, but there is no further info. I have found the Mexican tracking system better than the USPS. Once I sent a Social Security form, registered mail, and it crossed the border and vanished. Yes, the Gringos lost it.


The Honda was in the shop this week due to a suspension problem. I got it back yesterday and immediately noticed one tire was very low on air, so I drove a couple of blocks today to my tire-repair man who found the leak and fixed it on the spot for $2.50 U.S.


The Night/Day of the Dead arrives Sunday. Both state and city governments have tried to discourage it due to the Kung Flu, so I suspect we’ll see fewer tourists jamming our highways and streets. How much fewer is questionable.


We’re considering a trip to the beach, Zihuatanejo, soon where we have not been in about three years. Probably be a good time due to more folks staying home. Our favorite hotel is the Casa Sun & Moon. We always get a big suite facing the ocean.

It’s time to stop talking about going and actually go.


And she came screaming!

Well, not screaming, but my child bride ran rapid and distressed. There was a big, black spider in the bathtub. I won’t say he was as big as my fist, but he was huge, the second big spider here in the last three days. I trapped him, escorted him to the yard where I smashed him flat. She said it was a brown recluse, but it wasn’t. It did look scary though.


We get a flu shot every October at the Star Medica hospital in the nearby state capital. Alas, the vaccine has yet to arrive there. Next week, we’re always told on the phone. Next week! It costs 800 pesos each at Star Medica, but it’s available free here on the mountaintop at a government clinic. I’ve only gone to a government clinic for a vaccine once, and I received the wrong vaccine. I now look askance at government clinics.

Socialized, government medical care!

But that may be where we get it this year.


The high point of today is that my child bride made a huge pot of green pozole, and no one does it better than her. We’ll enjoy that for lunch, then head down to the government clinic to see if the flu shot is available and, even more important, if there’s a line to stand in. If so, we’ll just keep on trucking. Life’s too short to stand in lines.

Might not get the correct vaccine anyway.


Vaccine update! We went to the government hospital and got the vaccine quicker than we’ve ever done it at Star Medica, and it was free, closer to being actually free than the stuff the leftists promise you above the Rio Bravo. (That free means your neighbors are paying for it.) There was no wait. We were told there’s a shortage of shots, and only certain people get it. Being over 60 did it for us.

By the way, what’s up with the anti-vaccine hysteria? Appears to be something embraced by conservatives more than anyone. I don’t get it. I like vaccines.

The tail of October

Here’s my little pumpkin for Autumn 2020.

Back in my newspaper days in Texas, I always marked October’s arrival with a small pumpkin that I sat atop my office computer terminal. In time, even a few of my coworkers started doing the same. Well, one at least, that I recall.

Now I don’t have the fat computer console we used in the 1990s, so I sit my little October fruit atop the Epson printer just a tad to the left of my H-P screen.

Autumn brings changes, and one happened this morning as I told Abel the Deadpan Yardman that mowing is done for this year. The rain has ended, and some yellow spots are appearing in the grass. In time, the whole lawn will be brown, dead and crunchy.

I know Abel wasn’t happy with the news since it’s a good little chunk of change for less than two hours of relatively easy toil once a week. No matter. It had to be done.

He still has his day job, tooting a trumpet.

Speaking of toil, I enjoy witnessing the ongoing house construction across the street. You may recall that one guy alone is doing the work. Well, mostly. His wife shows up to tote some stuff for him, and a couple of times a month, a younger fellow chips in, but it’s primarily a one-man operation.

He was working this morning, but he took off for a spell. Noon shot.

A sharp eye will notice that he’s building his own wall to the left directly abutting the property wall of his neighbor, as he should. It would be cheaper and faster to just utilize the neighbor’s property wall. When the sex motel was built next to our house, the owner should have done the same, but he opted to take advantage of our property wall.

Our town is one of Mexico’s primary Day of the Dead destinations for tourists. Due to the Kung Flu, festivities were cancelled a month or two ago. Then, due to complaints from business owners because it’s a YUGE income generator, it was back on again. And now it’s off again.

The graveyards will be closed to tourists and, if I understand correctly, to the locals also. Sad situation, both spiritually and financially.

We’ve been told to build our altars in our homes. We usually do that anyway. Well, my child bride does while I sit, watch and offer moral support from the sofa.

It’s a lovely day here on the mountaintop. The sky is blue. The air is cool and breezy, and we’ll be dining this afternoon on ravioli from Costco. Yum!