Bagels and sausage

My child bride is at my side, but she didn’t have her feet up just then.

THE RAINY season changes everything hereabouts. The mood, the grass, the feel, the temperature.

The daily rain was reluctant to start this year, but I think it’s finally worked up some enthusiasm. It rained gently most of last night and, as I write this in late morning, it’s still falling quietly and steadily, the rain. Nice.

Speaking of mood, usually, after our morning bagels or croissants, we step from the dining room into the living room and sit on the sofa, which is nice and soft. I put my feet up.

Sometimes incense and/or music.

We finish our coffee and talk. Okay, truth be told, she talks. And I listen. She is female, after all. And I’m not.

God created them to talk. Us to listen.

That lasts 15-30 minutes till we get up and start chores. There are always chores. We have no maid.

Life’s been pretty slow since we got back from our anniversary trip to Mineral de Pozos about a week ago.

Last weekend we hopped into the Honda and headed around the lake to an eatery I simply call The German Restaurant even though the real name is Campestre Alemán.

The German Restaurant offers grub you won’t find anywhere else in these parts, this world of endless tacos and cheese.

There is Bavarian sausage, for instance, and goulash too. I always order the Bavarian sausage, which comes with sauerkraut, something else you rarely encounter locally.

I took this photo of my Bavarian sausage and sauerkraut. Just beyond is the bunny my wife ate. I consider eating bunny appalling, but she does it anyway.

It’s still raining as I wind this up, which means there will be no morning exercise walk around the neighborhood plaza. I guess I’ll  just shave, take a shower and put my jeans on.

It’s almost time for Breakfast #2. Cereal.

Mood piece

JUST CAME in from the morning walk around the plaza, and I’m in a good mood, which is the norm.

It’s common to see people in bad moods. You can see it on their faces. Some are young with their lives ahead of them while I am old and my life is mostly behind me.

No matter. I’m almost always in a good mood. Maybe because it’s too late to worry. That time has passed.

Coming in from my plaza walk, I poured a glass of green juice and sat on a rocker here on the veranda and looked around me. It was so nice I decided to share.

The camera was just inside the door, sitting on a table.

We haven’t had one hard freeze so far, which is rare. It could still happen. The peach tree would be shocked because it’s full of pink blooms, thinking it’s springtime.

You’d think that plants and weather would be better coordinated, that they’d have meetings or something.

I shot the video for you, my internet amigos. It’s both a mood piece and a brag piece. It illustrates what’s possible with a little planning, a modicum of money and courage.

As I type this, a couple of hours later, my child bride is downstairs frying chiles, the punch of which is wafting upstairs and almost bowling me over. That happens.

You sauté raw chiles, and you’ve got a fight on your hands.

She’ll dump them in the pot of beans that will accompany the roasted chicken on the menu for lunch.

Roasted chicken, beans and rice are good for the mood.

The water gatherer

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Ready for the ride up the sidewalk.

DON’T DRINK the water.

That’s what they say about Mexico, and it’s wise advice. Tap water, that is. It’s been so long since I last drank tap water that seeing it done on Gringo TV now seems strange.

I began thinking of this matter yesterday while I was driving back from a small store down the street with two big bottles of purified water beside me.

We use a brand called Santorini, which is part of the Pepsi Corp. A large truck drives our streets regularly with these huge jugs, which are called garrafones in Spanish.

It’s like the five-gallon bottle used for water coolers in the United States, though I don’t know if our garrafones hold exactly five gallons. And they are plastic, not glass.

The driver and helper bellow agua in the street and also ring doorbells. I’m sure they earn commissions. If you respond to their yelling, they’ll bring the bottles right into your kitchen, and you hand over the empties.

A full bottle costs 25 pesos, which is about $1.30 U.S. these days. If you don’t hand over an empty, the price is way higher. I forget how much higher. I always have empties.

We once got door delivery, but you have to be home, and I found that doing it myself when we need it is more convenient. The store is just four blocks up the street.

And it’s exercise. Weight-lifting.

Arriving home with the two blue bottles, I heave them into a wheelbarrow for the brief trip around the Romance Sidewalk to the Hacienda’s front door.

This routine is not very difficult, but I wonder how many more years will pass before it will be physically beyond me. Then I’ll have the guys bring it into the kitchen for a sweet tip.

People drink bottled water in America because it’s stylish. We do it here because it’s the smart thing to do.

And it’s darn cheap.

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Just in from the store up the street.

About the plaza

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JUST UNDER two blocks away, our neighborhood plaza is where we walk most every morning weekdays. Weekends are for other things.

Off one corner of the plaza, there’s the view above, showing the elevated railway track, the same that passes near our Hacienda down thataway to the left. All my life I lived in flatlands, wishing I lived in mountains, and now I do, and it’s wonderful.

We’re not the only folks to walk the plaza, however. There’s this old dude below. I very much admire his spunk because that’s an exercise walk he’s doing too, but with a walker. He inches along.

He needs knee replacements, on both sides, but he’ll never get them. We always say hi as we speed by, relatively speaking, lapping him many times over. Sometimes he rests on a steel bench. Other times he pauses and chats with others. He keeps his mustache well trimmed.

cripple

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