The snow comes out

Well, not snow, obviously, but it is a pretty white, and it appears every year about now after the start of the summer monsoon, and that has happened. This is the very same bush where mistletoe appeared last April, and you can still see it there at the top middle.

As I write this, Sunday morning, I’m waiting for Abel the Deadpan Yardman to ring the gate bell and mow the shaggy lawn. Normally, he cuts on Saturday morning, but it was raining all day yesterday due to a tropical storm in the nearby Pacific. It’s still overcast this morning, but the rain stopped last night.

Tropical storms and their ugly Big Brothers, hurricanes, are some of the many things I do not miss about my former life above the Rio Bravo, most of which was spent in hurricane zones. In spite of a number of sideswipes — the most memorable being the devastating Camille in 1969 that obliterated the Mississippi Gulf Coast — I only got hammered head-on just once, Betsy in New Orleans in 1965. It was a memorable and scary night.

The arrival of the annual rains has transformed our world from dry and hot-ish to damp and cool, a transformation I embrace, but by September I’ll be sick of it.

While writing the above, the gate bell sounded, and now I’m enjoying the whirr of the Weedeater, which will be followed by the roar of the Frankenstein mower.

All music to my ears.

Dry times ahead?

veranda
Just this very morning.

HERE I SIT on the veranda having just returned from six laps around the neighborhood plaza where, on Thursdays, we always traipse around and through the temporary market that’s erected this day every week.

There are two large fruit-and-veggie stands, used clothing spread atop sheets on the sidewalk, fresh fish — many are still hopping around, wondering where the water went — beans, of course, and ladies selling various foods and munchies. I think what I like best is the vat of oil that fries pigskins.

It’s the smell, which reminds me of my childhood on the Georgia farm.

But the big news of today is that the sky is mostly blue. It did not rain yesterday and, the Goddess willing, it will not rain today … or tomorrow … and so on.

It’s time for the annual rains to halt. I think that would have happened already were it not for the hurricane out in the Pacific. It’s gone ashore now, far north of us, and is petering out, which is what you want hurricanes to do.

It gave us lots of rain and, in the nearby capital city, plenty of street flooding; in some places up to three feet deep. We drove down a street there Tuesday where people had their furniture on the sidewalk drying it out or throwing it away. It reminded me of Houston or New Orleans.

But people in Houston or New Orleans can better bear the financial hit.

But it’s gone now, that storm, and I’m optimistic as we head into the best month of the year here on the mountaintop. November is as good as it gets.

The Day of the Dead is next week, and sugar skulls, etc., are on sale around the plaza downtown. Come visit. Everyone else will be here, it seems.

With a touch of luck, it won’t rain.

Till next June.

Getting up quite early

color
Our cool morning world today.

I’M AN EARLY riser. I also like cool weather, which is one reason I live on a mountaintop and not on the edge of a beach. I sweated enough all those years in New Orleans and Houston.

This morning, I was up at 5:15. I was wearing a tank top — still am as I write this — and after checking the dismal news on both sides of the border on my H-P desktop, I slipped on my terraza sandals and went outside.

The thermometer on the wall told me it was 66 degrees. It was overcast, apparently due to a big storm in the Pacific. I liked the look of things. And the sound. There wasn’t much sound aside from the chickens next door.

Things looked good, so I got my camera and took the shot. See that tallest tree there in the yard? That’s the damnable peach, which trashes the grass every summer. That baby is coming down early next year, to my child bride’s dismay.

We’ll be installing a nice stone patio in the whole area. No trash trees allowed.

Maybe we’ll get some rain today due to the storm. That would be good and cooling. But I hope it doesn’t start before 10 a.m. because that’s when Abel the Deadpan Yardman comes to cut the grass.

But now it’s time to head downstairs for croissantitos and marmalade.

downs

Glimpse of sunshine

yard
The psychedelic birdbath is full of fresh, clean water.

WE’VE BEEN dreadfully wet of late. Not Houston-style, but extra wet in our own way, and it’s due to two factors.

One, it’s the rainy season, and it rains a bit every day. But, in addition, we were getting almost nonstop rain for a spell due to a hurricane out in the Pacific. Not Harvey but Lidia.

When hurricanes run amok in the Gulf or Pacific, we get extra rain sometimes, and that’s all we get, which is good.

But the sun was out this morning, so I did some yard trimmings, cutting dead stuff, picking up nopal fruit that had fallen to the grass. You need gloves to do that latter, as I discovered painfully some while back. Nasty little spines.

And I refilled the birdbath, which I had not done for days due to the rain keeping it full. However, I noticed today there were tadpoles in there, so I dumped it out, and refilled.

During the morning activities, I needed something from the downstairs closet and while in there I got in a sharing mode. I don’t think I’ve ever put a closet photo here, so …

closet
We maintain marginal order in the closet. There’s a similar closet upstairs.

The closet is across from the downstairs bathroom and next to the bedroom. You enter from the hallway. It was my idea, and it baffled my child bride at first because it’s as big as many — perhaps most — bedrooms in Mexico.

I hired a carpenter to build shelves that don’t just abut the wall but extend outwards, giving much more storage space. It’s an idea I got from the late, great Al Kinnison (R.I.P.) who had such a closet next to his kitchen. He lived downtown.

While I’ve been writing this, the clouds have grown, which may cause a problem for my morning exercise walk around our nearby plaza. I think I need to get going.

Adiós.