Wet, cool and green

It’s been quite a spell since I posted one of these shots. I took it yesterday afternoon just before my child bride returned from the gym. Indeed, no more than three seconds later, the green gate opened, and her red Nissan pulled in and parked to the left where there’s another carport.

There was light rain falling though it’s not visible here.

There’s some big news hereabouts. Just four blocks away from the Hacienda, there’s a major intersection where the four-lane highway down to the state capital collides with a right-angle two-laner that heads to a small town named Tzintzuntzan about 15 minutes away. There are ancient pyramids on the edge of Tzintzuntzan.

But I digress.

The intersection in question has always been perilous. Accidents are not rare. There is no stoplight, no caution signs, no nothing aside from some piddling speed bumps installed just a couple of months ago. We were delighted with that, but the speed bumps are gone now because a massive construction project is under way.

We’re getting a huge roundabout, a traffic circle, a glorieta, whatever you wish to call it. It will slow people down. Mexico is fond of traffic circles. There are some doozies in Mexico City, and one entrance to San Miguel de Allende tosses you around a circle. About a year ago a big lovely, chaotic one was constructed here closer to downtown.

Normally, people pass by my woebegone barrio at warp speed, but this will slow them down. It will make a big change in our atmosphere. We will sport our Big-Boy Pants, and perhaps it will inspire economic growth because people won’t be able to barrel by at 200 mph.

They’ll notice the roasted-chicken restaurant where we eat at least once a week at that intersection, the spectacular building that houses the carnitas emporium, and the pizza parlor. If they hang a right at the glorieta and go down that way a bit they’ll find ice cream and wrought-iron yard furniture and more roasted chicken.

We used to be a separate village, but we’ve long since been annexed to the mountaintop town four miles away, making us just another neighborhood, but our past explains the big, tree-filled plaza and its obligatory church, all just off the highway, unseen.

And soon a glorious glorieta.

The morning bird

Our mornings do not vary, but they have varied from, say, a decade ago when I would depart bed in the dark around 6 a.m., leaving my child bride in place, sleeping. They say that as one ages, one needs less sleep, but I’ve gone in the other direction. Perhaps it’s just laziness. I’m in bed now till after 7, and we get up at the same time.

I go into the living room where I slip my feet into the Crocs that I always leave in the same spot the previous evening. I continue to the kitchen to take biscuits from the fridge and place them at the ready inside the mini-oven for a hour later.

I take grounds and filter from the coffeemaker which cranked up at 6:30. I put plates on the table. I pour a glass of water, and break off a piece of ready-made toast, the kind you don’t normally find above the Rio Bravo in supermarkets, or at least you didn’t decades ago. Maybe you do now with so many of my new paisanos lurking there.

Today, looking through the window above the kitchen sink, I saw a solitary bird, just sitting. He was on the Garden Patio roof. I walked into the living room to get the Canon, thinking he’ll be gone when I return, but he wasn’t. He was waiting for me.

I took his photo. It’s not a black-and-white shot. It’s color. That was the color at that early moment on this chilly, July day.

This and that

elyssum
Sweet allysum and wet stone.

LET’S LOOK AT a bit of this and a tad of that, if you please.

The monsoon began a bit late this year, and it’s still getting its sea legs, so to speak. We like it when the rain starts, even though we dislike it by September when it’s outlived its welcome, and the mud is growing old.

A quite noticeable result of rainfall is the blooming of sweet alyssum, a ground cover that looks like snowfall. From January to June, it’s brown and appears dead, but give it a couple of days of rain, and this is what happens. Sweet,  huh?

In other news, City Hall opened our two main plazas downtown a few weeks back because it thought the incidence of Kung Flu was winding down. That lasted about a week until the plazas were taped off again, and that’s how it remains today.

When will this end? I’ve not experienced such a lousy year since 1995 when my last wife dumped me, and then 1997 when a romance with a lovely Latina ended by mutual insanity. You can read about that here if you wish.

lampI enjoy décor, and I like to take photos. Here is one I took yesterday when I found myself in the bedroom, looking at the scene, and with camera in hand. I’m so good at décor that you’d think I’d be gay, but I’m not.

I bought this lamp in the first few months after I moved to the mountaintop from the nearby state capital almost 20 years ago. It’s made locally, woven from a reed found in the area, if memory serves.

The lamp is almost two feet high.

It’s one of the few pieces of furniture we brought to the Hacienda from the two-story rental closer to downtown where I lived previously, two and a half years — one and a half solo and one more with my child bride.

Speaking of the state capital, we’ll be driving there today for a shopping expedition, a weekly event that gets us out of the house, and we might even eat lasagna.