The selfie bandwagon

Taking photos of oneself in bathroom mirrors has been the rage for years now, but I’ve never jumped on that bandwagon. Of course, the photos are normally shot with cell phones, and if you’re a good-looking babe your butt and boobs are center stage.

I’m not a good-looking babe, and I’m not using a cell phone. I used my Canon. That’s our main bathroom downstairs. It has a tub, which is rare in Mexico. The other bathroom, upstairs, just sports a shower stall. Those wall tiles are green and white. I don’t recall why we made the mirror so huge. Our biggest regret is that we installed only one sink when the counter is about a mile long, and a second or third sink would fit nicely.

And here’s another photo. I took it today through the small window in the upstairs bathroom. It’s the only window in the house that faces out back. The wall you see at the bottom is part of our house. There is a parallel street just beyond.

An extended family lived in that lot with two now-crumbling houses for years. One day, they were gone, leaving it like a ghost town.


I had a surprise this morning. I drove downtown to the post office, something I do once every two weeks, to check the contents of my PO box. The reason I go only once every two weeks is because there is rarely anything there, which is the way I like it. Ninety-nine percent of what I find is from the United States.

There was a check from the U.S. Treasury for $600, a Kung Flu payment from “President Donald J. Trump.” There are a number of odd elements to this. One is that I did not receive the first Kung Flu payment because, the IRS informed me, we file taxes jointly and my child bride does not qualify for a Kung Flu payment, so nothing came.

So why did this one come? The second odd element is that it came in a window envelope and was completely obvious that it was a check from the U.S. Treasury. The probability of its being stolen was sky-high, but it wasn’t.

A tip of the sombrero to the Mexican postal system.

I am opposed to this payment that is sent to just about everyone regardless of need. It’s a textbook example of why America is chest-deep in debt. I do not need the money, and many — likely most — of those who received it do not need it either.

And it has delivered a dilemma. What the devil am I going to do with it? I cannot cash it. I cannot deposit it to my Mexican bank account, so …

I have a year to figure it out. That’s what the check says.

No sweat

downtown

LIFE INCLUDES worries large and small. With luck, just the small. And with astounding good fortune, even if it lasts only a brief spell, no worries whatsoever. I am in that sweet spot.

So here I sit on a beautiful, large plaza in the middle of Mexico, high in the mountains in cool mid-May, nary a care in the world. An espresso rests on the table while I watch the beautiful women pass, at times glancing at my Kindle, where I am reading, now and then, a good book.

I had small worries earlier this year, constructing the pastry workshop, renovations to the downtown Casita, piddling other things, the stuff of life. But at the moment … nothing.

Peace.

Across the cobblestone street, where the plaza rests, are towering trees and three grand fountains where youngsters sit on ledges to flirt and snap photos of themselves, the ubiquitous selfies.

Small speakers sit low and mostly unseen all around the plaza, releasing music. If you’ve ever wondered how life would seem with a musical backdrop — like in the movies — come sit here on a stone bench or walk the broad sidewalk, and you’ll understand.

A parade passes, or what passes for a parade hereabouts. Usually, it’s a small, out-of-tune band, lots of women and girls in indigenous dress carrying clay pots to indicate their support role in life, and they sashay this way and that down the street. There are men on horseback. Today’s parade includes an old, wooden, two-wheeled cart pulled by a pair of oxen. The cart holds a statue of the Virgin.

They curve right at the next corner and continue toward the smaller plaza, their sounds diminishing. All parades here are pretty much alike — frequent, colorful and out of tune.

I look down at my Kindle and miss a beautiful woman walking by.