MEXICAN LIFE isn’t all about sunsets and margaritas. Sometimes it’s work. Yesterday, for instance.
First, I swept the upstairs terraza. I got to enjoy a view of the mountains and our neighborhood’s red-tile roofs.
Then I swept the service patio downstairs. That’s where the washing machine, water heater, clothesline and propane tank live. Not much of a view there.
Third on the list was the veranda. Pretty good view, but there’s lots of stuff to sweep around, complicating matters.
At that point, I moved outside. First, the rake which resulted in three piles. Here’s one. Most leaves fall from a pear tree.
I lit a match to a piece of ocote, stuck it into the pile, and flames erupted. Soon it was consumed, a black smudge.
Back to the broom. I head out beyond the Alamo Wall to sweep the driveway and clear the pastry workshop entrance.
And, finally, it’s out to the street where I swept the sidewalk and a bit of the street too. Unlike in some cities above the Rio Bravo, we have no mechanical street sweepers.
I’m a Virgo. We like to be tidy.
Lastly, the gardener gets a breather on the veranda, posing with his tool while his child bride wields the Canon.