A FUNNY THING happened on the way into what’s normally the stuffiest month of the year: It rained. Repeatedly. Cooling things off.
Usually, May is the final and worst month of our seven-month, bone-dry season. That “worst” is a relative matter because the weather here is about perfect all the time. What you read about Cuernavaca — that “eternal spring” business — forget that. That’s what should be said about our mountaintop.
Oh, it will rain in the dry season, but it’s really rare, and it usually is just a one-day deal. However, the first week and more of May has seen almost daily rain. I hesitate to label it an early onset of the rainy season, as so many are doing. I think it’s a fluke, and a look at a satellite map seems to confirm that. A front the Gringos sent is very slowly moving through Mexico.
No matter. It’s been really nice the last week or so. Alas, the grass has started to sprout and needs a good trim. I dropped the Craftsman mower off at a shop yesterday for a tune-up and, with luck, Abel the Deadpan Yardman will come this weekend to put all in order.
In the meantime, we’re sleeping at night without the fan.
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LONG TIME GONE
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it would be like to visit the United States, something I have not done in almost a decade.
No two abutting nations in the world are more different than the United States and Mexico. This was startling, and quite disturbing, when I arrived at the dawn of the 21st Century. But it’s become normal now, and I imagine a return visit above the Rio Bravo would be weird at this point.
From what I read online, things have really changed up north.
I follow a Yahoo forum that caters to Gringos in my area, and it seems that most of them are going “back home” to visit on a regular basis. Nothing wrong with this, but I view them as vacationers here, not residents.
I have no plans to ever return to the United States, surely not to live but not to visit either. It would probably give me a headache. Everyone would be speaking English (except in those Sanctuary Cities), paying for stuff with greenbacks sporting pictures of George Washington and Alex Hamilton instead of pesos with pictures of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. Damn communists.
The streets would be smooth, confounding my old Honda, and red-clay roof tiles would be a rarity, found only on rich-folks houses. And hard-shell tacos. What sort of person eats hard-shell tacos?
No, I better stay home. It’s cheaper, and the weather is better. Medical care is nicer, and the government generally leaves you in peace.
And the summer rains can come in May.
Though they usually don’t.