Look-about in late July

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Even ceramic fragments add to decor.

THIS IS SUNDAY, the day of rest according to Christian belief, but I am not a Christian, so I stepped outside this morning after black café and bagels to attend to mounting chores.

I swept. I watered. I wiped and refilled the birdbath. I doubt the birds care, but I do. Appearances matter. I chopped some green detritus and dropped it into a big trash bin. I wiped the Jesus Patio table, and I swept the veranda.

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Oblong pot of something or other.

We wake every morning in the low 60s, temperature-wise, but by afternoon it’s warmed to the low 70s.

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He scares the snails.

A niece and her 1-year-old daughter moved to town yesterday from the nearby state capital. Her boyfriend left her, so she’s coming here to work in the coffee shop. To complicate the matter she discovered this week she’s four months pregnant, a gift from the same boyfriend, but he’s still gone.

One of my child bride’s brothers drove his truck here from his home in Querétaro and moved the niece’s few and quite humble belongings to the mountaintop. We’ll see how this plays out.

Her mother, my child bride’s sister, has four children and has never been married. I think I see a repeating pattern.

Highlands Mexican life is great weather and nonstop drama.

Most of my chores this morning are behind me, so I’ll shower, dress and slip into a Christian-like Day of Rest. It will be nice. We’ll eat in a restaurant.

Two nights ago, lying in bed reading our Kindles, the both of us, a big storm began outside, coming down from the mountains. The bedroom window was open. As wind whipped outside, it pushed the sweet smell of golden datura into the bedroom from the big bush just beyond. It covered us like Chanel.

That sort of thing can deliver sweet dreams.

Soggy Sunday in late Spring

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Sheep’s tail relishes the aftermath of rainfall this morning.

IT RAINED yesterday, and it rained again this morning. It’s supposed to rain this afternoon. We embrace this even though we’re not sure of the cause.

It could be the start of the five-month rainy season, or it could be due to the hurricane out in the Pacific, or it could be both. No matter. We’ll take it.

Sunday is a good day around here. There’s a certain sameness to Monday through Friday, and Saturday is devoted to pastry sales downtown. Sunday is up for grabs.

There is some routine to Sunday. My child bride usually irons. We invariably go to a restaurant for lunch, and we usually watch a Netflix movie in the late afternoon.

But if we wish to change all that, we have the right.

Every morning of the week, after croissants or bagels at 8, we move from the dining room to the living room and plop down into the cushy sofa for a spell. Put our feet up. It’s one of the best times of the day, every day.

If the light is just so, a cobweb or two around the big living room becomes visible. We really should have a maid, but we don’t, mostly because we are solitary people who don’t want anyone underfoot. So my child bride does the best she can, ever bitching about why didn’t we build a smaller place.

I help a bit, but most of my work is in the yard. Plus, I’m ancient.

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Even the Jesus Patio table welcomes the rain.

The rain has cooled things considerably. We didn’t have the cooler blowing upstairs last night, and we only turned on the ceiling fan in the bedroom. The tower fan stayed in the off position.

Not only is it fresher, but we’re feeling good, which is notable due to both of us having some health issues in the last few months, things that appear to be resolving themselves. Sunday is usually a great day.

Even better if you’re feeling fine.

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From the downstairs veranda this morning, also enjoying the cool air.

Hacienda embraces child care

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SINCE FRIDAY, we’ve had a child here, a one-year-old, a perpetually smiley kid who’s not bad, as rug rats go. She came with her mother, a niece who’s 23. They leave this afternoon, and peace will descend yet again onto the Hacienda.

I’ve never been a kid person, but this one is so good-natured, I kinda like having her around for short spells. My child bride, on the other hand, goes berserk. She loves babies of any sort. It’s an obsession.

Above is a photo of my child bride when she actually was a child, over half a century ago. It’s a great photo that I’ve posted here before, but long ago. It deserves another appearance. It was taken on the roof of a home downtown.

She hasn’t changed much. She is taller.