IT’S BEEN MIGHTY miserable hereabouts the last few days. No sun, plenty cold, no gasoline. But this day dawned better.
The sun is out and bright. Air is cool, not cold. Gasoline remains hard to find, but it’s an imperfect world in which we reside.
Noonish, I was sitting on the yard patio. That’sits new name, nothing high-falootin’ or esoteric. The intention was to read my Kindle and relax beneath the umbrella, but I took the above photo instead.
Then I came indoors to check on the lunch I was fixing. My child bride was out in her pastry kitchen all morning working on tomorrow’s goodies to hawk on the downtown plaza.
Barbecue chicken in the crock pot, tomato soup (canned Campbell’s. I’m not particular), and a pile of little pastas to round it off.
I spent much of the morning transitioning to a new web browser, Vivaldi, which is quite nice. I shun the big boys, especially anything related to Google. For the last couple of weeks I used Maxthon (second time), but it proved too buggy. Plus, it’s Chinese, and I prefer to dodge stuff from China and Russia. China is communist, and Russia is, well, Russian.
Google is communist too.
Another notable event in this happy day occurred when I heard the garbage truck’s bell clanging on the back street. Usually, I just ignore it due to laziness because I normally leave garbage bags at a dumpster on my way downtown in the afternoon. But the gas crisis inspired me to get off my duff and walk down the street to the truck with a 15-peso tip.
Late afternoon will find me on the big plaza downtown with a coffee, perhaps a chocolate-chip cookie and the Kindle. A happy day.
While my child bride is up to her neck in dough, sugar and strawberries out in her own kitchen by the big gate, preparing for the weekly pastry sale on the main plaza downtown, I have my own responsibilities.
I start with wiping off the glass-top table on the Jesus Patio. I swipe the web chairs while I’m at it. This is done most every morning, not just Fridays.
The birdbath can be quite yucky because birds have no sense of personal hygiene, so I have to change the water and wipe clean that ceramic, which I purchased in Dolores Hidalgo.
The plants in the big pots in the veranda must be watered. I do that at least once a week, Friday, but sometimes twice. Some plants have been changed since last I posted this scene.
I sweep daily too. Well, nearly.
Surely, you’re wondering where I get the water to irrigate these plants, and that provides me the opportunity to do something I recall showing just once before.
* * * *
The Garden Patio
This is the Garden Patio, such a lovely name for the most butt-ugly part of the Hacienda. If you visit the Hacienda, you will not see it unless I lead you there.
Look at the top photo. The Garden Patio is behind that red wall on the left, and the only way to get there, aside from a gate to the back street, is through that narrow, arched opening.
This was a grassy area, more of the yard, after the Hacienda construction ended in 2003. I have since had everything added. The clay-tile roof, the concrete floor, the shelves.
Those two big, black trash bags await the garbage truck. One is yard garbage. The other is non-biodegradable kitchen trash. The white barrel on the left is for kitchen stuff. The big, black can to the right stores yard garbage.
I am too shiftless to compost. Sorry.
* * * *
Those two big, black bags ended up atop the garbage truck which arrived around 2 p.m. while we were eating fish burgers, sauteed vegetables and rice prepared by me.
* * * *
Weedeaters and me
I‘ve long had a love/hate relationship with weedeaters, and now I have a new one in the Garden Patio. Even though Weedeater is a brand name, I’ll be lowercasing it because Mexicans use the word to refer to all trimmers regardless of make.
Weedeaters, in my experience, are colossally temperamental. They are cranky to start and prone to stop running for no good reason whatsoever. They can be infuriating.
I’ve had a Truper weedeater and a Weedeater weedeater here at the Hacienda. I loathed them both. Two years ago, I switched to an electric, Sears weedeater, which runs fine but there’s that mile-long cord to contend with.
Last year I learned that Abel the Deadpan Neighbor who mows my lawn with my lawnmower has his own weedeater. He started doing the trimming too, but his weedeater is prone to frequent siestas, undesired timeouts.
In a moment of madness last week, I purchased a gas weedeater, a German Stihl. I then remembered I couldn’t let Abel use it because Mexicans abuse tools that aren’t theirs, so I hope Abel’s weedeater keeps siestas to a minimum.
Meanwhile, my Nazi Stihl will rest in the Garden Patio.
* * * *
All the yard gear in the Garden Patio was stored for years on the opposite end of the property, out by the front street wall and under a red-clay-tile roof there.
My child bride’s pastry kitchen now occupies that space. You can see her walking out there Friday morning in the following photo. She was unaware of the photographer.
Speaking of plants, one of my favorites is multiplying madly as everything does here. They are the spikey ones you see below. I don’t know what they’re called, but they multiply like, well, like us Mexicans. Catholic plants. Good breeders.
So there you have it, Friday, a busy day, at least until 3 p.m. when all is done, lunch is eaten, dishes are washed because I don’t procrastinate with dishes.
And then it was off to downtown to sit on a sidewalk table with my Kindle and a café Americano negro.