Sunday, March 01, already. The bulk of this trip is behind us, and we now have completions to do before we leave at the end of the month. How does time drip so slowly as it becomes a river passing?
Last Sunday, we waited for a bus to take us to the big market, a street market, one of several held in the city. I love street fairs, and I am always overwhelmed by them as well. This was no exception. You may remember that last Sunday was the smoky defiance of the Cartel that sent us all huddling in our casitas, wondering at our imminent danger. All of which didn’t happen for us or anyone else. Damage was confined to inanimate objects, seemingly owned byrival cartels. But, back to us, like usual (totally self-centered…).
We went early, knowing that would be the best time to go, when things are hopping. Food, stalls, dogs, clothing, household goods, musicians, technological bits and bobs, and bathrooms that charged a ten peso fee to enter someone’s house and use the baño ( about $0.60USD).
We ate at one of the 40 or so breakfast places tucked in on the streets with scattered chairs and tables, like my old Catholic school did, in a fashion, when I was a child, and visited with a middle-aged couple – she of Sicilian Italian origin, and he, the newly married groom, from California/Mexico. They are going to figure it out, they said. The food was served by young men and women; a woman made fresh tortillas with a pinch of dough and a press as fast as her hands could go, without missing a beat. The meal was served on plastic plates under plastic slipcovers so those covers could be trashed, the plates washed in a nearby hand sink, then the plates recovered and reused. The drinks are served from the ubiquitous IGLOO coolers, coffee probably instant (and horrible, no wonder my Mexican friends had so much sugar in their coffee)
Clothing is sold on tables, from hangers, used, mostly, unsized, and sometimes hung up, usually dumped on tables to poke through. Toys are sold in plastic. Blocks and blocks of clothing – You cannot believe the amount of merchandise everywhere. And also everywhere, music blasts from massive speakers, no doubt used during the week by the trucks that come by regularly to deliver messages about everything apparently noteworthy. We finished with a new cap for Lew, who likes to leave them behind on most trips and repurchase. Today’s is a trucker’s tall cap, with ventilation. Not my choice, but it is his head.
Our Bus did not come quickly, though we waited for one with a gaggle of other passengers, which is always a fine time for me to invent stories about our fellow travelers in my head, whether young lovers, families laughing together as they like to do here, where silence isn’t ordinary, and entertainers hop on asking for a few pesos for their songs. I include a photo here. How about this self-contained fellow, with his clean white sombrero, shiny shoes, trim carryall, and hatchet/axe. I presume the flower was purchased for his kitchen table. The bus driver let him on, hatchet/axe included. Where would you go for a new tool anyway?
We watched the propane tank, or was it a natural gas tank, being carted on a bicycle.
See the picture below, or the Chinese motorcycle/vehicle/truckbed combination that will never sell in the US, being used as a picnic table and conveyance for a family of five. All fascinating, yes? Its life being lived!
Life on Steroids. I am on day two of steroids and antibiotics. I tell you this because it is 
about sleep. Only extreme concern will get me to take them, and I arrived at that place. I couldn’t eat much the last month and, thank God, had lost a few pounds. By day two of prednisone, I had gained that back, and then another one was added on this morning. It isn’t fair, folks! No photos here for sure.
The highlight of the day was dinner with friends from Colorado, old friends of 40+ years. What a treat to spend time with Joel and his Mexican wife, Teresa, both delights to the head and heart. Significant conversations, stories, and laughter over good Italian food served seaside at the Marina. It was all very American, but I needed that connection. Joel is a marvelous storyteller, and his wife has an amazing spirit that balances it out.
I fell asleep about 11:30 PM, late for me, and was quite engrossed in a sweet story I was reading, but I thought, “Sleep is necessary.” Nope. I woke at 12:15 to Dean Martin serenading me with “Sway.” You know it-sing it-and now try to get the ear worm out of your head. “When marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway…Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more.” Also by Michael Buble. Oldie, but not goodie throughout the night. He would not go away.
I tried meditation, and that usually works, but my mind was on fire, and Deano kept repeating the lyrics. I kept trying to write this blog in my head, adding something, taking words out, but always performing on stage, while at the same time sitting in an audience seat, critical and desperate in turn. I scolded myself to return to calming meditation, then would hijack me back to me, with Deano for accompaniment. Have I told you how I hate Steroids? It’s probably Lew’s fault…(Steroids again)
I sure hope that I come down from this soon. It is working, I think, however. I am coughing less, and the river of mud that was my respiratory system is almost lessened. I hope to breathe better sometime today, maybe even sleep some. We think that the smoke from the incident last week really set off some exacerbation that I couldn’t then shake, but my Chat-doctor is worth her weight and price because never in a hundred years could I have gotten an appointment with my more competent living physician in the USA, even at the wonderful National Jewish Health. Our health system is really frigged up. Our friends walked it all through, and when Joel advised me not to go to this or that hospital here, I was glad that I had made the decision to take the information a step at a time, and ever so reluctantly, but deliberately, jack up my system with the medicine I carry with me. A local person is such a good source of information – thanks, Joel and Teresa – I would never know any other way.
The lovely marina, which was the first time we had been at this particular harbor, is
filled with modest yachts. Is there even such a thing as a modest yacht, I ask you? But we have seen gigantic tokens of ego and ambition elsewhere. Here, there was a sea of white, prows and sails all in their berths, with one little black vessel that appeared to me like a baby swan among an entire bevy of adult swan families.
Very American/Canadian air at the marina,with most people really being waited on by locals, the trendy, well-kept air of luxurious expectations, coffee bars (YES!), and enough money to keep looking casual about it all. It was quite nice, a guilty pleasure too, being mostly guarded from the everyday Mexican whose harbor it had once been. Is life always presenting such difficult contradictions, or is it me?
For now, thanks so much for reading my drivel. When marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway…Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more.