Living the Unscheduled Life

 

Living the Unscheduled Life

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“Sondrita, how’s your wonderful retired life?” That’s a regular question from our rancho-helper-with-garden-and-more. It is a good reminder that life is full of wonderfulness.

I like the wonder of my life, as in “I wonder what today might bring me.” Not all gifts from Day come gift-wrapped with ribbons but all gifts bring an element of wonder.

Take yesterday, for example. I’d invited two neighboring women over for breakfast, loosely scheduled, of pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream, scrambled eggs, and I do make the best egg scrambles.

While we are poised to dig into a breakfast of decadence unlimited, three men in a red pickup truck show up to build my new ramp for my tricycle. Unscheduled, sort of, maybe, scheduled. This means sand, gravel and cement, dust and noise. Kathy and Janet jumped up and closed windows to keep out dust. I took the pancakes off the griddle. We dug in.

It all worked out, no bumps, no grief, no problems. In fact, the three-red-truck men ate the rest of the pancakes. I am constitutionally incapable of not making too many.

The ramp is to enable me to get my new tricycle out of and back into my yard more easily. ‘Nuff said.

 The day proceeded as days will. Kathy threw out a fishing line. “Want to take a drive?” I took the hook. Kathy and I have a 25-years or more history of road trips, short and long. No specific idea of destination, just go. Left, right, turn around and head north toward Magdalena. I suggested we head down to the balneario, the turnoff shortly before you come to Tequila, an extremely beautiful, deep canyon.

Then we spotted a sign pointed toward San Martin. What? Where is San Martin? Obviously it is this side of the same canyon, so, why not? We followed the road around and about and I do mean around and about. Kathy pulled off to the side several times for us to feast our eyes.

At the very bottom of the deep and steep canyon sits San Martin. Our friend Julie lives in La Masata, a mountain town with narrow streets all carved into steep hillsides. San Martin makes La Masata look flat. There were more vehicles, mostly pickup trucks, on blocks, than vehicles still road worthy. We saw a dam across a river, young people out on motorcycles of all kinds, an elderly Vietnamese pot-bellied pig, in other words, a regular small village. We stopped at a small tienda de aborrotes for a drink and road snack.

Kathy asked about a street to the river. A lovely woman grabbed her and took her to the street and pointed here and there, arms waving. The young woman at the till pointed her phone at me with this message, “The road is ugly.” I nodded that I understood and made motions to let her know we would not try to find the Rio this trip. The word “feo” in Spanish means much more than “not pretty”.

In no time at all the streets spit us back out onto the road home, satisfied with our small adventure.

Take today, for example. Today Kathy takes the autobus to Mazatlan, five days on the beach, then flies back to Victoria until her return in October. I decided to ride along, delaying goodbye and depression, normal-reaction depression.

Kathy is, by far, the most super-organized person I know. We got to the bus depot in Zapopan. Leo drove. He got out and put her suitcases on the sidewalk, turned to hug Kathy goodbye.

Kathy has this strange look on her face. Disbelief and consternation, mixed with remorse and seasoned with a touch of self-recrimination. She’d left her wallet with Mexican ID and credit cards in her casa. What’s to do but laugh a little, reload the baggage, change her ticket and drive home. Definitely unscheduled.

I chose to skip the second run. What will I do with the rest of my day. I’m sure the day will unfold as days do. That is enough for me to know.

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