Life Without Logic
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Envy me if you wish. My living room ceiling leaks drops the
size of tadpoles. The wind stirred by Hurricane/Tropical Storm Blanca, like an
angry sieve, filtered a heavy layer of grit over everything in my casa. The
entire week has been muggy with temps in the nineties and air as heavy as
water.
Mama Dove has taken her pair of baby
doves, scruffy creatures, through basic flight instruction. The first day, as
mama dove called encouragement, orders, from the top of a palm in the opposite
corner of the courtyard, the babies perched on the edge of the flower pot nest
and flapped their wings. The next day they flapped, lifted off the runway, and flew
away into the mango trees. I witnessed it. What is this world coming to? The
children are not old enough to have a license.
Every morning I hobble out into the courtyard
to harvest mangoes which have dropped in the night. I eat mango: plain mango,
mango with yoghurt, mango with every fruit, mango in salad, mango sauce on
mahi-mahi. I mince mango and store it in my refrigerator freezer. I give away
great bags of fresh mangoes. The second tree is a different variety of mango
which hasn’t ripened yet. I fear I may begin to disdain my favorite fruit.
In my explorations of local eating
establishments, I have never found mango pie on a menu. So I created mango pie
in my kitchen. I cannot eat a whole pie, so I shared my pie with Carlos when he
came to take me to the market, with Marie, Sylvia and Reuben at the corner
Luncheria, with Johnny at the tienda across from the resort, Pueblo Bonito. With
strangers. Wonder if I could create a cake.
When I walked out my door I could
hear the surf over the sounds of traffic on the main street. This is unusual,
another by-product of Hurricane Blanca. I walked down by Pueblo Bonito and cut
behind to the beach. The surf was high, waves shooshing one on top of another.
I walked the beach down to Tony’s by the Bay where I stopped for breakfast.
When I left my house, I had not intended to eat out. But I decided to sit and
watch the water. For the price of breakfast, I stuffed myself like a pig, took
home enough food for a second meal, and “rented” a table for an hour and a half
of mesmerizing wave watching; a bargain.
Carlos stopped by to ask if I had another piece of mango pie.
So I took advantage of opportunity and had him drive me along the malecon
during the height of the dancing waves, wind whipping the spume up the seawall
and across four lanes of traffic. Carlos said this week the fishing will be
spectacular. Storm water moves the fish inland. Ordinary moments sublime
A wise man once told me that we are
incapable of seeing ourselves. That’s one reason why we need people in our
lives. Others act as mirrors, teachers, truth-tellers, thorns. I remembered those
valued words from Bob when I read Evelyn’s message: “How wonderful, Sondra, you
took the plunge and re-invented yourself in another place. And after a serious operation you are out
laughing at the grim reaper, laughing and running to the nearest beach to walk,
swim and sit in shade. You have a full life, well lived and enjoyed. How I envy
you.”
Ah, Evelyn, with your three-story
brownstone filled with art and books on a cobbled street in New York City.
Maybe we are not aware of it, but we all are to be envied.
Bless you, Evelyn. Before I could get the big head over all
the positive praise, I recalled a number of equally close and wonderful
friends, true friends, who think I am crazy as a coot. And, of course, other
friends will fill in the blanks between the two extremes. Know what? All are
absolutely correct in their assessments. We sift our observations and opinions
through our own filters—can’t help it.
Now and then I shift and shake and scrub my “filter”. I owe
it to myself to see my friends clearly, with grace and gratitude.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
June 11,
2015
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