I’m Not There; I’m Here
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I like to mix my metaphors. Images
impossible evolve. In partnership with Jim, I bought a pig-in-a-poke, a hot tub
that wasn’t working.
Between Jim’s persistence
(stubbornness) and Josue’s electrical knowledge, said pig works like a
hot-diggity-dog. To me, it’s a gift of finest sensibilities. Never look a gift
horse in the mouth. Our horse on pig’s trotters didn’t have a full set of
teeth; no matter, easily (cheaply) resolved.
With tub fully functioning,
precipitating daily dips, I discovered it best to wait until the sun went down
to indulge. The UV index here hits the extreme zone daily. Which led me to
want/need an umbrella. Explored options via internet. Said umbrella that would
work properly cost five times the cost of the tub. Sheesh.
Leo and I put our heads together and
chewed our brains. Several restaurants in town have open courtyards with an
overhead canopy of mesh-material. Might that work?
Three days later Leo installed my
sombra canopy. It’s perfect. Total cost of $55.00. And it shades my two south
windows, thus keeping my casita cooler. I indulged in shady afternoon dips (as
opposed to burning sun splashes).
Purely on a whim, the other day I
boarded the posh autobus from Zapopan and ran away to Mazatlan. Even now, I’m
not sure my motivation to leave perfection, a working tub, a new shade, garden
growing like Jack’s magic beans, sunshine days, rainy nights, for a country of
high humidity and scorching temperatures.
Because I could? Because I love
Mazatlan? Because . . .
This trip already had an ominous
beginning. I’m almost afraid to leave my hotel room. Almost superstitious.
Ominous. Our bus was delayed by four
unusual security stops along the highway.
Then I arrived to a packed lobby,
thousand-thousand persons, all checking in. My name made the bottom of the
list. Two hours later, hot, tired, shaky and crabby, I entered my room and
collapsed. Threw open the windows and turned off the air-icer.
Crawled in bed at 6:30. Pitiful, I
admit. Phone rang in the middle of the night. Woke me from dead sleep. “Please
close your windows. It is storming.”
Indeed. Spectacular lightning over
the ocean. The wind had whipped my curtains out the window, flapping in a wild
attempt to sail the seas to China.
I complied and collapsed back into
bed. All I could think was I’d have to replace shredded curtains. I was too
tired to inspect them. That would take, what, two minutes? No, I chose
half-sleep worry.
Once fully awake, in the morning
light, I inspected for damage. Curtains were intact. I delivered a small
propina for the night manager, in gratitude for the middle-of-the-night wake
up. Cheaper than new curtains.
Then I sold my morning soul to a
time-share presenter in exchange for a week of internet which would have cost
me the equivalent of three months service at home. Sheesh. I managed to
squiggle through without too much slime.
This was not my ideal holiday. I
headed to my room to recuperate.
Only to find that the elevators in
the lobby were all out of order. There are four elevators to the Tower. And one
set of stairs. I had chosen to stay in the fancy place.
As I contemplated trudging eighteen
flights of stairs with a cane, a maid descended to the lobby. She opened the
elevator door. Several of us rushed past her onto the elevator and ascended,
gratefully. Am I the only one seeing a pattern?
I had my friend Carlos drive me to
Callecita for carnitas de atun, a favorite meal in a favorite place in Old
Town. On the way back we mussed, by minutes, a huge slab of window-wall glass
that fell from a second story bank building onto a white SUV. If I were
superstitious . . .
In my room, I worked a system of
open windows, curtains to the walls, chairs in corners, with low risk for storm
damage. In bed early. Dreamed of soaking in my tub.
No further mishaps. As I said, I’m
not superstitious. I’m not.
Thunder rumbles the skies. Rain has
come, has gone, will come again. It’s a good day to hang out under a palapa on
the beach, contemplate the seas, book nearby, stay out of elevators and off the
streets.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
July 12,
2018
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