“Same to mango—everyday more better.”

            “Same to mango—everyday more better.”

            In other words, “The older the mango, the sweeter the fruit.” Words by which to live from Leo’s Aunt Cuca, one-hundred years-old. Sundays she walks five kilometers to church, refusing rides from neighbors.

Senora Cuca Chavez lives on a small farm, alone, near San Antonio de los Vasquez, about an hour north of Guadalajara. I cannot find the tiny village on any of my maps.  It is near Cuquio, toward the river.

            I had written to my son, “Not much to report. Guess my life is boring.” Ben immediately wrote back, “Not boring, Mom. Every single day life is exciting. It is a matter of perspective.”

            I got my comeuppance. Sometimes I get complacent. Forget to open my eyes.

With both those reminders, I went to my bodega and rummaged through my dibs and dabs of paint remainders. I had a dib of yellow, emptied a dab of ocher to it from another can, and painted my patio chairs and table, a job I had put off for weeks. I painted over the orange rounds of wood, seats and table top, now weathered after three years of use in all seasons. Amazing how that little chore changed my mood.

Once the paint dried, I decided to varnish the chair rounds and table top for added protection from the sun. I meticulously used up the half-inch of varnish in an old can. Not my best decision. Even with added thinner, the varnish spread awfully thickly, gave a bit of marbled effect. Oh, well. I’d done it.

Amazingly, my project dried to a nice finish, complete with several flying insects, one a mosquito. I named it “collage with bugs” and threw a blue cloth over the table.

While visiting Julie in the late afternoon, she said she’d like to see the poems I read in Poulsbo in September. I told her Kathy and Richard wanted to hear them but we hadn’t made time. “If you will arrange it, I will do a reading tonight.” Fifteen minutes later, Julie had set the stage, so to speak.

If reading new work to a group of poets is daunting, I need to tell you, reading poetry to a group of non-poets is terrifying. I opened portals to my soul that these people, most of them new friends, had never seen. I read to acceptance, to honor, to affection. I had to peal myself off the ceiling that night before I could go to sleep.

The daily rains have ceased, not to return until next June, so I turned my attention to my garden, soggy a mere week ago. The rainy-season beetles which had infested my hibiscus blooms are gone so they wear their “skirts” of blossoms in full glory.

Sad to say, a plague of root eaters wiped out a goodly portion of my amaryllis. Every time my garden-helper Leo weeded the beds, he threw out more bulbs. Last year I had over four-hundred flowers in bloom. Maybe a hundred are left, shooting up nice green leaves; too late to pull them out and replace the soil. This is a “wait and see” time for my amaryllis.

When I held a pulpy, half eaten bulb in my hand, a look of distress on my face, Leo said, “That’s life, Sondrita.” “No,” I said. “That’s farming.” Same thing.

I’ve been hankering for a banana tree for several months. Made the decision. Had Leo take me to David’s Vivero Centro in town. I want the specific banana plant that produces the sweet tiny bananas. David will deliver one next week. I’ve chosen the place to plant it, now I wait.

Meanwhile the papaya tree I planted six months ago has six large green papaya fruits. I asked, “When will they ripen?” “Maybe a month,” Leo said. How does a baby tree produce fruit so soon? I am taller than the papaya tree. My son says it is not small. It is fun-sized.

I chopped the last of my avocados, dropped from my prolific tree by the wall, and put them in the freezer for guacamole, for a time when avocados are rare in the market place.

Later, Pat and Nancie and I drove to Oconahua, a village just north of us. Ana and Michelle make good pizza with a Mexican slant.

While family and friends from the north-country bewail that sunshine is but a vague memory, I’m outside, basking in the warm.

Perhaps life is a collage with bugs. As Ben reminded me, “Daily life is exciting. It’s when it feels exciting in the moment that afterwards it’s a letdown. Perspective.”

I’m taking my cues from Aunt Cuca. That woman knows how to live. Estoy como mango de buena.  

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

November 15, 2018