Because parking spaces.....

are few, too short or too narrow, there exists a free-for-all mentality here. It's an 'anything goes' attitude. Shoot first, ask questions later. Cross-ways,backward, wrong side, over the curb, on the sidewalk, doubled up or, if there's room, tripled up. Not to worry. At least we're parked.

I've been in Mexico long enough to understand that this is one of those things in life that we can do nothing about. It's like a flood, beyond ones' control. Or mosquitos, a thing that must be lived with.

The situation does, however, enrage me when my drive way is blocked by some asshole who has seized the moment. Never mind the 'no parking' painted on the entrance doors, or the cute little tin sign that announces that we will flatten tires for free. Never mind any of that. Caviet Emptor! Nature abhors a vacuum! A space is to be filled!

Because we are situated on a busy street, roaring with traffic from dawn till the wee hours, there is no shortage of assholes. In fact, it could be said that, we are the asshole capital of Mexico. Perhaps the world.

I have made it my mission, my duty, my God given right to contest this regime of assholedom. I confront, cajole, harrass and any other thing I can think of to make sure todays' asshole understands he is not welcome here. It's exhausting. And, maybe a little dangerous. Some of the assholes become indignant when told they cannot block the entrance of a private dwelling.

My reputation among the locals has plummeted from, curious looking old gringo to crazy, wild-eyed maniac gringo. I don't care. As someone famous said: All it takes for assholedom to win is for good men to remain silent. Or something similar.

I have more to say on this subject but, my heart rate is up, my fists are clenched and I must go to the window to see if the drive way is blocked.


QUOTE OF THE DAY:

It is never too late to be what you might have been - George Eliot


MEXICO( as I see it):

During the rainy season the trees, in the early morning, are
laden with raucous, bright green parrots. Their chorus is
discordant, their flight choppy and labored but their presence is
a delight

These beautiful parrots are like Christmas ornaments or painted
Easter eggs, impractical but enchanting.




THE SERIAL: Her Viking

We left off here....

The Widow Mora was about at her wits' end when she remembered the binoculars. Her husband had used them years ago, but, where in the world would they be?



“¡Cee Cee, ven acá!” she called out. “Hurry, Cee Cee, ¡ándale!” When the old woman finally made her way up to the master bedroom, the widow had worked herself into a froth of excitement.

“Cee Cee! Do you remember the binoculars the señor used to keep in his room?”
“ No, señora,” replied Cee Cee, her face set in an Indian expression which indicated she had no inkling of what the widow was talking about.
“Binoculars, Cee Cee, binoculars,” the widow pressed. “ You do understand ‘bi-noc-u-lars’, don’t you?”
Cee Cee stood, facing the Widow Mora, staring impassively at her.
“Oh God, Cee Cee! Can’t you remember how the señor watched out his bedroom window every afternoon, using his binoculars to spot the fishing boats returning, so he could be the first one at the dock and get his pick?”
“Si señora.” Cee Cee answered.
“Well then?”
The old servant said nothing.
“Can’t you remember the binoculars? They were large and the señor held them to his eyes to help him see the boats. The binoculars make everything seem closer than it really is. You must remember Cee Cee.”
“Si señora,” Cee Cee said, seeming to sense she had to offer something or the widow might become even more excited.
“Do you know where they are stored?” The Widow Mora persisted, “No, of course you don’t, why do I ask such a thing.” she added without waiting for a reply from the Indian woman.

“Go to his room, look through his desk,” the widow ordered, “if you can’t find them there go to the roof and search the storage room. No, no, you’ll never be able to do it alone, I doubt you’d recognize the binoculars if you came upon them. I’ll have to go with you. Come! I want to go this minute.”

The Widow Mora was flushed with enthusiasm as she sped along the corridor toward her deceased husbands' room. The idea of being able to use the binoculars to better observe her Viking was strangely sensuous to her.


She was in the room and feverishly rifling her husbands’ desk before the ancient Cee Cee had managed to arrive.

“Come in Cee Cee, get busy, please. They’re not here, oh God, where must they be? Look in the closet, there are boxes in there.”

Cee Cee watched the widow as though she could not believe so much activity could be taking place. The old woman had not seen the widow this energetic since she was a new bride.

The two women tore through dozens of cardboard cartons, which had become softened by the humidity and mildew of the tropical climate, but they were frustrated and every turn. By two o’clock that afternoon the pair had worked their way to the roof and a storage room there that held the out-dated, no longer important, possessions of decades past. At 3:30 P.M. the widow let out a cry of triumph.

Continued...