Yesterday, with regret, I ate the last mango of the season. It was one of those big spotty, unlovely green ones from the Guaymas market, and it was perfectly ripe, sweet and delicious with a sprinkling of walnuts.
Time zooms along, leaving me breathless and overwhelmed. I feel a little nostalgia for the recent past, when I felt only a little whelmed. But the bonus is that autumn is here, and early mornings are almost chilly, so we leave off the air conditioning until late in the afternoon.
It's been a month for miracles. I always used to think I'd have my own home when pigs fly. And then they did this month, at the Royal Melbourne Show in Australia. My guess was that they were ejected from spring-loaded cages, but no, they have some sort of Astroturf-covered rubber launching pad, so they must have been trained to jump. Animal advocates deplore the practice, but doesn't he look like he's enjoying his flight? Some pig. Hope he had a nice, cushy landing.
The Capt is preparing our new condo for the big move while I finish production on our annual antique map guide, which keeps this boat afloat. Friday he and an amiable Mexican friend, Hector, finished disassembling the concrete bed, which turned out to be constructed like a sandbox—a frame of brick, filled with sand, overlaid with a little rebar and then iced like a cake with a layer of concrete. Contrary to rumors, they did not find Jimmy Hoffa in there. Today our Scottish friend Tim is going to help haul out the broken brick, cement and sand with a wheelbarrow. Then we'll go shopping for a queen-size mattress, and if such a thing can be found in Mexico, the Capt will go ahead and construct a wooden bed frame to fit. Otherwise, we'll go with a
matrimonio, the old-fashioned double bed. Our king-size would take too much space, since half of the room is reserved for a music studio.
A friend of a friend gave us two bookcases, an unexpected blessing since the house we're leaving has all its shelves built-in. A couple in the Ranchitos sold us their oak entertainment center for a good price and then threw in a dishwasher that works fine, just needs its rusty baskets replaced. The jury's still out on whether I'll actually use it much, but it would be great to have for dinner parties.
Did I mention we have water issues? Last night I had just washed the last dish (by hand) when the water went dry...again. All over San Carlos there are cries of "Oh, no!" "Merde!" "Blimey!" and other expressions too salty to be repeated as people turn on their faucets and get
nada. It's very unpredictable; sometimes we get water all day and it's shut off at night. But yesterday it was off most of the afternoon, and when I got up at four I found it on. The big problem is that the water doesn't run long enough to fill the tinacos. There are mournful complaints on the Viva San Carlos internet forum, about homes where not a drop has been seen for days, so we should count ourselves among the lucky ones. Someone called for the governor to be brought in to deal with the water company, which was said to be operating with only one well (there were three before Jimena). Somehow I doubt Governor Bours would be much help, particularly since it's the gringos who are doing the complaining. The Mexicans, who are in the majority here this time of year, haven't said a word. Meanwhile the water trucks are doing a brisk business. And we continue to see streets flowing with water from broken pipes.
As I might have guessed, the library where I volunteered last fall was severely damaged in the storm, with all the books on the lower shelves ruined and mold growing by the day to destroy the rest. I couldn't unlock the door, and the library
jefe, Pat, advised me that I needed to kick the door in. We'll have to organize a work party soon to salvage what books we can, haul away the rest, and then have the whole place treated for mold.
Today I'm taking a break with my friends, for a brunch benefit at the (ahem!) Yacht Club, with entertainment by the local Athletic Club
bailarenas. Photo ops abound!
