Fernando and I went away for the long weekend and spent time in San Luis Potosi. We stayed at Media Luna for half the time, surrounded by crystal clear water, trees, and a beautiful campground. Media Luna begins the Western edge of the Huasteca Region, known for its outstanding rafting, rock climbing, kayaking, waterfalls and great outdoors.
Archive for May, 2011
The Hermit hung his lantern on a nail and laid down for a short nap. If it weren’t for his robes, someone could have mistaken him for the Four of Swords.
Artist Diego Rivera was born in Guanajuato. The house where he was born on December 8, 1886 has been restored and converted into a museum.
When The Great Spirit Frog created Guanjuato, the land was still soft and wet from the rains. He filled a giant bag made of corn husks with stones of every color. He took this bag and sprinkled the stones out over the mountains. When he had finished, the stones had transformed into houses. From afar, each hill looked like a mouthful of crooked, colored teeth. The Great Spirit Frog had an enthusiastic sense of creativity and wanted people to live in these homes. So he invited them and when they came, he told them they were in Guanajuato, the place of frogs and hills.
Madre Angelita and I have a good exchange going. I massage her neck and shoulders on the sofa while she tells me sweet and captivating stories from her childhood. The cuentos take us back to a time in Jose Maria when she was young and had many adventures with her sister, Patty.
I was telling Madre Angelita how wonderful these days of May have been. She agreed and told me that May is her favorite month. It’s the month that her sister Patty was born. I remember the day my sister was born, she begins, it was May 10th.
That day, my grandmother gave my brother and I breakfast. I thought it was strange that my mother wasn’t there, and neither was my father. Abuelita told us that my mother would be home soon. So my brother and I went out to play.
Later in the day, my father came home and told us we had a new sister, Patty. He said that she was different than us, Morena. We were Güeritos. Her skin would not burn in the sun or turn red in the cold. She would be tougher than the two of us. At least her skin would be. I guess her hair was a different story.
Guanajuato is blessed with ideal climate conditions year round. But there’s something about May… I like to think that Guanajuato is exalted in May. For instance, everyone is out in the evenings. And as the sun sets, colors are warmer and more saturated.
Yesterday evening, the time before sunset when shadows are long and dog barks, bell chimes and wind reach further, I went on a walk around the City. Every park I passed through was full. Some families were having paper bag dinners. Benches were filled with amorous couples. El Cantador had a group of children exercising to music, like a mini-Zumba class. Pipila was packed with vendors while folks looked out over Guanajuato at rooftops filled with the golden light of a setting sun. In Cerro de Gallo, neighbors leaned against walls and sat on stairs while eating watermelon and ice cream, catching up on small talk. The field at Centro de Deportivo had several groups of children’s soccer teams coached by patient and enthusiastic fathers. The dirt tennis courts were filled, every one of them. I watched a man watch a group play couples, standing there silently smoking, the sun creating a silhouette around him.
The exercise machines at Pastitos were all being used… kids, women and men in sweats, going from one to the next. I saw one guy walking a Pitbull and a Rottweiler around the Pastito’s track as busses wheezed by on the other side. As I made my way through San Fernando to the Basilica, it seems that all the outdoor seating was filled at the restaurants. I wondered why… it was only a Wednesday evening. Paradise on a Wednesday evening in May.
When you’re alone
And life is making you lonely,
You can always go downtown
When you’ve got worries,
All the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know, downtown
Oh Petula Clark, I can’t get you out of my head!
I’ve switched my morning walking route with Farley so that I may walk by this orange house in the mornings. An old man lives here and he keeps his windows and doors open. As I walk by, I see the Last Supper hung on the wall, large speakers near the kitchen, and a large wooden rosary right by the door. His radio is always on, and loud. He listens to stories… I often hear bullets, horse hooves, and men on the move. Sometimes, he listens to music a century old, and it fills the morning with boleros, rancheras, and music so lovely, I just want to hang out on the steps for a little while.