I met her on the airplane coming south from Los Angeles. July of last year.
She was from one of those cities in central Canada that always cause me to shiver when I hear the name.
Recently divorced, she had come to Mexico for a week to experience A New Life. She was almost giddy with the prospect of seeing the Magic of Mexico. You could almost hear the extraneous capitalization of nouns.
I ran into her on the streets of Melaque several times.
Everything was Perfect. The People were the Fiendliest People she had ever met. The weather, though hot and humid, had touched "The Center of My Soul."
The Little Fishing Village was filled with nothing but joy for her.
I was happy for her, but I was starting to worry that, like Billy Pilgrim, she was beginning to come unstuck in time.
The last time I saw her was on a street corner. She was looking dreamily into the middle distance. We began chatting. Suddenly, her eyes went wide. And she started looking frantically in her beach bag. If we had been in Detroit, I would have thought she was looking for a hand gun.
"Where IS it? Where IS it?"
I was beginning to think she had become unstuck from more than merely time.
I then glanced over my shoulder. An elderly Mexican woman with an umbrella was walking toward us.
Ms. New Life raised her camera just as the woman was about to walk past us.
But that did not deter her. In English, she said in her best Cecil B. DeMille voice: "Excuse me. Could you go back and walk toward us? I would like a Photograph."
The Woman With The Umbrella (as the photograph would be known) would never enter the world of art. The Mexican woman looked bewildered but continued on her way.
Ms. New Life looked at me, pure exasperation airbrushed on her face. "They are so friendly, but frustrating."
Every time I think about this story, I find it hard to believe that it happened in Melaque. This is the type of story that keeps San Miguel de Allende residents amused -- because they have seen it happen.
But how does it happen? I have been using cameras for almost 55 years. I cannot imagine going up to a stranger and asking her to repeat her walking pattern merely to satisfy my desire to control my enviroment. Melaque is not merely a sound stage put together for the benefit of people hunting for A New Life.
But I am a bad example, I find it difficult to take photographs of people. I have lots of human backs in my photography collection -- some of which you have seen.
Did she ever find her New Life? I don't know.
I certainly have not seen her around this year. Perhaps, she is chasing The Magic in another Village.
But I am listening for the echo of: "Are you ready for your Close-up?"
She was from one of those cities in central Canada that always cause me to shiver when I hear the name.
Recently divorced, she had come to Mexico for a week to experience A New Life. She was almost giddy with the prospect of seeing the Magic of Mexico. You could almost hear the extraneous capitalization of nouns.
I ran into her on the streets of Melaque several times.
Everything was Perfect. The People were the Fiendliest People she had ever met. The weather, though hot and humid, had touched "The Center of My Soul."
The Little Fishing Village was filled with nothing but joy for her.
I was happy for her, but I was starting to worry that, like Billy Pilgrim, she was beginning to come unstuck in time.
The last time I saw her was on a street corner. She was looking dreamily into the middle distance. We began chatting. Suddenly, her eyes went wide. And she started looking frantically in her beach bag. If we had been in Detroit, I would have thought she was looking for a hand gun.
"Where IS it? Where IS it?"
I was beginning to think she had become unstuck from more than merely time.
I then glanced over my shoulder. An elderly Mexican woman with an umbrella was walking toward us.
Ms. New Life raised her camera just as the woman was about to walk past us.
But that did not deter her. In English, she said in her best Cecil B. DeMille voice: "Excuse me. Could you go back and walk toward us? I would like a Photograph."
The Woman With The Umbrella (as the photograph would be known) would never enter the world of art. The Mexican woman looked bewildered but continued on her way.
Ms. New Life looked at me, pure exasperation airbrushed on her face. "They are so friendly, but frustrating."
Every time I think about this story, I find it hard to believe that it happened in Melaque. This is the type of story that keeps San Miguel de Allende residents amused -- because they have seen it happen.
But how does it happen? I have been using cameras for almost 55 years. I cannot imagine going up to a stranger and asking her to repeat her walking pattern merely to satisfy my desire to control my enviroment. Melaque is not merely a sound stage put together for the benefit of people hunting for A New Life.
But I am a bad example, I find it difficult to take photographs of people. I have lots of human backs in my photography collection -- some of which you have seen.
Did she ever find her New Life? I don't know.
I certainly have not seen her around this year. Perhaps, she is chasing The Magic in another Village.
But I am listening for the echo of: "Are you ready for your Close-up?"