I brought it on myself.
Not by complaining. If we could actually find solutions to problems by complaining, politicians would be admired.
Wednesday I decided to give up complaining about the unrelenting heat and humidity.
Instead, I sat out on the balcony reading Dan Brown's most recent pack of pandering paranoias while listening to Götterdämmerung at full volume. (Why not? The neighbors do. Maybe not Wagner. But songs nearly as Germanic.) You could almost imagine Siegfried and Brünnhilde pleading to the sea for relief.
It may have been the Teutonic magic, but the Aztec cousins of the Valkyries decided to respond.
Within an hour, thunder rolled, lightning flashed, and what appeared to be most of the contents of the Rhine (sans river boats and tourists) fell from the sky. I should say: is falling from the sky.
The streets are full. The beach is one step from being a giant concrete mixer. And the house has multiple puddles of water threatening electrical equipment.
This rain will not solve the local drought. It is too little, too late. But it will help.
And it will help tonight. For four nights I have tossed and turned on the couch in the living room due to the heat. Tonight, I should sleep the sleep of the almost-cool.
As is true with most things in Mexico, a bit of patience is almost always rewarded.
Sometimes in Rheingold.
Not by complaining. If we could actually find solutions to problems by complaining, politicians would be admired.
Wednesday I decided to give up complaining about the unrelenting heat and humidity.
Instead, I sat out on the balcony reading Dan Brown's most recent pack of pandering paranoias while listening to Götterdämmerung at full volume. (Why not? The neighbors do. Maybe not Wagner. But songs nearly as Germanic.) You could almost imagine Siegfried and Brünnhilde pleading to the sea for relief.
It may have been the Teutonic magic, but the Aztec cousins of the Valkyries decided to respond.
Within an hour, thunder rolled, lightning flashed, and what appeared to be most of the contents of the Rhine (sans river boats and tourists) fell from the sky. I should say: is falling from the sky.
The streets are full. The beach is one step from being a giant concrete mixer. And the house has multiple puddles of water threatening electrical equipment.
This rain will not solve the local drought. It is too little, too late. But it will help.
And it will help tonight. For four nights I have tossed and turned on the couch in the living room due to the heat. Tonight, I should sleep the sleep of the almost-cool.
As is true with most things in Mexico, a bit of patience is almost always rewarded.
Sometimes in Rheingold.
