faith, friends, fiesta

Some days have a great feel to them -- like a well-written play with a credible third act.


This was one of those days.


A thunder, lightening, and rain storm on Tuesday night must have cleared heaven’s sewers because this morning opened with a cobalt sky as a backdrop, and a very aggressive wren sounded a war call against all rivals. 


It could have been the opening of a Tarentino film.  Can beauty truly be beautiful unless it is played through a lens of danger?


I tramped down the hill to meet Billie and Ned for lunch.  I was a bit early, so I ducked into Santa Ana -- one of those churches that could easily be mistaken for a warehouse by its blank exterior.


Like any establishment that welcomes all comers (or so I am told), Santa Ana has its own host and hostess.  That is them at the top of this post.


I suspect I will never grow accustomed to these holy mannequins -- complete with clothes and wigs.  Every time I see them, my startle reflex kicks in.  Maybe that is the church’s point.


But the moment I entered the church, I noticed something unique.  There was music.  A guitar.  And two voices singing a contemporary Christian chorus.

 

They were standing facing the altar.  Singing the passion of their hearts.  A song of praise for their God.


I sat down and quietly joined them in English.  When they finished their praise, they began praying.  Aloud.  But softly.  They had obviously come with a request.  For a dying relative.  For the birth of children.  For peace throughout Mexico.


There was no way for me to know.  Nor should I.  They were not praying to entertain me.  But I joined them in their prayer.


Buildings do not matter.  Hearts in praise and prayer are what make faith a reality.


When I followed them out of the church, I felt refreshed.  I met up with Billie and Ned and we walked over to one of their favorite restaurants – Café de la Parroquia.  It is one of their date restaurants.


Many of you know Billie from her blog -- billieblog.  I started reading it long before I moved to Mexico.  As a result of one post, we started emailing one another occasionally.


Since moving down here, I have met several bloggers.  With only one or two exceptions, they were exactly as I thought they would be.  When you run people’s lives through your brain, you start to know who they are.


Billie was no exception.  Talented writer.  Photographer.  Cook.  But those are roles.  She is kind.  Gentle.  Loving.


Watching her with Ned is to see true love in action.  The type of love the young couple in church were expressing to God.  Billie and Ned perfectly portray the bittersweet experience life can be.


I was sorry to say good-bye to the two of them.


The evening then topped off the day.  I had purchased tickets to see Luis Gasca and his Cuban orchestra.  I thought I was going to get an evening of Cuban music.  I got far more.


The stage turned out to be a lazy susan of musicians.  Instead of starting with Cuban music, Luis Gasca (a trumpeter), his saxophonist friend Richie Cole, a drummer, a bass player, and a pianist got the evening rolling with several jazz pieces.  And great jazz it was.  San Francisco could not have offered up better competition.

One of the highlights was Richie’s jazz interpretation of “Pure Imagination” from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  Poignant enough to live up to its title.  And his rendition of Venus was -- well, hopping.


The band was joined by a Mexican singer with a great voice -- turning “What Now My Love?” from a syrupy ballad into a sardonic tale of doomed romance.  He could have been his own concert.


Just as the concert seemed to be wrapping up, a singer-guitarist, Rosa Guadalupe, moved the audience to another music world.  Of strings and soaring ballad runs.  The woman sitting next to me was in tears.


But it was then time for the Cubans -- nine musicians.  To my great disappointment, they chose to start their program with the ultimate Cuban cliché – “Guantanamera.”   I was ready to leave. 

 

But I am glad I didn’t.  For another hour, we were treated to some great Latin music.  The big number was “I’m So Hard” with both a Cuban and jazz treatment.  Good stuff.


When they played their encore, I felt as if I had just spent a day at a music festival –- with the variety of offerings.  And, amazingly each part came together as a great evening of music.  From “Pure Imagination” to “I’m So Hard” is a wide musical reach.


On my way back up the hill. I realized the concert was a metaphor for my day.  A little faith.  A lot of friendship.  With a background of challenging music.


And this is where I should stop in relating my day.  But, if I did, I would give up an opportunity of hearing from the I-Told-You-So crowd.


I spent a couple of hours today getting a new battery for my truck.  The one I bought six months ago turned up missing.  And, yes, my truck was still parked on the street.  Oh, and I should add, my antenna was also removed.  The Welfare Escape just keeps on giving.


But trying to find a battery in as place I did not know was an adventurous interlude in my day.  And it all turned out fine.  I have my new battery -- costing about 50% more than it did in Melaque.  But no antenna.  And I have no need for one.


Another lesson for the day.  What I can do without, I will do without.


”If there's anything you need let us know and we will teach you how to live without it."