"Well it just goes to show you, it's always something."
I swear San Miguel de Allende should adopt that as its town motto. Friday was more fun than a barrel of senators. With one exception.
Let's get that out of the way first. Despite everything I had read and heard, I decided to see Elysium at the local cineplex.
The concept is long in the tooth. The evolving wealthy and educated classes develop an upper world to retain their status. And the devolving poor sink into barbarism in a world below.
If that sounds familiar, it is the plot from H.G. Wells's Time Machine. In Elysium, though, the world above is a space station and the world below is a rather nasty Earth.
The inhabitants of Elysium (the rich world) have access to eternal life and health through machines in each of their homes. On Earth, people just die of diseases -- like they do in the real world today.
The film is boring. And those are just the overly-graphic violent scenes. Not to mention politically ham-fisted. The wealthy have all of the health care and a simple program "reset" can provide it to everyone on Earth, as well. Get it? Even Harry Reid would blush at the comic book economics underlying the film's premise.
If you do not mind laughing uproariously (or snoring) during the film, you might choose a better way of spending your time -- as I did the for the rest of the day.
I met one of my favorite Mexican citizens for breakfast (she, whose name I do not use). We met at Cafe Rama -- for good food served in one of the homiest dining rooms in town. Not to mention being surrounded by some rather quirky pieces of art.
Speaking of quirky pieces of art. After I downed my croque-monsieur, my mystery guest suggested we visit -- I'm not certain how she described it -- "a junk shop," perhaps . But it was enough to pique my interest.
When I was in grade school, their was a junk spot between the school and our house. My friends and I always liked stopping there to see what we then called "neat stuff."
I have driven past the Casa Reyna several times coming and going from San Miguel de Allende. Even though tempted to stop, I always let the urge pass. Until yesterday.
Antiques are not my thing. But the clutter of paraphernalia in front made the shop exactly the type of place where I like to browse. I suspect Babs would consider it a treasure chest of decorating ideas.
I could buy a kitchen door.
Or a cherub.
Or come up with an entire wall of relatives -- and make up tales of eccentric backgrounds for each.
Or I could have my very own statue of Saint Michael -- who, even though mentioned only twice in The Bible, seems to be known by almost everyone. He must have had a very good agent.
But if I could only have two objects in the store to help furnish a house, my first choice would be this skele-cycle. It speaks to my inner biker.
And my second choice? A crucifix filled with mystery and stories.
Of course, I would take the monkey as a bonus purchase. Now, all I need is a house to furnish.
I barely made it back to my temporary home when I heard a combination of sky rockets, bells, and drums from the centro area. That could only mean one thing at this time of year. Leroy Anderson was in town or Saint Michael in the box was being returned to the church from another of his walk-abouts.
And sure enough, when I arrived, the parade was just ending in front of the parroquia. But this is Mexico, nothing ever really ends.
The parade participants formed up in front of the church and kept up their performances.
There were several groups of colorfully-costumed Indians who danced and danced to the beat of insistent drums.
There was a giant puppet dancing to the brassy sounds of a band. A Mexican couple caught the beat and joined in with a fancy two-step.
I have often imagined this is what drinkers must see in their dreams.
I wish I could tell you more about the connection between leprechauns and the town. But I am as baffled as you are. All I know is that the entire rowdy lot accompanied Saint Michael in the box on another outing.
And, of course, if there is a Saint Michael in the box, there had to be a Saint Michael in a truck bed. Nature conspired to make the image a little bit special -- if I do say so myself.
What I had been looking forward to,though, was the danza de los voladores -- the dance of the flyers. This pole had been erected in front of the jardin earlier in the day. About ten stories tall.
But apparently, it was not quite straight. So the performers went to work straightening everything out.
When they were done, five of them climbed the pole. While one played the flute and drum while standing on the top, the other four jumped from the pole -- each tethered by a rope.
They swung in circles around the pole like a carnival ride. Until they landed, as light as birds, on the ground.
The ritual is ancient. No one is certain where it originated or its exact purpose, but the five men who performed it on Friday had the audience in their hands.
It was a nice way to end a day.
And, yes, Roseanne Roseannadanna, it's always something.
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