a prickly question

How does the unusual become routine?

When I first moved to Mexico, each day was filled with wonder.  Much of it because everything was new to me. 

I had one agreement with Mexico when I decided to retire here: I wanted to get up every morning and not know how I was going to get through the day.

Mexico lived up to its end of the bargain.  But I soon started figuring out my own routines.  If the water stopped running, I would use the well.  If the electricity went out, I would go for a walk or go to bed. 

Mexico has a way of breaking up those routines.  I thought about that this week when I noticed pineapples being loaded from a tractor to a large truck.  Heading off to market, I assumed.

I have driven on that highway in excess of a hundred times.  Undoubtedly, the pineapple transfer has been taking place as I drove by.

For some reason, this time I stopped.  Maybe it was the shape and texture of the pineapples.  A great object for my new camera.

When I asked the men loading the truck if I could have their permission to take their photograph, they gave me the "weird gringo" look.  The same look I would give a tourist if she asked to take my photograph while I was writing.  But the guys hammed it up for my camera -- no matter the oddity of my request.

And I was correct.  The texture and shape of the pineapples did make a good photograph.

I also discovered something new.  If there are pineapples, there must be pineapple fields nearby.  And there are.  Acres of them.  I had no idea they were there.  Maybe I thought they were agave.  Or, as Holmes repeatedly told Watson: you see, but you do not observe.

A college friend commented yesterday on Facebook: "I'm glad you're happy, just seems you'd be bored living there." 

Bored is one thing I am not.  Not as long as I keep my part of the bargain with Mexico.  If I am going to take seriously getting up each day and not knowing how I am going to get through the day, I need to stop seeing and to start observing.

That, of course is where this blog comes in.  Periodically -- like tonight as I write this -- I consider whether I want to keep writing and posting. 

And then I remember the pineapples.  It is because I blog that I observe and not merely see.  I need to find the narrative in my surroundings -- to share it first with me, and then with you.

So, I thank all of you.  It is because I can share my days with you that I keep getting up to be amazed at another day in Mexico. 

Thanks.