awash in the day

Never say Mexpatriate does not bring you breaking news.

At least, not today.  Save that dart for later in the week.

Last night our tame rain showers turned into a full-blown lightning, thunder, wind, and rain extravaganza.  The type of weather that makes you appreciate the next minute of life -- because it was the type of weather that could just as easily kill you as thrill you.  A perfect description of one of my former girl friends.

Last week Ed the Artist came over to string wire for each of my paintings.  They have each been hanging on single screw since their original installation.  We thought that would give them a far more stable presence on the wall.

Last night's wind did not concur.  Several of the canvases decided they would feel far more utilitarian by seeking their inner nature as sails.  I gathered them up and stored them safely away from the ever-rising water.

Speaking of water, it was not merely rising in my courtyard.  The photograph of the drain I took yesterday was just a preview of what was coming.

The photograph at the top of this update is what I saw when I opened my front door.  What looks like a small pond is actually a stream.  If you were to look to your right, this is what you would see.

It may not look very deep, but the roadbed has been washed away enough that the water level comes up to my Escape door.

So, off I went, in your service as an intrepid photojournalist, to see what the rain had wrought.

The village of San Patricio is in full fiesta swing this week celebrating the feast day of San Patricio.  Or, as the Celts amongst us know him: Saint Patrick. 

There is a carnival in town along with a small troupe of vendors.  All conspiring to lift as many pesos as possible from the crowds in exchange for a bit of sheer enjoyment.  And each evening we top off the day with a castillo -- a firework structure.

But not tonight.  This is a corner of our jardin where the festivities should be taking place. 

I was surprised to see that the water had not risen very high.  Usually, this corner becomes impassible in high rains.

Some corners still are.

That is not a canal.  It is a street.  A main street between a school and an empty lot that was once a school before it was damaged too many times by high water.  Like this.

Even though the white truck is speeding right along, the dark SUV is not going anywhere until Noah's dove fails to return.

When I encountered similar weather in Oregon and England, I indulged in a practice I decided to resurrect this afternoon.  I brewed a pot of Constant Comment, put two Milano orange cookies on a plate, put some Christmas music in the CD player, and pulled out a book (on my Kindle).

Excuse me.  I need to go sit in on a cabinet meeting chaired by Abdülhamid II.