The glimpses of joy leaven our days.
I thought about that this morning as I pulled the Escape out of its cramped garage. As I was backing out, I glanced up to see this view of my courtyard.
There was no real focus point. What struck me was the beauty the architect-contractor built into what is now my home.
The lines. The colors. It may be post-modern architecture, but its composition is as pleasing as a Le Corbusier.
Intellectually, I know the mathematical formulas that create the illusion of proportion. But, even if I didn't, the place would simply look "just right."
For that, I thank the architect. What I do not thank her for is her failure to settle up with IMSS (Mexican social security) for payments related to the worker's wages. The workers who created this spot of beauty. She has simply disappeared.
(I am one step away from talking with an attorney. For those of you who know the Mexican legal system, you can stop rolling on the ground in laughter.)
The contrast between the inside and outside of my house is startling -- as is true with many Mexican homes. Inside, I could be living in Bel Air. Outside, I am likely to run into bucolic scenes like this.
Goats. Herds of goats. They often come wandering through my neighborhood -- prodded along by a rather indifferent goatherdess.
But they are a reminder I chose to forgo the luxury of retirement in Scottsdale for the far more tranquil days of retirement in Barra de Navidad.
No doubt about it: I chose wisely.
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