Wednesday, January 02, 2019

a few shades of gray

As an old sailor, I know "red skies in morning" is more than an adage. It is what Solzhenitsyn called gray beard wisdom.

Back in the long-forgotten past of 2018 (two days ago), I wandered off on my evening walk. One of the disadvantages of trying to keep up my 4 MPH walking pace is that I do not have an opportunity to slow down and enjoy the daily delights Mexico serves up on her botanas plate.

On Sunday afternoon, I decided, it was a good day to go shooting. So, I pulled out my adult camera (my trusty Sony NEX 6) and modified my pace from long-distance walker to short-term photographer.

The enticement was in the sky. At the end of December, our skies hosted a series of interesting cloud formations. Admittedly, they were not as dramatic as the cloud shows in the Mexican highlands.

The beauty was far more subtle. San Miguel de Allende serves up Paco Rabanne shows. Our cloud formations are a cross between Coco Chanel and Christian Dior.

When I thought the day could not be better, those little black dress clouds decided that the relative humidity had just about had enough.

If you have been loitering in these parts, you know what my idea of a perfect weather day is. 55 degrees. Overcast. Drizzle.

Well, Sunday was not a trifecta. I had my drizzle and overcast. However, we just do not see 55 degrees here. As Meatloaf would say (and did), two out of three ain't bad.

Our cooler weather here has been a boon for me. It is cool enough to accomplish most (or all) of my daily miles in one outing. And, best of all, the nights are crisp enough to enjoy a full night's sleep.

I usually switch off the fan in my bedroom for the winter. But I still sleep on top of the covers. Not this past week. When slipping under the sheet proved to be inadequate, I borrowed a thin bedspread from my brother and sister-in-law's room.

Mind you, we are not talking of the bone-chilling nights of San Miguel de Allende or Pátzcuaro. I am almost ashamed to admit the temperature that drove me into hedgehog mode was in the mid-60s.

But it is cold enough that my Mexican friends look as if they are auditioning for roles in Nanook of the North. Parkas. Scarves. Even gloves. What I call crisp, they call freezing.

When Omar heads off to work in the morning, he wraps himself in his leather jacket. Even his friend Lupe wore a sweatshirt to ward off the icy blasts when he delivered his mom to my house. The temperature was almost 70.

The real test has been the swimming pool. In the summer, the temperature of the pool hovers in the mid-90s. This morning, it was 74. Unless I want to acclimate myself for a potential Titanic reenactment, I will be avoiding the pool until we have more Annie days. (Yeah. Yeah. I know. First world problems in a first world country.)

With that sole exception, this has been the best weather I have experienced in Barra de Navidad. Not everyone agrees with me. There are plenty of people who have have moved here or are visiting because of the warm weather. They did not sign up for Steve's Perfect Weather Day.

They just need to wait. The Tlaloque have their cycle. My pool will soon be hot tub-ready. My walking sessions will be split between morning and night. And I will be sleeping atop my sheets being cooled by that trusty ceiling fan.

If all goes well, I might even shoot a photo or two of a warmer Barra de Navidad.

And, since I mentioned him, here is a slice of Meatloaf.

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