the sun sets for us all

OK. I know it looks a bit like one of those Hawaiian shirts you can pick up from the discount table at Target. And I have promised that I would never post another sunset photograph.

But this one has a bit of sentimental value. It was the last sunset shot I took on one of my walks with Barco. I still feel a twinge when I walk past that spot.

Besides, it is another reminder why I live here. That is why I took it in the first place.

Not being a selfish guy, I decided to share it with you. 

change has a cost

Since we are on the subject of change, I have two more to add to the list.

The first is good news. At least, for me.

When I lived in Villa Obregón, I regularly used the services of Cruz's body shop. The tight squeeze to enter and exit the courtyard gate made me a friend of Cruz. Coincidentally, he worked just down the highway when I lived in Oregon. He has done wonders with both of my Escapes.

His business was two blocks from my house. What could be handier? I could just drop the SUV for its face lift -- and then walk home. After I moved to Barra de Navidad, he was not that handy.

But, that has changed. Cruz has moved to Barra de Navidad. At least, almost. He is now on the highway that leads to our little village. Smack dab on my morning walk route.

I was glad to see him. My Escape is in need of his cosmetic surgery. Each fender and one door have met with too many squeezes and inconsiderate car owners in parking lots.

The Ford dealership told me my Escape was subject to a recall about a year ago. It appears there is a high possibility that the airbags will not function in a collision. As soon as they receive the parts, I will get that work done. Then I can turn my fully-functioning air-bagged SUV over to Cruz.

I will then walk home. Because that is what I do these days.

The not-so-good news is that my friends Ben and Alexa Boyt and their children will not be returning to Villa Obregón. Rather than try to explain the situation, I will let Alexa tell you in her inimitable style: mama's logbook.

I knew them through our church and their local coffee shop -- where Ben roasted and ground his own brews. Their energy and youth buoyed up everyone they met in our community.

But I fully understand why they believe their mission is elsewhere. And I have no doubt they have chosen wisely.

That does not change the fact I will miss them. A lot.

But that is how change works. It brings us gifts, and it takes away. There is always a cost.

reflections in the rain

Mexico delivers on its promises.

I moved down here primarily because my life was far too comfortable in Salem. And even more predictable.

I wanted to have the rush of getting up every morning not knowing how I was possibly going to get through the day. Mexico has kept its end of that little bargain.

But, in the process, Mexico also offers some pleasant surprises. Even small ones.

Last Tuesday in just blowing over, I said we needed rain. My blogger pal Felipe informed me that a cold front had just moved through Pátzcuaro, and I asked if he could blow it our way. He must have done.

Yesterday afternoon I was reading in the pool. Up until last month, the water has been in the 90s. As the sun's angle has changed in its seasonal cycle, the pool has cooled -- leaving the water temperature in the mid-80s.

I had just finished reading about the increasing number of young American men who are outside of the work force when I felt an odd chill. As if the witch of the west had cast a spell on the neighborhood. Without the amusing addition of flying monkeys.

It was just Tlaloc up to his tricks. There were no clouds in the sky, but the temperature had dropped noticeably. It was cold enough that I needed to get out of the pool and wrap up in my thick terry robe -- the one I never thought I would don down here.

And in about two hours, it started. Like most of our rains, it was just a few drops followed by a downpour.

Downpour may be the wrong term. The laminate on the top of my heat chimney in my bathroom always amplifies the rains effect in about the same manner news outlets exaggerate anything political.

This was not one of our tropical deluges. But it was sufficient to drop both the heat and humidity far enough to let me sleep last night with only a fan, instead of the air conditioner. And to leave some sizable puddles in the neighborhood.

We may have passed the threshold of the very hot season into the just hot season. Of course, there could still be more rains to come. We are in transition.

But the end is inevitable. We will cycle into a place where winters are as lazy as a day on the Mississippi with Huck Finn. And life slips away easily into the grave.

trumping the experts

If I had put money on top of the cracker barrel, betting the outcome of this election, I would have been two for three.

My predictions on the House and the Senate were perfect. But the presidential race, that is another story. The electoral votes sorted out to be what I thought would be the split, but, in reverse order for the candidates.

My excuse is that I am an amateur. The purported experts are the ones who have crow on their face, as my secretary, Jamela, was wont to say.

Starting with the smug Nate Silver. His final prediction is right there at the top of this piece. Like a lot of "neutral" commentators, he may have allowed his hucksterism for the Clinton team to cloud his objectivity.

As everyone says, though, this has been a very odd year when it comes to polls. Trump seems to confound the standard of prediction. But that was also true of the polls in the run-up to the Brexit vote.

The hubris of the "experts" has come to the door asking for payment. I know because I can hear the rap of its hand at the front gate.

This is going to be an interesting four years.

just blowing over

A few weeks ago, just after Barco died, a small storm blew through town. But not much of one.

It brought us a bit of rain. A few clouds. Lots of wind. And then it was gone.

At the time, I thought it was a fitting end to a too-dry rainy season. Going out with a whimper was somehow appropriate.

The flocks of northern tourists are flying in. That is usually a sure sign the rain is almost over and our heat and humidity is days away from feeling cozy warm.

That may not be true, though. A couple nights ago, we had a few maverick rain drops. About enough to look as if some alcohol-dependent partier had spilled his ice cubes in the courtyard. Maybe the rain is not done with us, yet.

As for the heat and humidity, we are still armpit deep in what feels like September weather. It was 93 degrees here earlier in the afternoon. The humidity number was not far behind.

I messaged a copy of the above photograph to a close friend in England on the day of the storm. When I last visited her two years ago, that is almost how her snotgreen sea (as James Joyce would have it) looked.

The difference, of course, is that the temperature on the San Patricio beach was 84 degrees, not the scrotumtightening (to once again abuse Joyce) 40s I experienced in England. And Fleetwood, for some reason, did not have salsa music playing in the background.

We could still use more rain here. A lot more. The farmers, most likely, are going to find this another disappointing year. Ironically, after two years of flooded fields.

I read an article in The Economist this week that Mexico is near the top of the list of countries that will be experiencing "water stress" -- where there will not be enough water to meet agricultural and manufacturing needs -- by 2030. This area may arrive at the bus stop before the rest of the country.

Our county seat went without water for about a month due to infrastructure problems. I am not certain if the water is flowing again. Our local villages have suffered from "water on-water off" over the summer.

If the storms decide to return to give us a month or so of rain (and heat relief), I am not going to be the first guy in the complaint line.

Maybe a trip to England should be in the offing.

ethan allen's sombrero

I am shopping for furniture.

But you probably already know that. My house came with a few pieces of rudimentary furniture that may have worked as stage props in your high school's production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? But not for my house.

And then there was Barco, the frustrated interior decorator. He decided a sofa and chair needed to be distressed. Rather like that torn jeans so beloved of teenagers, Baby Boomers, and prostitutes.

With Barco's death, I am back on track to outfit the house in its inherent style -- Mexican contemporary modern. The house has the distinct lines of a Luis Barragán home. That should make my task easier since Barragán, like Frank Lloyd Wright, designed furniture for his homes.

On our tour group's return from Pátzcuaro, we stopped overnight in Guadalajara. We only had one shopping stop: Tlaquepaque. If you do not know about Tlaquepaque, just imagine its tourist core as an odd cross between Rodeo Drive combined with a large dose of Tijuana.

There are furniture stores in Tlaquepaque -- in the same sense there are antique shops in Manhattan. With prices to match.

I found a couple of chairs vaguely similar to a Barragán butaque chair. But they had been tarted up to the point they had lost all of the simplicity that made the butaque chair a classic.

And then there was the price.  Each chair was listed at $25,000 (Mx). At the current very favorable exchange rate, that would be about $1,400 (US) for each chair. Not outlandish for this style of furniture, but not what I want to pay for a chair that is the mere shadow of its inspiration.

The rest of my shopping trip was no more successful. I found a couch at one shop and a dining table at another. But both stores prohibited photographing their furniture. I suppose to merely stop tourists from blocking up their showrooms with curiosity agape and wallets snapped shut.
And the "no shooting" rule seems to be strictly enforced, unlike most Mexican venues displaying similar signs. Even when I explained I was very interested in buying the dining table, and that I might not remember the store without a photograph, the matron-in-charge used her best Valkyrie tone to let me know: "It is forbidden."

So, I came home with no furniture -- and no new ideas. That is OK. When I brought up the topic of furniture two years ago, several of you suggested some very good sources. Primarily in Guadalajara. One place makes custom-made pieces from parota in contemporary Mexican style. I just need to get up there again.

I usually say there is plenty of time to buy the correct furniture. But I am also longing to get the place in the shape it should be for my family -- who will be on their way down here in a month.

One small step for Barragán, one big step for Barragánkind.

my vote is cast*

The digital world still has a few speed bumps -- especially, when it comes to elections.

About a month ago, I told you in i'm gonna sit right down and cast myself a ballot,that earlier in the summer, I had requested an absentee ballot from Nevada. The request process was rather old-fashioned. I had to print off a paper form, fill it out, sign it, stuff it into an envelope, and mail it to the good folks in the Washoe County elections office.

A couple of months later, I received a letter in my postal box here reassuring me my request had been received and approved, and that the absentee ballot had been mailed. I would receive mine soon.

I didn't. At least, not soon. It showed up a couple days ago.

There was no time to get the ballot back before election day if I mailed it. But Nevada is far more progressive in voting than it is in requesting an absentee ballot. Just like four years ago, I can vote by scanning the ballot along with a rather straight-forward declaration, and vote by email.

It is just as well that I waited. I knew who my candidates for the senate and the house were going to be. But I was still not certain how I was going to vote for president. My dilemma was summed up well by a friend who dresses to the left: "Seems like we are faced with a choice of someone whose stated intent (not in so many words) is to start WWIII or an iconoclastic groper."

While on my trip to Michoacán, the answer came to me. It was an elegant solution. Like most Americans, I have been appalled by our choices in November. I wake up every morning hoping to read a newspaper headline similar to "Hillary dies in fiery car crash while driving over Trump." But it was just a dream. We are stuck with those choices.

I have made mine. And I am not going to share it with you. No matter what I did, it is basically shameful. The good thing is that the vote will make no difference -- even though Nevada is one of this year's swing states.

I can at least say I cast my ballot -- and I can sleep tonight with a clear conscience.

* -- For those of you who are interested in such arcane American electoral facts, that photograph may violate the law in several states.