Nothing fishy (PT.2)

I ask Pedro how his exhibit was.  He lights up and says, “Fantastic.  It was great.  There were 16 paintings and I only brought two home” Quite a pull.  We are congratulating him and he tells us about who bought what.  Seems that the family that owns the King Ranch outside of Dallas bought up loads.  I was curious about some of the work I had seen before the exhibit, “What about the tomatoes?  Did someone buy the tomatoes?”  He smiles and nods, “Yes, they did” Tonya takes the words out of my mouth when she asks about the bananas.  He turns to her and nods, “Yes, the bananas too…” I am crushed.  We had talked about acquiring this piece.  He looks across the table at me and shrugs his shoulders.

Those bananas we were bananas for.

Carla complains about the lack of sleep from last night.  When asked why, she says she is worn out.  She is one of a panel of judges, who are in the midst of rating poetry books for a national contest.  She points to a big box of books sitting on a table, “There’s more too” she says and rolls her eyes.  “I have so much to read as well as translate a book for someone.  You can’t believe how bad some of the entries are”.  I ask her if she cheats, if she starts to read it and skips around when she realizes it may be boring.  She looks me straight in the face and says, “It is horrible.  I can tell if it is crap from the first few lines.  Some of them are so boring…it is horrible.  If I think it is bad, I go to the middle of the book, and then read the last page.  If it looks as if it never progressed, then I declare it worthless” She is laughing and dropping her shoulders to show despair.  I ask if that is really an option.  She says it is, one can hand out a literary rating of ‘desierto’, a desert, full of nothingness.  Yes, she adds, and she has done it before too.

I turn back to see what I am missing between Pedro and Leonor.  I know it was something good because as soon as she realizes I am back in her audience, she switches to English and tells a great tale.  “There was this very odd man from Chihuahua.  He was illiterate, and could not read.  He did not want people to know, and he would always pick the paper up, and hold it up in front of him like he was reading,” she says starting to laugh. “We would all sit and smile because he would be sitting there acting as if he was reading the paper, not knowing he had the paper upside down.  He was so cute.  One day someone finally went over to him and asked what eh was doing.  When he replied he was reading, they grabbed the paper and turned it around for him, saying ‘If you are going to read, you have to have it right side up’” She says he was old, so it was just accepted as who he was.  Leonor says that he was from Juarez, and would frequently go back and forth into El Paso.  She reminds us that this was a long time ago, and says that he was a simple man.  He would just go across the border whenever he felt like it.  One day, border officials stop the old man and asked him for his papers.  He said he didn’t have any, and didn’t need them.  He was born and raised in Juarez, and has gone over this border all the time, his whole life and never been asked for papers before.  The guard realized that he had nothing to hide, but wanted a few pieces of information before he let him cross into Texas.  “Sir, I understand.  Can you just tell me how long you have been crossing here?  Can you tell me when the first time you crossed was?”  The old man looked at the guard and with utmost pride tells him, “Yes, I can tell you the first time I crossed into Texas.  It was with my general, General Villa…”  This, of course, got a good round of laughs from us all. 

Once again, the world gets really small, as everyone at the table talks about another neighbor, who supposedly is a medium and used to hold séances in a cottage behind their house.  This leads to ghost talk…and Pedro’s new house. “Well, do you have any friends here?” I ask him.  “No, nothing.  In my old house though, there was Juanito” he says as he points over his shoulder in the direction of his old home.  He tells of how there were a few odd instances with other family members, and then one particular instance involving himself.  “Before I had the studio, I was painting in a room at the top of the house.  It was late, and I was alone.  The doors to the room were open.  They were double doors.  I am in my room painting and everyone else is asleep downstairs.  All of a sudden I hear laughing.  I look up, it is coming from the doors…Someone was laughing at me really hard, ‘Ha ha ha ha’  I went to the doors, and no one was there.  No one had gone down the stairs either.  The very next morning, as soon as I woke up, I immediately went to our local priest and told him what had happened.  He came over to the house and did a blessing right away” This gets a chuckle from all of us.  Pedro’s face is so animated as he tells the story.  He gives accounts of the different episodes the maid had with Juanito.  He said that after the priest visited, Juanito had disappeared.  He said he had been told about JuanitoJuanito lived in a certain lamp, like a genie.  Pedro had said they had eventually gotten rid of this certain lamp, and must have thrown Juanito out with the lamp.  The previous owners could not comprehend Juanito not being around anymore.  The fact that he invited the previous owners back into their house to take a look around, and they were only interested in their ghost, seems quite comical to Pedro.

This elicits a quick eyeing up at everyone at the table, and everyone shaking their heads 'no' when asked if they have any ghost 'problems'.  Pedro is still giggling over Juanito, and says he will have his priest come and bless this house just to be safe.

Leonor is truly enjoying the fish.  Now it is almost completely gone.  In the midst of all the chatting, I have kept an eye on her and lost count at how many servings of the fish she had taken.  Easily a 5:1 ratio compared to everyone else.  She loves it so much as a matter of fact, that she calls the maid in to compliment her.  She then puts the skeleton of the fish on the platter and sets in front of her.  She has to get a final look at the dish she so enjoyed.  She arranges the skeleton exactly how she desires and turns to Pedro, "Perhaps you should paint this fish.  It was so good, it deserves to be painted for a keepsake!"  She is not joking.  She then unwinds a tale about a Picasso painting, in which he enjoyed his fish so much he painted it and made a sculpture of the skeleton.

One of Picasso's ceramic fish plates...obviously before devouring

(One wonders if she knew that Pedro had already painted fish on plates himself, like this one;)

Pedro's own take on fish...and with fruit!

As the maid cleans up the dishes, Pedro asks who is up for coffee.  I chirp up and raise my hand, Tonya too.  Pedro orders coffees for three (himself included).  Carla is talking about a myriad of subjects, then nudges me on the leg.  "I am going to give you a phone number of someone.  I want you to call him.  You and he will get along marvelously" she says.  He's English, supposedly well to do and is a music freak.  She assures me that I will love his home too, a very big nice one in a great part of town.  She follows with how well connected he is, namedropping a certain Mick Jagger as a friend and a dinner guest last time the Stones were in town.  I promise her I will call.  The maid brings in the coffee and a small plate with broken chocolate heaped in a pile.  She sets it down and I see Leonor immediately grab chocolate and dig in.  She is a tricky one.

The room gets darker because of the heavy grey skies hovering above.  We talk a bit more and decide we should head out before the rains come.  Leonor came via cab, and asked if she could hitch a ride home with us. Of course.  We get up and exchange goodbyes, with hugs kisses and handshakes thrown in.  As we open the door, the raindrops are starting to get hefty.  We tell Leonor to wait, and we run to fetch the car.  We pull up and I lean over to push the door open for Leonor.  Pedro walks her to the car and leans in to take a look at our ride. He nods with approval and says we should keep this car.

As we drive away, Leonor asks me if she should help with directions, or if I know my way back.  I smile and tell her it is OK, "Ride with me, and I will show you parts of this city most Mexicans don't even know about".  She laughs and agrees.  We don't get far before we are sitting at a red light.  I recognize a guy, and he is walking up beside the car.  I roll the window down, "Hey, buey..."  He stops suddenly and looks in the car, not recognizing Leonor.  When he sees me he smiles and sticks his hand in, over Leonor.  She is a bit panic stricken, and then starts to laugh when she realizes that the guy sticking his hand in is a friend of ours.  She said she was worried that I yelled at some 'stranger'.  Me...yelling out at guys in the street...in this city.  Imagine.

Driving home we get stuck in rain and drive-time traffic.  It is OK though, Leonor is in the passenger seat and we are chatting away.  She tells some tales of the old days and says she is concerned over people not preserving the past.  She says that she thinks it is a tragedy that really nothing has been historically significant in Mexico for over the last 50 years.  If you sit and think about it, she is right.  Her husband was one of the gang who last did anything significant here...for the people and culture.  She talks about her home in another town.  her husband built the home on some old colonial ruins form the 17th century.  "When I go there, that is where I truly feel at home" she says.  She also tells another story about the old man who she mentioned earlier as well as her travels with her husband and an old hotel they used to like to visit in El Paso.

The drive home is nice, if a bit lengthy.  I check with her periodically to make sure she is OK and comfy.  She smiles and says she is alright.  The closer we are to home, the quieter everyone gets.  I think we are just tired and ready to relax.  Turning on to Leonor's narrow stone street, she starts up, pointing to all the homes and telling us who lives where and what they do.  "The lady on the corner from me is English.  I don't know why, but we never built a friendship" she says. 'It's not from not trying.  We say hello and chat once in a while...but I just think she is one of those people who I just don't care to build anything with..."  As we pull in front of her house, she starts thanking us and telling us what a nice afternoon it has been.  We like Leonor, and this afternoon's surprise lunch visit gave us a glimpse of her we hadn't known.  It definitely strengthened our hunch that we already had.  She's a live wire, fun, and full of stories.

And she definitely likes fish.

Nothing fishy (PT.1)

Things have been getting a bit odd around here lately.  The circle of artists, architects and odd historical figures are getting closer and closer.  I do not believe in coincidence, so this is definitely where some odd paths cross…hopefully for a wonderfully weird and fantastic future.

Last time we saw Pedro, it was at his studio.  He and his family were living there temporarily, and he was just prepping for an exhibition of his in the US.  We sat at a small table in the middle of the room, with unfinished works and wrapped pieces waiting to be shipped out all around us.  He had let his bird loose, so while we chatted and ate we got a few loud squawks in our ears…and Tonya got her finger bitten.  I had not talked with Pedro since, but did receive a brief email.

Two days we were out and about and found ourselves talking to an older woman in the street.  She was wondering what we were doing looking lost, and we were wondering who this old lady was eyeing us up.  Stranger still, she just decides to ask us what we are doing.  Next thing you know we find ourselves in her living room.  Tonya looks at the mantle, and there is an old plaque on display.  It has her husband’s name on it, and underneath, in small letters, ‘ARCHITECT’. Tonya gulps; she asks the old lady if that was her husband.  She says yes, and Tonya nearly drops to the floor.  We are talking to Tonya’s favorite architect’s widow, Leonor.  He was a key player in the ‘scene’ of Mexico in its last gasp of history, in the ol’ Frida and Diego days.  She takes us around the house and we end up chatting in her living room for quite a while.  I am fascinated by the house, and in particular the old photos of her husband on the fireplace mantle.  Beside the fireplace, there is a group of Jesuses that have come off of crucifixes.  Old and broken Christs hanging on the white brick wall, a few darkened with time.  The largest of the bunch has a small, beaded metal chain hanging from his hand.  At the bottom of the chain is a thermometer.  I can’t get over this.

Later that day we get a call from Pedro.  He asks us if we bumped into Leonor.  There is some small talk, and then he invites us over for lunch.  He has moved into his new home, and tells us to come and see it.  This is good news to me!

As we drive to Pedro’s house, Tonya and I debate on what to take; a nice bottle of red wine, or a bottle of tequila.  I opt for the wine, because tequila seems like the typical choice.  As we drive to his new home, we debate on what may be served for lunch.  Will it be tacos or meatballs?  Personally, I am curious.  In the few times we have been to his home and dined, I have enjoyed it.  The food and conversation has been entertaining, not to mention his home and studio.  I am sure today will be no different…plus, we get the bonus of a new house to peruse through.

Thankfully, we arrive before the rain does.  He’s got some giant doors now. Impressive.  We ring the bell and stand on the doorstep waiting for them to open.  Someone yells from above.  We look up, and Pedro is leaning out over his balcony.  He waves and flashes his big smile.  He says someone will open the door in a moment.  We stand facing the giant doors and Tonya says, “Is someone behind there…?” and reaches out to try the door knob.  She gently grabs the knob and looks at me.  Just then, the garage doors open and the maids head pops out.  She smiles and tells us to come in that way.

Pedro’s new house is massive.  It is nice and roomy, loads of room.  Pedro meets us in the main hallway and tells us to come on in.  He leads us up the giant stairway into the dining room.  Pleasantries are exchanged and the wine is sat upon the table.  I look around, and everywhere is artwork, paintings, photographs still wrapped and piled in corners, on tables and at the end of the stairs.  They have only been in three weeks, so there is still plenty to be done.  We hear footsteps and a voice says “Hello!”  We turn to the dining room’s main doorway, and Leonor is smiling as she peeps into the room.  Tonya and I are shocked, we can’t believe it.  We turn to Pedro who is laughing.  He invited Leonor to lunch too.  She comes in and we all hug and say hello.  Now that she is here, Pedro thinks it is time to give us the grand tour…and it is grand.

On the top floor, I notice a small framed photograph on the wall.  It is a photo of Pedro from the 80’s.  He’s smiling and obviously clowning around when the picture was taken.  Written along the bottom of the image in ink it says “La Vida Loca. Mexico…” and a date from the 80’s.  It is signed by the photographer.  I like it, and look at it when I pass by it again.  We run in to his son, who is practicing bass in his room.  He comes out and says hello.  He has no shoes on, and some really great striped socks.  I lean over and tell him, “I like your socks” he smiles and shoots back, “Thank you very much!”  He turns and heads back into his room.

We get downstairs and are winding through the main floor.  He leads us into the kitchen where the maid and her daughter are preparing lunch.  It looks great, and smells great.  The maid grabs a hot pad and opens the over.  She pulls out a huge clay dish; you can hear the main course bubbling up with heat.  She sets it on the counter.  Pedro, Leonor and Tonya gasp with delight.  I reel in horror.  It is a huge fish, drowned in some sort of tomato sauce.  It looks amazing on that dish, and even more so when surrounded by a roomful of smiles.  I don’t like seafood.  I immediately reassure myself that I can fill up on rice and beans.  I am keeping it all to myself though, as I smile too, trying to fake excitement for the dish.  Pedro asks what we all would like to drink.  I just tell him I will have what everyone else is having, “What are you gonna have?” I ask.  He looks at me like it may be a tough decision, then he says quite assured, “I Think I am having a beer”, and he nods his head. “Ok, I’ll have a beer too”.

This is NOT the actual fish, but you get the idea...

Everyone goes to the dining room and Pedro tells each of us where we should sit.  Leonor laughs when she is told to sit at the head of the table.  I sit opposite of Pedro and Tonya.  Pedro’s son will end up sitting beside me, shortly after we begin lunch.  The maid wheels out the fantastically giant clay platter with the giant fish.  The others are thrilled beyond belief.  In no time at all, Leonor has grabbed the big fork and spoon, and started dismantling the fish.  She serves herself a big chunk, and asks for my plate.  Before I can say anything, she gives me a quite sizeable chunk from right behind the head.  As I am pulling my plate back, she tells me to wait, and then ladles on a heaping giant spoonful of the sauce.  I smile, and withdraw my plate.  I immediately pile on the beans and rice to serve as my main choices for lunch.  Leonor has already started eating. “Oh my, this is fabulous…” she said, or something close to it.  Pedro digs in and moans, Tonya follows.  I grab my fork and poke at the fish.  I pull a few pieces off my chunk, and insert it into my mouth.  To my surprise, it is ok.  It is not fishy.  I think I will be able to manage my fish.  I must say, the sauce is quite tasty.  On the other hand, the beans are cold…and that is a bummer.

Pedro tells us of some gala a museum had the night before last.  He met a very famous conductor at the gala.  He says he chatted with the conductor a while, then was introduced to his wife. “I could not stop looking at her” he says somewhat exasperated. “Seriously, she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen” he knows it sounds odd, and he laughs at his confession.  He tells of how charming she is and that she is truly incredibly magnetic.  (Later, when we are at home and walking the dogs, Tonya says that she thinks this woman Pedro was going on about is the very same one who told Tonya to clean up dog pee off the sidewalk.  They are our neighbors).  Pedro moves on from the confessions of being stupefied by this guy’s wife, to a story about this guy’s granddad.  He used to live around the corner from Diego Rivera.  One day while taking the baby out for a stroll, he bumped into Diego. “You have such a lovely child” Diego told the man.  “Can I paint a portrait of your son?”  Pedro tells us that Diego hated painting kids.  The man agreed, and Diego did the painting.  He did a portrait of both children from this man.  Pedro starts to laugh as he continues.  He presented the portraits to the parents, who, of course, were thrilled to have portraits done by Diego.  “The funny thing is…” he says laughing, “When you look at the portrait of the boy, he has Diego’s eyes, Diego’s nose….” And we all start laughing. Pedro is acting it out as it unravels. 

I am constantly amazed at how small the world is.  I am sitting here at Pedro’s house learning about one of Mexico’s biggest treasures, and about our own neighbors.  I had no idea that I was in such close proximity to the prima ballerina of Mexico’s ballet.  It is truly astounding at the daily knowledge of how much history has taken place around me.  Lunch would be a volley of stories coming from Pedro and Leonor.

I keep looking to my left, to Leonor.  She is going crazy on this fish.  Every time I look her way, she is serving herself another portion, and complimenting the maid on what a great job she has done on the fish.  Each time she confesses, Pedro echoes her sentiment.

Leonor’s eyes light up, not from another helping of fish, but from the news she is about to tell.  She is aghast at one of Mexico’s most prominent Notaries (similar to a lawyer).  “Oh, he was a truly elegant and sophisticated man.  He was well travelled, superbly styled and knows everything there is to know about music and literature” she says.  He is well travelled, studied abroad and is the epitome of refinement. The problem is, he is now in the headlines for pulling a massive scam on Mexico City’s elite, pilfering millions of dollars from them and a legal scam.  Just as Leonor is in full swing, Pedro’s wife, Carla, walks in.  She is on a break form work, and is wind tussled and full of energy.  She sits beside me, and nods in agreement with Leonor’s latest news.  She taps me on the leg and sits up straight, and makes like she is straightening a bowtie. “Really, he is exactly as she says.  He is truly refined and so proper.  If you want to know about why Rachmaninoff used this timing in this stanza, he is the one who can tell you.”  She also confides that her own uncle fell victim to the scam, as well as a lifelong friend of the scamster.

Leonor continues with an example of just how prim and proper this guy is. She says she invited him over for dinner.  She was thrilled to be hosting the dinner, and was excited about her guest.  She was so thrilled, as a matter of fact, that when he arrived, she wanted to be the one to greet him.  He rang the bell, the door opens and Leonor says hello.  He reels back, gasping with disbelief.  He chides Leonor, and asks why she stooped so low as to open her own door to a guest.  He insists it is the job of a maid.  Leonor explains that she was just so happy and thrilled he was coming, she wanted to greet him herself.  He wasn’t having it…that was soooo low class.

I am asked if I would like some more fish.  I’m good.  I politely decline and spoon on some more rice.  It was good though, but I am just not that big of a seafood fan.

To be continued...

Three Feet High And Risin'

The smell of coffee is in the air, the emails have been checked and the dogs are going nuts.  That can only mean one thing; time for the morning walk!  Collars on. Leashes on. Its time to go.

Some walks are meant to be adventures and some are strictly routine.  This morning’s is the regular routine.  Truth be told, it is somewhat out of necessity.  Dash refuses to use the restroom in his own yard.  Only under extreme conditions will he do so.  He sits around and acts like a constant nuisance in the mornings.  We open the door and he runs outside with Winston, but Dash will just stand in the driveway and bark to whoever may be on the other side of the wall.  Sunny is a wildcard; sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t.  He usually does his ‘business’ with great stealth, so you never really know if he did or didn’t.  So not matter who did what, we still have to get out because Dash is stubborn.

We head down the hill towards the end of the street. I am in control of the ‘death squad’, Dash and Winston.  These two together are like wild men.  Thankfully, there hadn’t been any other dog sightings this morning, so all is going along smoothly.  We cross the last cross street and I hear a neighbor yell…then Tonya.  There are two loose poodles heading my way!  I look towards the little fuzzy balls coming my way, and tighten up on Dash.  Thankfully, he did not react in some crazed fashion.  He stood still and erect and stared down and the poor excuses of the canine family.  Winston, on the other hand, was acting like the grim reaper and his right hand man were making an unexpected call.  He was frantic, and pulled away, wrapping himself around a tree…making his butt an open target for the little napping fuzz balls.  The owner comes running up, hands waving and in a cold sweat.  His dogs don’t listen to him and it makes him more panicked.  Tonya later tells me that his hands were shaking as he was trying to reconnect the leashes to his pests.

He finally gets them reconnected and we start back on our separate ways.  I kid Winston for being afraid of two little poodles.  We get to the end of the street and the cop is smirking because of the fracas.  I smile back and we say our morning greetings.  Tonya says hello as well and we carry on. He’s our favorite cop and Tonya says it is amazing that almost every time there is a dog incident, it happens when he is on duty and right by his guard house.  I am sure we give him stories to tell his friends.

We walk along a street that used to be a creek.  It feels like you are actually in the woods along this stretch. Once we hit this stretch, it is like Dash is on autopilot.  His business is done in a quick and efficient manner.  We carry on though because if Sunny has not completed his duties, he takes his time and usually does it on the very last inch of soil along this road.  We cross the street to the other side and chat as we slowly meander through the trees.

Sunny suddenly stops.  He sniffs around and starts doing his two step, signaling what is about to happen.  I am surprised because we have barely crossed the street and he is already taking care of business.  As he is hunching over, the plant he is pooping on is bobbing above his head, like some sort of ancient Aztec headdress.  This makes me take notice.

Poop on these.

I lean forward and look at the bouncing leaves.  Sunny is still busy, covering the base of the plant.  I start giggling and am amazed at the sight.  As soon as he finishes I call Tonya over. “Look.  You notice anything strange?” and I point to his place of business.  Tonya walks over and leans down and stares at the mess.  Before she can answer, I laugh “Not his poop!  The plant!”  She stands up, looks at me and utters a simple, “Oh.”  She looks to the plant and back at me.  “You see what that is that Sunny just pooped on?”  I am surprised at the sight.  I tell her to look closely and try her hand at being a botanist.  “It’s marijuana!” I say.  Tonya stands up pertly and looks back at me, “You sure?”  I reply with the typical smart-ass reply, “Uh-DUH.”  She leans over the plant and pulls off a leaf.  It springs back and she stands there, crushes the leaf and takes a sniff. “Oh my gosh. It is!  What is it doing here?  Who put it here…” her list of instant inquiries goes on and on. 

We both have a laugh.  I cannot believe that this bright green, leafy fellow standing about three foot tall is right here!  We pass this very spot every single day, and no one has noticed it until today.  Sunny sniffed it out and immediately pooped on it.  For a brief moment I imagined Sunny as a full time, gainfully employed drug sniffing dog.  I rubbed his head and he looked up at me with his typical bewildered look, and then I realized, ‘Nope.  This is Sunny. No such doings’.  We carry on talking about what crazy turns this morning has taken.  Wild poodles and wild pot plants.  Tonya carries on about the panicked poodle owner.  I think to Lulu and her constant assertions that Mexicans don’t do drugs.  How do you explain this then?  This is a long way away from the border…

As we head back home, we enter back into the neighborhood and back past our favorite cop again.  He smiles a big smile and we do too.  I wonder if he knows what is just around the corner.  The bread guy on a bike rides by and shouts out good morning.  I raise my hand and shout back.  Tonya muses out loud, “Whose do you think it is?  Is it him?  Do you think it is the trash man?”  I guess it will be a mystery. 

Its Right Outside The Door

There have been a few amazing moments within the last 30 days, and both have occurred right outside the front door.  These freak occurrences were literally on our doorstep.  Perhaps they are great examples of extremes.  Both were quite a surprise.

I was lying in bed, doing the typical early morning routine of falling in and out of sleep.  Wake up, look around for a sec and drift back off.  Usually, I am jarred back to life from Sunny bumping into the bed with his morning ritual.  I know when his is ending because of the slow hypnotic licking he does before he gets out of bed (or off his bed).  He is a believer in his morning grooming.

It was just light enough to illuminate the room.  Sunny had started to stir, but not too much.  I was mimicking him, a little bit of tossing and turning, but not too much.  I think we were both drifting off into some early morning feel good dream when it happened.

SWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHH! 

My eyes popped open and at the same time Sunny raised his head up as if it doubled as some sort of look out tower.  He sat still with his head up high and facing the wall.  He looked at me with a sideways glance and sat very still.  He slowly turned his head the other way towards the window.  He and I both stared blankly at the morning blankness outside the window. 

It was an odd sound.  Odd enough to have Sunny sit up and really take note, being on complete alert.  It sounded like a big ‘swoosh’.  It was if God had a giant notepad, took a huge sheet of paper out, held it up right outside the window, and ripped it in half.  Mind you, this would be a God sized piece of paper from his legal pad, so you can imagine the sound and how long it lasted.  Sunny looks back to me and we both decide it is nothing to be concerned about. Not now at least.

When we all decided it was time to get up, we each take turns starting to move around.  Tonya had done her morning stuff and corralled the dogs and had started to make her way downstairs to put some coffee on and let the dogs out.  I was just putting my pants on when I hear her say, “Tim. Come here!”  I start to hurry up and she says in a very firm and loud tone, “Tim. Come down here.  Come look at this” I knew from the tone that this was not typical Tonya.  I slipped on my flip-flops and yelled down to her that I was coming.

Open the door...wall of vines!

I get to the bottom of the stairs and turn and head towards the door.  She is standing with her back to me.  The dogs are standing outside all looking the same direction…straight ahead.  Everyone’s’ backs are facing me, facing what was at hand.  I cannot believe what I see, so I step passed Tonya out onto the driveway. It is amazing.  This must be what the giant swoosh was that Sunny and I heard.

The wall that runs the full length of the yard had been covered in crawling ivy and vines.  This had been a process that had been going on for more than 30 years.  This wall was high too, about 20 feet tall.  30 years of growth now lay peeled back and onto the driveway.  I had never seen anything like this, not had Tonya…or the dogs.  We all stood there and just stared at it.  I walked back and forth, looking at the huge wall of vines, peeled back like cheap wallpaper.  The dogs walked back and forth, sniffing it to try and figure out what was going on too. 

A view looking down the driveway.  Check the scale!

Tonya overcame the surprise and soon became upset.  She called the gardener and asked a few neighbors if they had had this happen before.  There were a few tips and some said they had the very same thing happen to them.  The gardener showed up later and said he would have to cut the whole thing down and dismantle it so it could be put into a truck and driven off.  He says he will return with the proper tools the next day.  The chore of trying to re-hang the vines would prove to be too costly.  The gardener said he didn’t think it would be worth it trying to save parts of it. Tonya arranged to have Sr. Cruz join in and the two would soon be working in tandem to dismantle it all.

Now, everyday I step outside, the driveway feels naked.  It is odd looking at this giant bare wall where just a few weeks ago it seemed like some lush, tropical getaway.

And then today;

I was standing in the kitchen, washing up the dishes left over form breakfast.  We are now in the grips of the rainy season and the skies were turning grey.  Tonya had stepped outside to have a smoke, and coming back in she said, “I think we should take the guys out before it really starts raining.  It is already staring to drizzle”.  I tell her I am washing dishes and as soon as I finish, we could go.  I step up the pace a bit.

I dry my hands and grab my handy jacket.  I tell the dogs we are going for a walk, and on cue, they immediately start to spazz all over the place.  As I walk into the hall to get their leashes I notice that Winston and Dash don’t have their collars on.  I talk purposely loud to the dogs, asking them why Tonya had not put their collars on.  This happens a lot, talking to the dog in overt tones to ridicule your other half who made some stupid mistake.  Likewise, talking to the dogs in a loud tone to commend oneself is done quite often too.  To this day, they have never replied or never agreed.

The further down the street we got, the more it started to rain.  I don’t like walking in the rain, and it is obviously by how wily the dogs start acting, that they are not crazy about it either.  We get to the end of the street and we are starting to get pelted with those big, plump drops that are the size of grapes.  There are not loads of them yet, but each one douses you pretty good.  I tell Tonya we should turn back, before we get drenched.  She agrees.

We had only gone about 50 feet and I notice that it seems to have almost stopped.  I mutter out loud, from underneath my hood, “Wouldn’t you know it….as soon as we get a block up, it stops raining”.  We carry on though because I would feel even more stupid if we turned around and started back downhill again.   The situation changed drastically about two blocks from home.  The view ahead started to go fuzzy with a solid sheet of rain.  The dogs are already giddy and irritated because of this scenario, so when I prompt them to run, they are more than willing.  The faster we go and the closer we get the thicker and harder the rain falls.  By the time we reach the front gate, it is a monsoon style downpour.  Tonya and the guys head towards the door and I lock up the gate behind me.  By the time I get to the entryway, it is under a thin layer of water.  Tonya has gone into the house trying to get to the dogs before they get the furniture soaking wet.  I step inside trying not to slip and all I hear is her yelling at each of them in the den. “Something is wrong with Winston’s leg.  Come look at it…” she says.

I follow the small trail of water into the den and it splits three ways, onto the couches and cushy chairs.  Winston is rubbing himself on the furniture, while holding his hind leg up.  He’s slipping and sliding while the other dogs go from couch to couch, rubbing and jumping.  The towels we keep handy to dry the dogs are soaked and Tonya says she will run up and grab another towel.  I grab Winston and check his foot.  Tonya comes back and I rough Winston up with the new towel.  He likes being tossed around when he gets dried off.  I don’t notice anything wrong, and diagnose that he must have slid on the wet concrete and maybe pulled a muscle.  I then announce that I am going upstairs to put on some dry clothes.  Winston follows me up and immediately starts to dampen the bed as he starts rubbing himself all over the comforter.  Tonya follows up a few seconds later and we both slip into something dry.  As we stand there chatting, we both notice just how hard it is coming down. “This is crazy.  I think this is the hardest it has rained since we’ve been in Mexico” Tonya says.  “Is that hail?” she adds.

Tonya goes downstairs and I yell down to her, “We will have to check the driveway, to see if it is flooding!”  She answers back saying it may have already began to flood.  I walk into the study and look out the window. It looks like a wild stream below.  The water is flowing so rapidly it is foaming! “Hey!  You better take a look” I yell from the study.

I make my way down stairs and head straight to the door.  I was expecting the hallway to be underwater.  I walk carefully so as not to slip and reach for the door. 

Open the door today...ice!

I open the door and I immediately see smoke.  I look down and the water is about a hair away from coming into the house.  I stare at the huge swirling pool that was once a driveway.  It looks like someone had been playing too hard on a giant beanbag, and all those white foam BB sized balls are everywhere. Wait.  That pile of beanbag stuffing on the doorstep is not Styrofoam.  That frothy water is not froth after all.  That white mass swirling in the driveway and piled right at my feet is ice!  That is not smoke I saw either, but my breath.  The temperature had dropped drastically outside and it actually looks like it is snowing.

That ain't foam.

The temperature difference fogged the lens, ice is starting to pile in the back.

Now it is my turn to call Tonya to the door to gaze upon the wonders at our doorstep.  She is amazed.  I walk into the dining room.  All the windows in the house are fogged up.  I open one up to look in the backyard and Tonya comments on how thick and how much steam is going out of the house and my mouth.  The yard is white.  It is truly amazing to see the fine film of ice everywhere.  I walk back to the front door to check to see if we are flooding yet.  I open the door and laugh at the amount of condensation rising from breathing.  I look at the even larger pile of ice on the doorstep, then the now solid white driveway.  I think to myself about everyone at home.  Tomorrow they will celebrate July 4 and probably on the verge of melting.  I smile at the thought of unbearable temperatures at home, and it is only the start of July.  I look at the dense pile of fine hail on the doorstep and thank God that I am not there.  I have a pile of shaved ice on my doorstep and at home, they would be heaping piles of ice in their glasses to help cool down.  I’ll take my fine pile of ice in early July any day of the week! 

Happy Fourth y’all!