You know those squeezy squeaky toys babies and dogs like so much? Sometimes they're fuzzy and sometimes they're naked, sometimes they're puppies and sometimes they're hot dogs; but they all have a little valve in them that makes a high pitched squeak like a castrated accordion. You know which ones I mean?
Cripes, I have so much catching up to do! With the help of the blog goddesses, I hope to get to it all, because if there's anything I can't stand it's an unfinished story, except for somebody telling me the end before I get to it.
Let's see. Since I last wrote an entry, we watched a total eclipse of the moon, one of earth's marvels.
We've had Semana Santa and Easter. The town was packed with visitors, cars, campers, and vendors.
The crowds were respectful and mellow in San Pancho, although that many people do impact the pueblo for the ten days of festivities. Chayo who owns La Taza de Café and Maria Inez who owns Maria's Restaurant mounted a great campaign to raise pesos to pay local residents to clean up the beach and the streets. They did a super job, joined by Cayetano our mayor, who worked side by side with the cleaning crew.
This ice chest is filled with fresh-caught fish, by the way.
And this egg was one of several that were mysteriously hidden around La Casita Mágica on Easter Day. Turned out the main bunny was Joslin Carson, goddess of the San Pancho turtle project, aided by her junior bunny daughters.
In the middle of all this, Craig left for St. Louis and was away eleven days during which he replicated a huge antique sign on the side of a brick building, held an art show, saw a lot of friends, performed with his band, ate his mama's home cooking, and took his son and grandchildren to the St. Louis Zoo. Doug drove all the way from eastern Ohio to visit Craig and so was there to help out with stuff and attend all the events. Ten hours each way! Now that's a buddy.
I held down the fort. Kept the gallery open. Mostly I worked obsessively for five days on a new website, which you'll be able to take a look at soon enough. That was fun, as I'd never built a website before so I had lots to explore and learn. I went totally into geek mode, one of my favorite modes to go into. I enjoyed the writing a lot, too, because I believe in what I'm saying, which is not unusual but it was interesting to write a business-y website the way I write this blog. Plus it's always enjoyable to fool around with photos. The website's not done yet but it's close. In between, I got the house semi-organized (scraped the surface anyway), went to meetings and music, had a sewing/mending day with Carol Lee, and posted on the La Casita Mágica facebook page. And the days flew by.
So the other day I was having a little siesta up in my room during a power outage. Town was quiet. Relatively. With no ceiling fan available, I had my windows and drapes open to catch any vagrant breeze. I was just lying there on my back, not committed to sleeping, but liking the feeling of perfect physical rest. I relaxed into it, banishing any real thoughts. Instead, I started listening.
The people across the street have a new puppy. It's a chihuahua mix, as are so many of the dogs around here. Looks like it has a bit of something fuzzy in it because it's less naked than most chihuahuas. It's cute. I've only ever seen it twice, but I've heard it more often than that.
Maybe they put it in a box or a room sometimes, I don't know. Or on a leash, although you wouldn't need much more than a noodle to hold it. Whatever it is, the puppy doesn't like it much. He objects vociferously. He whines and he yelps in his high-pitched chihuahua-mix voice, and he sounds exactly like one of those squeaky toys which is why I mentioned them earlier.
I listened to him for a while. In between his outbursts, I listened for other sounds. The tootle of a trumpet, over the hill where the banda guys hang out and rehearse, thankfully not every night. By itself, the trumpet sounded sweet enough drifting through the afternoon.
Over on the neighbor's roof, our commonest blackbirds were moaning to each other. They're called great tailed grackles, but I call them the woe-is-me birds for their mournful vocals. I researched them and was delighted to discover that they have long been known for their sad and self-pitying call, and that Mexican legend says they have seven different songs known as the Seven Passions of Life: Love, Hate, Fear, Courage, Joy, Sadness, and Anger. That's one of my favorite things I've learned lately.
The chickens were, as usual, directly below my bedroom window, burbling and pluk-pluk-plukking, which sound is not unpleasant. The giant bald rooster that bosses them around is a different story altogether and I admit to a number of sleepless two-in-the-mornings when I've finally drifted off to the happy thought of hiring a rooster hitman. Does anybody know the lifespan of a rooster? Please tell me it's shorter than a parrot's.
Speaking of loud birds, do you have a peacock in your neighborhood? We do. It was MIA for a while, relocated to the new polo fields, maybe, but now it's back, down at the old polo club where it belongs. It has a distinctive call that doesn't sound at all birdish, is more like a cross between a splashed cat and a baby pricked with a diaper pin. Sharp noises provoke its response, three or four raucous screams in answer to the youngsters on the basketball court or a passing vendor.
Like the mattress truck. Where else can you have bed frames and mattresses delivered to your door without ever having ordered them? The driver/announcer is very proud of that and tells us all about it as he winds through the village. We residents have to wonder just how many mattresses a guy sells in a day driving around little towns. How many beds do people need? I admit I've considered buying one from him, wood frame and mattress, and adding posts to the frame for a drape of mosquito netting. We could use an extra daybed/visitor bed down in the studio. Lidia forbids me from talking with the guy, says she'll do the negotiating (to protect me from the infamous Gringo Pricing Tier) then tell him where to deliver it. She's my champion. Soon as we manage to coordinate our efforts we may just buy one.
I suppose driving one's mattresses from town to town is more entertaining than sitting in a storefront waiting for customers. I like the gypsy caravan method of selling stuff that's so popular here in Mexico. There really is a guy who goes around selling medicines and potions and herbal concoctions, kind of like Professor Marvel in Wizard of Oz.
Professor Marvel's wagon reminds me of the clopclop of horses walking on cobblestones, which I also hear. I don't know of many sounds finer than that, especially during a siesta. It's such an earthy sound, soothing to the psyche, infinitely preferable to a car alarm, for example, a racket I also hear at times from the house below me. It's always the same car. It's obviously not being assaulted, and yet it wails, for an hour at a time some days. What's up with that? What is wrong with the people who own it? Why don't they fix it? I wonder if the rooster hitman does car alarms too.
But that day last week as I was enjoying my siesta fiesta of sounds, the car alarm was quiet. The trumpet notes floated through my room, Moy passed by down on main street hawking his fruits and vegetables, the grackles commiserated with each other on the neighbors' roof, a horse trotted by on the road below…and across the street, the squeezy squeaky toy squeaked on and on and on.
Ahhh, the roosters of San Pancho & the sounds of silence. :)
Posted by: 2KOOKS | April 24, 2015 at 06:46 AM