We have endured some serious times. Try not to take much of what follows seriously.
Seems impossible that months have passed since my last missive but as they say, Tempis Fugit. Actually no one says that anymore. It was last spoken in a classroom full of back-stabbing students harboring aspirations of getting into medical school and before that by a veritable host of long departed Romans who at least left us with the aqueduct and those Chianti bottles that came wrapped in wicker.
Moving on, what has happened in the last four and a half months that might be of interest to anyone in attendance? N……………….g. That’s probably about right so I’m going to unload a whole lot of stuff that will be of interest to no one but may at least make your own life seem more fulfilling. Oh yeah, Spaghetti. The Romans might have been involved in that also. So in February I got to be the artist of the month at our local art gallery. I had my first and probably last art show. Opening night was a Florida winter evening of cold and freezing rain during the Covid lockdown. I think my paintings were well received by all three people who attended – at least they were kind enough to let me think so. I say probably my last show because at our delicate age we do not have time to linger over such successes but must surge ahead and go kicking and screaming “into that good night
I have since finished a couple of large paintings that are a bit more abstract which we no longer have enough wall space for.
Sometime in between brush strokes we got our Covid vaccines and have since been spinning as frantically as moths around a lightbulb at night. Got back together with our running group, returned to exercise classes, stopped watching the news, frequented restaurants – we’re exhausted! But our thoughts turned to travel. The world is opening anew and Susan’s sister and husband recently moved to Mexico. Yes it’s hard to believe. But their hunger for tamales was insatiable and her sister always wanted her own burro. They were the only ones climbing the wall to get into Mexico! To add to the drama, they were smuggling in gin and vermouth which sugests the drug trade goes in both directions. Having gained confirmation that the alcohol had arrived safely Susan made airline reservations for us to check out their new abode. Turns out they too could have gone by air……. Olive oil! Another great contribution which I’m sure the Romans had their hand in – and probably the rest of their bodies! Anyway, her sister and husband moved to San Miguel de Allende, a colonial-era city in Mexico’s central highlands and a hotbed for American expats. It’s full of artists, writers, dreamers, tax evaders, ex CIA operatives, other creative types, those who just enjoy a good Martini and a few Mexicans. We had a great time. While I was there I would uncontrolably shout out “Enchillada!” or “Ole!” or “Taco Bell!” It’s a mystery. The natives were understanding and kept offering me death masks which are quite poplar in their culture. These are couple of photos to give you a feel for the place. I was surprised having really expected it to be a more about sombreros, burros, lots of dust and families racing north for the border. We vowed we would learn Spannish before we returned. That’s not going so well, as you might imagine, due to my newfound interest in Latin and Roman numerals. Heres a good one – MCCVII
The next few pictures are of Susan’s sister’s house.
So that’s how it goes when you sacrifice everything and move to Mexico! Doesn’t it just make you want a burrito?
We are currently on a once in a lifetime Great American Road Trip crossing the country to get to our western grandchildren. We are not in the Flowered Volkswagon Minivan as was suggested, much to Susan’s dismay, but are cruising the highways and byways – all back roads- in an Orange Subaru Cross Trek sleeping in tents, on park benches and living on peanut butter! We are resting for a few days in Santa Fe, in the “New” Mexico taking in the art and food and sleeping on a bed.
It is nearly certain that I have already shared too much and have lost half of my readers, so may stop now and return in the not too distant future with tales of adventure in Alabama, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Nevada and all points in between – and the glories of jousting with windmills along the way.
OK, since you asked.
A Roman walks into a bar, holds up two fingers and says “Five beers, please.”
As spoken by a deceased Roman,
From the Grump stump.