Some of the literature says that the cactus known as Queen of the Night (Epiphyllum oxypetalum) blooms only once or twice a year but if that is the case, we may need to rewrite the book.
Our Queen just does not want to leave center stage.
That is the endearing attraction of this ivory bloom: It opens up one night in a spectacular display and with the morning’s light, all that remains is a drooping shallow resemblance of its formerly glorious self.
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In counseling the British writer Robert Graves on a possible move to Majorca, Gertrude Stein called it “a paradise – if you can stand it.”
And that is as good an explanation as any of the complicated relationship many people have with Jimmy Buffett. The man sold a brand of paradise. Millions bought at least some version of it – be it a beachy lifestyle, the music, a devotion to margaritas, Hawaiian shirts and sandals, sportfishing, sailing, and all the Margaritaville bars, retirement communities, casinos, resorts …
Buffett wasn’t the first to turn a lifestyle into a commodity but few seem to do it better. Maybe Donald Trump. These days you can be a cradle-to-grave Parrothead with apologies toward none. More than anything, we worship success and if a guy sells a million records or makes a million dollars, he will find no shortage of admirers.
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As a writer, I don’t think I’ve grown less creative over the years. As the husband to Rose Alcantara, I don’t think I’ve grown less ardent in my love and appreciation.
Still, I wrote this declaration on her birthday (which is today) during our first year in San Miguel de Allende, and I don’t think I can improve upon it:
“Feliz cumpleaños, Rose Alcantara, el amor de mi vida! Cada año creces más hermosa. Tienes un alma que nunca envejece y un corazón que crece para llenarse en cada momento. Estoy tan agradecido de que estés en mi vida. Te amaré por siempre.
Happy Birthday, Rose Alcantara, the love of my life! Each year you grow more beautiful. You have a soul that never ages and a heart that grows to fill every moment. I am so grateful that you are in my life. I shall love you forever.”
Nothing has changed.
If anything, my sense of wonder grows as I see Rose through the eyes of others, as I see how passionately she prepares for her every Pilates class, as I see her smile lift a whole room of weighted souls, as I see her love for her children and mine played out daily, as I see her planning our next adventures, as I see her embracing life as something to live and not just abide, as I see her response to every act of kindness, as I see her own compassion, as I see her.
Yes, simply, as I see Rose.
Not just be with her, but, see her. See inside. See the love. See the pain. See the hurt. See the worry. See the desire. See the happiness. See the vision. See everything that she has overcome to be the dancer, be the teacher, be the mother, be the wife, be the friend.
Once again, the gift today is mine. Thank you for traveling this path with me. Thank you for teaching me how to really live, that just abiding is not enough.
While I can only give you words, you have given me life.
Happy birthday, Rose.
The voice is young, sweet, innocent and yet, broken in a way only love’s betrayal can scar.
She accompanies herself on a guitar, languidly strumming. Not living, not dead. In the between. In the neverland of a broken heart. The vocalist drags out the last words of each line, as if groping toward a precipice. It may be in Spanish but it feels very French.
The singing is coming from an upper patio of the building next door.
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Matthew 25:40: “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me. “
And the rain pours down
Like on no day before.
My Rose takes our red umbrella
And hangs it over the hummingbird’s nest.
.
Like on no day before
But the three tiny eggs
And their mother stay dry.
.
And the rain pours down
Like on no day before
But my Rose thinks only
Of the frailest among us.
.
My heart fills with love
For a woman who thinks like that.
Let the rain pour down
Like on no day before.
Postscript: There are now babies in the nest and Rose lets me place the umbrella up when it starts to rain. Sometimes.
Every time I think that I’ve photographed the Parroquia San Miguel de Arcangel from every conceivable angle during the past five years, something new comes along.
It’s like in physics. Scientists were pretty sure that the Standard Model that addresses all “of nature’s known particles and forces” was The Overall Encompassing Answer to Everything.
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(The author begs your indulgence if you already read this on Facebook. The blog seems a better home for it. Thank you for reading and commenting. — The editor)
A whole ocean spreads out before them
But for two little boys
A string of shallow pools
And some rocks
Are quite enough.
Splashing water with foot-stomping fierceness
They move rocks from pool to pool.
They wallow in the deepest one
Like beached sea lions.
All the while, the ocean calls
In vain.
It sends dolphins to entice them
But the boys will have none of that.
Yesterday, at a children’s park,
It was the rolling green lawn, the wind twisted climbing trees, and the incurious squirrels
That captivated their imaginations.
Not the swings, not the slides, not the plastic and rope confections of an adult’s imagination.
They are like cats with boxes and Christmas wrapping.
Give us nature’s raw materials,
they seem to say,
And we will build sailing ships and castles
And fantastic flying machines
In our fertile minds.
They did it. The Loco marched, danced, walked, twirled, teased, sweated, tossed candy and rubber balls, waved, smiled, and consumed copious amounts of water and electrolyte drinks on Sunday morning.
And the thousands lining both sides of many downtown San Miguel de Allende streets loved every hot and sticky, broiling, joyous moment of the Contvite de Locos.
What an incredible day.
The city estimates that 130,000 people were in San Miguel for the parade, of whom 5,300 were Locos marching in the parade. Only 43 people required medical attention for heat, falling, tripping, or other maladies. Four individuals were arrested during this very family-oriented festivity.
It is worth noting that the city staffed a number of “hydration stations” along the parade route for marchers and watchers.
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You know that feeling? Like you are being watched by somebody in the park? Somebody you can’t see. But those eyes …
This morning while walking the gentle philosophy dog, Moppit, in Parque Guadiana I couldn’t shake the feeling there there were eyes upon me.
Well, I wasn’t completely wrong.
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And the Creator said, “epiphyllum oxypetalum, you shall be a cactus, though you do not look like one. Once a year and only at night, you shall bear forth beautiful flowers while the world sleeps. Before dawn your flowers shall wither away, but only before being ravaged by bats.”
The epiphyllum oxypetalum did not understand this curious fate but it knew better than to argue with the Creator.
Perhaps the Creator felt a little guilty because later, the epiphyllum oxypetalum was given a lovely and pronounceable name: Queen of the Night.
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Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 