San Miguel de Allende, Writings

Happy Birthday, Rose

I didn’t even know we had roses.

Well, a rose. This one you see above.

It bloomed on Saturday. One of a kind. A lone rose.

It bloomed just hours before the Running of the Roses.

And it bloomed for my Rose,

Who celebrates her birthday on Monday.

Also a one-of-a-kind Rose.

Which raises my once-a-year question:

What do you give to the woman who IS everything?

A woman for whom a rose blooms on cue?

The pandemic has changed what is really important.

Instead of a new dress with nowhere to wear it,

I want to offer her security in an uncertain world.

Instead of a 1,000-piece puzzle of an exotic destination,

I want to offer her unwavering devotion in a fickle world.

Instead of a nifty new pasta maker with seven attachments,

I want to offer her unconditional love in a divided world.

Instead of a store-bought birthday card,

I want to offer her this, a rose not quite as beautiful as her soul.

And my humble words.

Happy birthday, Rose, the woman who is everything.

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Memoirs -- fact and fiction, San Miguel de Allende, Writings

When your kids hand you a slice of home-made ‘American Pie,’ devour it with delight

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A scene from Ambergris Cay, Belize, on Easter morning, 2015. The building on stilts is called “The Wedding Shack.”  At one time, newlyweds were rowed out there and abandoned until they consummated their marriage — or ran out of champagne.

It is not every year that a man turns 70, especially in a year when a global contagion seems to be targeting his demographic with the determination of an avenging angel.

Virus or no virus, I never expected to see this day. In truth, I never expected to see 30, or 40, or … well, you get the picture. I’ve always had this premonition, like a renewable annuity, that this decade or the next could very well be my last. Continue reading

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Memoirs -- fact and fiction, San Miguel de Allende, Uncategorized

Rose’s birthday season draws to a close … whew!

 

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A piece of birthday cake from the staff at Hank’s in Centro, San Miguel de Allende.

Well, the Rose Alcantara Birthday Season has closed the books on another year.

Whew.

Since the day she was born — on Sept. 7, mumble … mumble–  the world has often felt a rather frenzied uptick in activity and happiness in the week’s preceding this event.

Long before I met Rose, her birthday season was filled with road rallies, theatrical skits and dancing, scavenger hunts, magical enterprises and most importantly, lots of friends and family.

My idea of a birthday celebration is the sound of the escaping hiss from a single can of beer in an otherwise vacant and monastically enshrouded livingroom. Or on an empty beach. It is in April and usually, that means a cold and rainy and empty beach. Continue reading

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