San Miguel de Allende, Writings

I started the day by rescuing a hummingbird

IMG_8883I started the day by rescuing a hummingbird

That had been locked in the atrium all night

And was exhausted from beating

Its wings and head

Against the glass.

It rejected my offer of help last night.

Exhaustion and a cold night made it wiser today.

And freedom is its reward.

And then I walked Moppit, the philosopher dog

While counting the hot-air balloons in the sky.

And took a Pilates class.

And stopped at Buonforno’s for a latte

With Bastoncito de avellanas.

Delicious.

I wrote something funny/mean about Donald Trump

That I do not regret

And something important for a friend

Who is not happy with

The way this world is today

And wants to do something about it.

I gave another friend

Directions to the laundry.

A laundry.

There are so many.

All morning, I said

“Buenos Dias” and “Hola”

To everyone I met and didn’t care

If they returned my smile,

Though nearly everyone does.

And now it is nearly noon.

I could have stopped

At “I started the day by rescuing a hummingbird,”

But I’m glad I didn’t.

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San Miguel de Allende

Miss the parade? Well, just hang around for a while …

IMG_9970Well, I missed the civic and military parade today.

As I turned on to the Ancha, I could see in the distance the bright green uniforms of the municipal sanitation crew, standing politely — and at a distance — behind the last of the horseback riders.

The horses always take up the rear of any San Miguel de Allende parade. And for good reason.

This parade celebrates the 1769 birth of Ignacio Allende — the city’s namesake and among the heroes who launched the War of Independence in 1810 that eventually drove Spain from the country. Continue reading

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

María Sánchez: Broken hearts, mescal dreams, and torch songs

San Miguel torch singer María Sánchez gave a stunning concert under the trees near Parque Juarez on Saturday, backed by the talent-rich Usual Suspects including Julián Arcos, Rubén Olivera, and Victor Monterrubio.

She is a wonderful singer for whom, my wife says, I carry a big crush. “He moans when she sings,” she tells friends.

Maybe so, on both accounts.

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María Sánchez with her beautiful new granddaughter, Olivia, after her performance.

Her singing does something to me. I can’t deny it. But I am mature enough to separate the singer from the song, from the real person beneath it all. I think. I mean, I was wondering “What on earth is María Sánchez doing singing outside, and at 1 p.m.?” So my imagination does slip in through the backdoor when she sings.

In my mind, she is a torch meant to burn only in the night when the heart and soul are at their darkest and most lonely. Obviously, I do have fantasies about María Sánchez. 

Rather than spoil her concert by trying to describe it, below is the story that wrote itself as I sat in the bright sunlight, listening to her sing. Any relationship to people living or dead is strictly coincidental. Blame it on mescal: Continue reading

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San Miguel de Allende, Writings

In the face of so many who died, ‘I am not resigned. I am not resigned. I am not resigned’

img_9851I have never been good with deaths, weddings, baptisms, or birthdays. Even holidays. Christmas always felt designed to highlight my personal ineptitude at selecting presents for people I love but should get to know better.

Lately, deaths seem to overshadow all else.

I don’t know about you, but I lost an awful lot of good colleagues and friends in 2019. Continue reading

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Rants and raves, San Miguel de Allende

In San Miguel’s Centro: Our Lady of the Steps

She sits on the cold stone stoop. She looks neither left nor right.

Her head is bowed, mostly, her left hand extends for alms.

The hand rests on her knee. It is rigid and curled into an unnatural cup. A shape carved over a lifetime. A boney cup meant to hold, pesos, centavos.

Give or don’t give. It is all the same. Continue reading

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San Miguel de Allende

Why I love San Miguel: Walked down the Ancha to get the mail … and this is what I saw

IMG_9112Something was a little off when Moppit and I reached the Ancha on our walk early this morning. Not a single car was parked on the normally busy thoroughfare that divides Centro from Colonia San Antonio.

On any other day, both curbs would be lined with cars.

Either somebody was going to be moving a giant house down the street on a flatbed — or there was a parade scheduled. Continue reading

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Rants and raves, San Miguel de Allende

I know why the caged flowers sing

IMG_9029What crimes were perpetrated upon society, so heinous that such innocent-looking flowers should be locked behind bars?

I ask you.

Are they behind these bars for our protection?

Are they the offspring of legendary Bella Donna? Kin to the deadly sweet-smelling Nerium Oleander? Gang members of Titan Arum, alias the stinky “corpse plant”? Continue reading

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Rants and raves, San Miguel de Allende

Pickup art: Bed-time stories

artpickupThe bed of a pickup truck is probably the last place most of us would go looking for art.

The pickup truck has one job: to haul things. We fill the beds with wood, bricks, dirt, furniture, boxes, people, camping gear, tools, food, stuff and more stuff  … then we haul it from Point A to Point B.

Job well done. Continue reading

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San Miguel de Allende

A guest video blogger offers a fresh look at San Miguel … and our home

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My guest video blogger Caira Button is the Catrina on the right. Her lovely assistant is Catrina Rose Alcantara. Facial art is by our talented friend and neighbor Jimmy Hickey.

Good news, Musings & Magic fans, we have a guest blogger today!

A guest VIDEO blogger.

Let me introduce Caira Button, daughter of my dear wife, Rose Alcantara, and an accomplished video blogger who lives in Chicago. Continue reading

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Rants and raves, San Miguel de Allende

‘I rescue hummingbirds’

IMG_8932Hummingbirds are drawn to the atrium at the top of our stairwell.

The blue glass lantern looks like a feeder, I think.

But the atrium is like a fish wier.  Once a bird flies in, it can’t get out.

There is something sad and poetic about this, as they flutter from corner to corner. Like little feathered Marcel Marceaus, they feel the edges of the glass box, probe the invisible, flap wings against the glass.

Freedom is a fraction of an inch away but the glass will not yield to their perceptions.

Sometimes, on the outside, a mate flies up to the glass. You can feel the concern. Continue reading

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