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
Something 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
What 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
The 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
What could be more romantic than a carriage pulled by two black steeds, ready to whisk away the new bride and groom?
If it is Saturday, there are weddings to be had at the Parroquia de San Miguel in Centro.
Wedding parties are stacked up like planes over O’Hare, waiting to touch down in the gaudy sanctuary for their moment of nuptualism.
Yet, there is no assembly line feel to all this. Continue reading
Riders paused in front of the Parroquia for prayers, selfies, regrouping, and socializing before riding out of town.
Hundreds of cowboys and cowgirls have come to town for the blessings of the church on riders and their mounts on Friday, Nov. 8 around 5 p.m. More riders may gallop through Centro on Saturday.
They are celebrating the feast of St. Martin, patron saint of horse riders. Continue reading
The pied pipers of San Miguel, leading a birthday party down Cuna de Allende on Thursday evening, November 7, 2019.
The thing about San Miguel de Allende is, when you set off to do one thing, something else pops up along the way.
Then something else.
Then something else again.
And so on, until you are back home again. Continue reading
Our downstairs neighbor Jimmy Hickey painted Rose and Caira for Dia de Muertos on Saturday (last day of a three-day observance.)
Jimmy favors the more-colorful “sugar skull” Catrina look, rather than the scarier black-and-white skulls. I think it works with these two!
We’re blessed to have such creative neighbors! Jimmy and his wife, Gina Bradley, both worked in the animation industry. He was an artist and she was a production manager, most recently called out of retirement by Disney to work on “Frozen II.” Jimmy worked for Hanna-Barbera, Pixar and a lot of freelance animation. Continue reading
A lot of people don’t know this but Rose Alcantara is a shy person. You wouldn’t think it if you ever took one of her pilates or yoga classes.
But that shyness extends to her photography, too.
Whereas I take lots of pictures and post them willy-nilly to the blog, my wife sits down with her iPhone and hits delete, delete, delete, delete, delete. Continue reading
They came pouring down Calle Nemesio Diez from the direction of the tony Rosewood Hotel. Skeletal faces, gloriously made up and draped in period-piece finery.
These were the traditional — and many untraditional — Catrinas and Catrines of Dia de Muertos.
They walked slowly, awkwardly — the effect being of spirits who’d just crossed over the void and had not yet accustomed their spindly bone legs to cobblestone streets. Continue reading
