This is the first moment in nearly two weeks I have had time to stop, sit down, breathe in and absorb the Mexico that surrounds me. It is peaceful and quiet now. No painters, no contractors, no gardener or maid, even no Melanie. She is off in Ajijic, girl-shopping with Lynda.
I am smelling the scent of rosemary. It is coming from directly below, from a cluster of growth which, if left untended, could qualify by its trunk size alone as a small tree. In its present form, it would take four people, arms outstretched, to encircle it. The steeple bell rings in the village of San Juan Cosala below. The consistent, cool breeze is blowing off the lake. This is one of the moments I will remember.
Painting is done for now, except for one patch which is giving Jose and Jorge no end of trouble. Here, nothing is made from wood and drywall; it's all brick, concrete and mortar. And the paint will simply not adhere to one particular area of a freshly repaired wall. It's a first-world problem.
Monday morning, bright and early, we will hit the trail for Nuevo Laredo and home. I'm looking forward to pulling into my driveway and opening the front door. Soon afterward, pandemonium will prevail.
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