Back Where I Belong Again

At this point I have completely given myself over to my own fascination with the old mining town of Mineral de Pozos, which is a little over an hour's drive from my home here. It is something akin to Oscar Wilde's adage that the best way to deal with temptation is to yield to it. By my count this is the sixth time that I have put up photos of either the town or the abandoned mining complexes in the vicinity.

The Island

I find myself returning often now, returning to books that I have already read, returning to places that I have already been. There is an appeal for me about a return. There is always something new to be found upon returning to anything except people and the United States of America. So it was that last Sunday I returned to the island of Janitzio in Lake Pátzcuaro.

Wherefore are thou?

Whereas some of us labor in confusion and insofar as anyone cares whereof she spoke, whensoever Juliet asked “Wherefore art thou, Romeo?” and whencesoever she asked it, be it on that balcony wherefrom we overheard her in the night whereinto she spoke and whereon and whereupon he soon appeared in front of that door wherethrough he later proceeded to her bed or wheresoever else, Romeo's whereabouts was not the mystery whereon she brooded. The mystery wherewith she was perplexed was why Romeo did exist, a question whereunto she herself had not the wherewithal to respond, “wherefore” being a synonym of “why,” which means “for what purpose.”

On Second Thought . . .

. . . perhaps there are a handful of photos of the parade here that are interesting. And after all, I can be forgiven for a second installment of photos this year in view of the fact that last year I posted four installments on Dia de los Locos. 

The lesson there, I suppose, is this. Some people are never the victims of any irrational enthusiasms at all. Others have difficulty getting their irrational enthusiasms under control. I am getting this one under control now.

Another Weekend, Another Fiesta

. . . but this fiesta, Dia de los Locos, Day of the Crazies, holds a special place in my heart. In truth it is only another excuse to fire off a truckload of aerial bombs, but I love it. A huge costume party it is. This fiesta also happens to coincide with St. Anthony's own special weekend. He is the patron saint of my neighborhood, colonia san antonio.

Finally! My Own Pyramid

After crossing the border in early June two years ago, feeling as if I had dropped off the edge of the world in that hell hole called Reynosa, I drove nonstop to this city, napping in the truck along the side of the road when necessary. The plan was firm at that point. I was heading toward the deep south, Oaxaca and then San Cristóbal de Las Casas in the state of Chiapas. My only reason for visiting this city was that I had promised some friends, a couple who had visited this city and loved it, that I would.

A Baseball Homecoming

It has been said by so many American men that it is nearly a cliché. Had it not been for baseball my father and I would not have had anything at all to talk about. In my case because of baseball we had a lot to talk about. At least until Alzheimer's Disease took away all his interest in the game. Then the complexity of what was happening in a game in front of him was beyond his grasp. This, I know, was frustrating for him. He refused to watch at all during his last years. Even worse from my point of view, he no longer had any interest in reminiscing about the games he had seen in his life.

At Peace with The Painter of Light™

I almost dropped the April issue of ARTFORUM when I scanned the table of contents. Almost lost my grip on it. ARTFORUM is a big, glossy magazine that will hurt you if it lands just right on the top of your bare foot. I quickly tire of holding it and move to the kitchen table to read it. Let the kitchen table hold it.