Friday, February 27, 2009

Further adventures in Mexican medicine

I woke up at 2AM a few nights ago with an itchy eye. I thought it was just allergies from the incredibly nasty/cheap apartment we had rented while the boat's out of the water but when I looked in the mirror the white of my eye looked like a venomous jellyfish complete with pulsing red tentacles and evil blue nerve center (I can hear some of you say, "Yes, but Adam that's how it always looks!" but really, this was not normal)
I first tried to poke it into submission which didn't help but made me fully awake enough to realize this could be serious. It felt like something was in there and as I was splashing water I was going through the list of the day's possible candidates: rusted metal; boat bottom paint; rusted metal covered in boat bottom paint and Coca-Cola (don't ask) ... Now I'm totally awake and briefly contemplating what I would look like with a glass eye [insert story of one-eyed Supercuts hairdresser who gets smacked by disgruntled customer] which is when I wake up Jessica and say we need to go to the hospital. We wake the baby who quickly is cheerful and ready for adventure which is good because the only ride available at that time of night was some drunken waiters who happily let Jessica drive us all toward the "expensive" hospital--San Javier's--while they take pictures of T with their cell phones and finish their to-go cups. Maybe too much adventure, on second thought, I'm thinking this is a trip to the hospital after all so we pull off at the airport and hop in a cab for the rest of the trip even though our drunk waiter friends beg us to save money by driving their car. My eyeball is at stake, I figure now is the time to spend. We arrive at San Javier's and after about 30 minutes and no paper work whatsoever I'm seen by an eye specialist--it's 4AM. The doctor and examining room look very legit and he even has a special eye examining contraption which allows him to find and remove the offending bit whose origins I never did determine. The situation finally seems under control, my eye feels better, and now I'm starting to wonder how much this is all going to cost us. He gave me a prescription which I filled at the in-house pharmacy for $35 and then I walk up to the guy at the front desk and ask for the bill...$120.
after witnessing Cheli and Nick's wedding in the nearby town of Valle, we look at pictures and eat jumbo shrimp

(Aside: some thoughts upon returning from Cheli and Nick's wedding.
Driving with our new Italian friend Marisa [above, gray hair] is a death-defying pleasure. Gripping her beer between her knees, she shouts at another driver, “Puta madre! Tomalo en el culo, cretino!”

“‘Fuck you’ es normal,” she explains a moment later. “So I mix it up and say ‘Take it in the ass’.”

Anyway, Italian is fun. After eating the lasagne she has prepared one Saturday evening, we vow that we’ll make another Italian dinner soon. I suggest that we serve one of my favorites, pasta Caccio y pepe, which I guess I mispronounce, saying something like “Cazzo y pepe.” That would be penis with pepper.)


beach boogie

ready to roll

Thursday, February 19, 2009




Hanging out on Odyssey with Tia Ardy and Tio Marv. Totally fun!

Monday, February 16, 2009

Flecha Caída continued

They heard a door slam downstairs and a woman’s brassy voice calling, Hey, who’s here? She was starting up the narrow wooden stairs just as the two men appeared. Oh, she said, looking up at them.

It was his client. She wore a tiered calico skirt with a silver concha belt around her waist. If you looked close, you could see fantastical creatures stitched into the soft, worn leather of her boots. An old Indian had made them for her. Her blouse was stained under the arms, and her curls, unnaturally red, were piled on top of her head. Her name was Jane Riordan. The dead boy was her nephew.

When she heard, she’d come from New Mexico alone in a battered pick-up, a .38 on the seat next to her, the fringe on her jacket whipped in the air from the open window. She learned everything at once. Annie’s son was dead. Her husband had disappeared.

Joe was a cowboy. He used to sit at the end of the table like a slab of granite—when he was gone, you could see what had been in back of him. Jane kept the thought to herself: he must have ridden out into the desert and just kept going. He must be halfway across Sonora by now. He’d never spoken more than a few words to her, but she’d seen how he got when he felt crowded. And now, she decided, the desert had reclaimed him. He was just a thing the sun glinted on, out there among the jackrabbits and the cholla.

Jane was holding the family together now. She was upholding the memory of it, would be more accurate. Annie was a paper doll lying on the rough, straw-filled mattress, staring at the wall. Sometimes words slipped from between her dry lips. She was remembering—she was living in the world before Will died. Jane didn’t know if it would help to find out what had happened, but it was, just now, the only hope she had.

She sat on the front steps of the cabin and rolled a cigarette in the sun. The detective and that uncomfortable little man had gone—Sloan following as if keeping a safe distance. Sloan had a haunted look that made her trust him. He hadn’t said much. Just enough to let her know he was doing what she’d hired him for. That was plenty.

She heard the sound a horse makes when it’s being reined in, that irregular rhythm of hoofbeats, taut breath. She bent to light her cigarette, striking a flint across a stone at her feet. When she looked up, a young woman was leaping off a dusty Appaloosa. She spoke to the horse then stood there with her shoulders thrown back. Her light hair was shorn under her wide-brimmed hat. Her face was open, young, but lined around the eyes. Jane thought she knew who she was—Katie, the daughter of a rancher a few miles to the north. A bit of a loner, they said. One of Will’s only friends.

Coffee? Jane offered after a minute had passed. Cigarette?

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Lulu and her new friend Taisha share a common love of all things agua.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Bored of just words


Camera situation to be resolved soon. Meanwhile we still look pretty much like this and are wearing the same clothes.