Category Archives: Images of Mexico

Beach Morning

Click on photos to enlarge and read captions.

These photos are all out of sequence and Word Press seems to have changed things so I can no longer put them in the order that they occurred. The last photo is of Sherry’s flipper as she swam back to join us at the beach restaurant. I’ve spent two hours trying to get the photos in sequence and another half hour with WP tech help to no avail. If anyone reading this knows of a more writer-friendly platform for blogs, please let me know. So sorry that Word Press is getting progressively more non-cooperative.

Beach Morning

Fear of contact with that first cold wave keeps me lingering in bed this second morning at the beach. I can hear the surf that pounds the beach just ten yards from the garden wall of the house where I am staying for a week with friends. If they manage to rouse me from my warm nest, we’ll probably walk again down the beach to sit at a table at the Playa Azul to await Sherry’s return from her long swim to the offshore island and back. She resists the group swim that will take place later, the participants attached to floats on their backs to ward off overenthusiastic speed boaters  who otherwise might stray too close, forgetful of the fact that other humans traverse these waters unencumbered by craft. It is her opinion that this daily journey is best accomplished in private, face to the water, snorkel fins flopping like friendly pats upon the ocean’s surface, as if to beat a friendly reminder that someone is about to visit.

Every January and February (and sometimes March) for years, I stood in these same waters, closer to shore, doing my thousand exercises while fighting the waves–lifting on their inward journey to land, feet settling again to sand on their outward pull back out to sea. Having nearly drowned once long before while Kayaking the Rogue River in Oregon, I preferred water with the security of a firm surface under my feet, even if it was just at intervals.  What snorkeling adventures I have participated in since that near-fatal water adventure have included a boat within swimming distance, and so sitting here with longtime friends, discussing past adventures and writing and those other beach visitors that walk past us on the beach, I can’t help but keep an eye peeled for a view of Sherry’s flippers, flopping into view a mile or so away across the water, circling the small island, moving away from the sailboat that veers in her direction.

She will return to land, removing her false frog feet, shaking water from her second skin, to join us for coffee and hotcakes and eggs, chilaquiles or breakfast burritos, orange juice and papaya. Joined together again in the most communal of activities–a shared meal–we will again be united by those activities we share: laughter, tall tales, plans for the day, watching beach dogs, memories of past camaraderie, shared absent friends, plans for the rest of the day. This vacation at the beach after two years’ absence is a balm that soothes my soul and makes me thankful for this day, in spite of the future that might await us due to those others who guide the fate of the world. This day, this hour, the minute behind us and those long minutes in front of us are ones of our own making, and they are perfect.

Prompt words today are fear, opinion, forgetful and cold wave.

Sep 20, 2018 Lake Chapala Sunset

There were so many wonderful phases of this rapidly changing sunset, that I couldn’t cull out any more than I have.  I am perhaps excessive, but this sunset certainly was as well, so I feel I’m justified.  If you click on the first photo, it will enlarge them all.

 

Deb and Jeff’s Visit

A few days ago, I showed you some photos of our trip to the Herradura Tequila Distillery. Here are a few photos of the rest of Debbie and Jeff’s visit, including trips to our local Tiengas market, Tonala and Telaquepaque as well as to Jesus Lopez Vega’s art studio, Chac Lan Restaurant  at Monte Coxala and Yolanda’s house!

Click on first photo to enlarge photos and read captions.

The Tile Layers

 

The Tile Layers

The tile cutter on his knees whistles “Fur Elise—”
five measures over and over—all day with no surcease.
A younger man behind him, in another room,
whistles tunelessly in rhythm as he wields a broom.
Hod carriers laugh and loudly call. Comida will be soon.
One of the youngest sings out a jolly ribald tune.
Their labors hard, their hours long as they hauled and carried,
and yet they have not seemed distressed, back sore, stressed or harried.

As they go to take comida, they move with one assent
as if to be relieved of where their labor time is spent.
Outside my wall they line the curb, their legs stretched in the street
to eat their warm tortillas­­­­––their chiles, beans and meat.
The only time they’re quiet is now their mouths are chewing,
for they are never silent when they are up and doing.
Five minutes and then ten pass as the silence swells around me,
until I feel the magnitude of silence might astound me.

Then one quiet voice is heard, and then another slowly after.
But still no music, calling out, whistling or laughter.
I can imagine well the scene. They’re spread out in the shade,
on their backs just resting in the shadows trees have made.
An hour’s camaraderie, like school kids taking naps,
their ankles crossed, their dusted clothes, their work hats in their laps.
Against their quietness, a motor hums out from afar.
Persistent birdcalls interrupt the tire crunch of a car.

A lawnmower chops at grass below. My clock ticks out the time.
This hour’s quiet interlude is almost sublime.
They must wonder what I do clattering on these keys––
my room cut off from all the dust , but also from the breeze.
The large dog’s bed is in a cage with an open door.
The little dog forsakes his bed to curl up on the floor
nearer the larger, older dog, although he’s sound asleep.
They too prefer to sleep as one, their brotherhood to keep.

An hour passed, the jefe wakes and jostles all his neighbors
who find their voices as they waken to resume their labors.
The gentle scrape of trowels sets the rhythm for
young men shouldering hods of what old men spread on the floor.
The jefe scolds for tiles mismeasured, rails against the waste
of both time and materials lost because of haste.
After the day’s siesta, they work three hours more.
They measure, chip and cut and smooth, then fit and trim each door.

By day’s end, hands are coated, and collars ringed with sweat.
The dust of their day’s labors in their work clothes firmly set.
But folded in each backpack they once rested heads upon
is a fresh change of clothing that later they will don.
Cleaned and pressed, they’ll walk on home unmarked by dust or dirt,
ready for the ladies to admire and to flirt.
For a man’s not made of merely the work that he might do,
and when he leaves his labors, his day begins anew.

Actually, I was imagining the scene described in the poem as the house hushed for an hour after a morning and early afternoon of extreme noise. Diego and Morrie were imprisoned in the small run outside my door but in sight of the front entrance gate all the men had vanished through, tortured by observing all the activity they couldn’t get their paws on, not to mention all those lunches in the back packs.  Then, after I wrote the poem and started to hear a few voices from what seemed to be a direction not anticipated in my poem, I went out to the living room to see the younger members of the crew hunched over their smart phones on my patio, first watching some drama, then talking to what sounded like female voices. One lay stretched out as expected, but by the pool rather than out on the sidewalk. (I had earlier invited them to eat at the patio table and the table in the gazebo, but they had preferred to warm their tortillas in my microwave and then go eat in the street.) My former stereotypes dashed, I then ventured beyond my walls into the street, and there found the older generation living up to former experience and present expectations.

(Click on first photo to enlarge all.) 

Zeroing In: Cee’s Compose Yourself Challenge

Zeroing In

The Prompt: Show us a couple examples of your work where you have a strong, easily identifiable subject.

DSC09260I like lots of detail in pictures of rooms and people because those details tell a story.We can tell by the nacimientos on the buffet that it is Christmas time.  That little two-necked clay cup on the table will create an entirely different story soon after this picture was taken.  You can see that story HERE.

DSC09262But I think this is a better picture composition-wise.  There are still a number of details, but they are more unified as they are all grouped together on the table.

Version 2I like this portrait of my friend  a lot.

Version 3Yet when I crop the portrait down to the eyes, they seem to tell a complete story of their own.

DSC07680I took many pictures of my friend Audrey the day this photo was taken, but this was by far my favorite.  It shows her good nature, reveals her camera and in my estimation, is more intriguing due to the limb she is behind.

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Okay, now on to the second challenge. For the Gold Star Award, Find examples of your work that illustrate these three emotions:  something that is beautiful or inspiring, something that makes you laugh, and another that makes you feel sad or melancholy.

Version 2Here is another portrait that I love because they are both so happy. It is inspiring to me that they are obviously good friends who know how to enjoy themselves.  I cropped this picture to make it more intimate and I think the cropping turned out right.

DSC00023DSC09788These two shots of the same subject make me feel melancholy. Which do you prefer?  In this case, I like the one with more detail because it is within those details that the story resides.

468303_2668458557412_950835974_oI took this picture at carnival (mardi gras) Iin Ajjic. It is a raucous, flour-throwing, rowdy time.  And of course, these fellows made me laugh.

http://ceenphotography.com/2015/10/07/cees-compose-yourself-challenge-week-2-what-all-well-composed-photos-have-in-common/

Giants of Tapalpa

Giants of Tapalpa
(Click on pictures to enlarge)

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Just how big are the rocks of Tapalpa?

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It’s hard to tell without some frame of reference.

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So maybe this will help.

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Oscar experienced his first adventures in rock climbing

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As well as his first experience in reflective horizon-gazing with big sister Mago.

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This is what they were looking at.

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And this.

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Little did they know that they were part of the scenery.