High tide view of malecón restaurants and fish shops from the deck of The Point.
Hiram used some of his comp time and took Saturday off. We went to the gym for a long work-out, got haircuts from the tattooed dreamer who loves and misses Tucson but got into too much trouble there to be able go back after he was arrested and deported.
When we finished our haircuts, it was still early enough that the nearby spice shop that closes early on Saturdays was open so we checked it out. I fell in love with the selection, bought some rice, and left sneezing from all the dusty powders.
Then we rode our bikes to the malecon for shrimp and fish baskets at The Point. The tide was very high and the jet skiers and banana boaters were almost splashing us as they screamed by.
Afterward, we stopped at Bacanora Grill, hoping to say hello to our friends who own the place, “Los Muchachos,” but they were having a tense-looking business meeting and we decided not to interrupt. We had coffee and flan outside on the carport like patio and watched spring breakers booking sunset cruises.
Los Muchachos came out separately as we were leaving and each time I offered to loan them our helmets. I am so funny.
At sundown, we walked to Playa Mirador and tide pooled. Later at home we juiced limes for margaritas and rented a movie — The Hundred Foot Journey — to watch before going bed for a couple hours and the 2am run to Albatros for my bus ride back to Nogales.
I do wish people would stop saying “BOOM!” It’d be so much better if they just said quietly to themselves, “Oh my. That was much easier than I expected.”
Or something along those lines.
I know it’s not as dramatic as “BOOM!” but nobody really wants all that drama at times like these. At times like these, people just want to believe you when you say this plugin for your content management system is as easy to install and use as you say it is.
Saturday morning. Waking to the sounds of wind blowing branches against the window. The neighbor’s ancient station wagon engine not turning over till the third try. Before I even open my eyes, I’m trying to remember the lobbies of movie theaters in Tucson that don’t exist anymore. And what movies I saw in each. El Dorado, Buena Vista, Catalina. Star Wars, Superman, The Goodbye Girl.
The Goodbye Girl? It must have been Mom’s birthday.
Standing room only at the nine o'clock, Christmas Eve mass.
I’m not Catholic, but my mother-in-law requires I attend mass with her each Christmas Eve if I plan to eat dinner with the family later that night.
This year we attended Padre Jesús’ nine o’clock mass at a humble chapel.
I always enjoy Padre Jesús’ sermons. They are brief and direct. They feel spontaneous. Judging by the tough love tone of his Christmas message this year, I’m guessing by the end of the day Christmas Eve. He had heard just about all the sad stories he wanted for one day.
No tiene derecho estar infeliz. ¡Deja de quejarse! Do we know if Mary and Joseph were unhappy on the day of Jesus’ birth? I don’t know. We don’t know. We don’t even know when Jesus was actually born. We celebrate it today. But we don’t really know. Do you think Mary and Joseph were complaining, that they were unhappy? They had every right to be. They had to put their baby in a manger. Would you sleep in a manger? Do you even know what a manger is? It’s straw covered in cow spit. It’s dirty. It was cold. Where will you sleep tonight? PLEASE… stop your complaining. If only for today and tomorrow, stop complaining and be happy.
I always enjoy Padre Jesús’ sermons. They are brief and direct. They feel spontaneous. Judging by the tough love tone of his Christmas message this year, I’m guessing by the end of the day Christmas Eve. He had heard just about all the sad stories he wanted for one day.
At a speakeasy in Mexico, I ask a short man with big feet to dance. At first I am worried people will be scandalized that two men are dancing with each other. Soon everyone is gathered around watching, but they don’t seem shocked at all. Instead, they are watching to see if I can do the steps and keep up as the musical styles keep changing - Rumba, Samba, Mambo! - and I step on his feet. Each time one of my feet bump the little man’s dusty black shoes, the crowd gasps and then laughs and then cheers. I want to stop, but he insists I continue. He even takes my arms and puts them in place so I am leading. “Tu puedes!” he says and the crowd sings backup: “Yes, yes! You can!” And I think how Mexican it all feels, everyone laughing at my missteps and at the same time wanting me to succeed.
I’m having breakfast at Café Colère and a voice that sounds like an older woman who has been talking into a phone since she walked in the door and even while ordering a coffee is suddenly nearby saying, “That looks good. Having some breakfast?”
I look up and the voice belongs to a clean-cut Mexican-American man six feet tall or so, with salt-and-pepper hair. He’s asking my name. He’s wearing a white, pressed, short sleeve shirt. There’s a Wildcats blue and red lanyard with an ID tag tucked into his shirt pocket the way specialists and technicians who have left the building do.
“Hi Richard, I’m Jerry. Having some breakfast? Going to work? I’m just getting some coffee. I’m not going to work. Just going to do my volunteer work at the senior center. I hope they’ll hire me but they usually just have volunteers. I like your Converse. Do you like Converse? There’s a store at El Con having a buy one get the next pair half-off sale. What size do you wear? Me too. Richard, I want you to give me your shoes when you’re going to get rid of them. Let me see the soles.”
He sets his coffee on the table next to what’s left of my plate of scrambled eggs, kneels down under the table, grabs my left foot and examines the sole.
“Hey those are in good shape!”
He stands up and gently brushes off his knees.
“You’ve got lots of miles on those to go. They’re in good shape. I’m just getting coffee while I wait to meet with my job coach. He makes me write everything down and bring it to our meetings now instead of me calling him all the time when I think of something because I just can’t do that anymore. Hopefully I’ll hear back from Fry’s or Safeway. My family doesn’t want me to work in a restaurant because I need to lose some weight and there’s always food around. Are you going to work? What kind of work do you do that you can wear your Converse to work? Here they will charge you $.75 for your refill, Richard. Have a nice day take care of those shoes for me!”
We both do a little work in the morning from home, but otherwise have the day off. We decide not to go to the beach because we’ve missed the high tide, and here that can make all the difference. We take the bikes to the malecón, which itself is empty, though the bars are filled with Americans enjoying the balmier weather and beer. It’s the kind of day that will sell a lot of beer. The air has cooled but not dried. There’s a breeze. The shrimp boats are out.
We head over to the old pier and families are swimming. A booze cruise returning to the docks gets stuck in the low-tide. It belches black smoke and Guns ‘N Roses as it struggles.
In the evening we watch Alphaville. The first eight minutes feel like an hour, but we stick it out and end up enjoying it. The moody shots of Modernist interiors remind me of Tucson banks from the same era and watching them makes me feel like I’ve done my part for Tucson Modernism Week even though those buildings are in Paris, I’m in Mexico, and Tucson is in Arizona.
