Now Alex’s mother, Regina, is a fascinating woman. She is German, raised on a ranch in Argentina. Her first language was Spanish, her second German and her third, English. She is only in her 60’s but walks with a stoop. She wears long, natural fiber clothing and jewelry that looks like it comes from Indian craft fairs. Her shoes look like slippers. She wears a cell phone earpiece and is constantly on the phone. I’m never quite certain whether she is talking to me or taking a call.
She owns “Cañada de la Virgen” (The Canyon of the Virgin). The ranch itself survives on cattle. But Alex’s mother understands that the cattle grazing destroys the land and is teaching the ranch residents how to farm organic produce in hopes of weaning them from their dependence on cattle. She recently ordered a thousand olive trees. Meanwhile, she, Alex and Alex’s sister are training in Guatemala to become Maya priests.
Regina is clearly a woman who is accustomed to giving orders. Right now I am in her good graces and she has implied that I am to treat her home in town as my second home. I am well aware that I could fall from grace and be crossed off the “A” list at a moments notice. (As Alex is one of my best friends in this town, I try very hard not to piss her off.) She told me that she is so busy with the ranch business that she has no time to do what she wants. She mentioned writing. Alex doesn’t want responsibility for the ranch so it looks like it will fall to Sophia, his sister. I talked to Sophia while she was here for Alex’s birthday (from Los Angeles). It sounds like she may take up the gauntlet. Andrea and I were talking, reminiscing about how well she, Alex and I worked together on a charity event here. “Sophia could hire us,” she said. Wow, from banker to ranch project manager. What an idea. From systems installations and process design to planning rotating crops, inventorying cattle, installing irrigations systems. I’ll have to think about this.
The surprise 29th birthday party for Alex was a huge success. As people were arriving, Alex’s mother waived a hand at me. “Charles is the host. He will tell you what to do.” A discrete cell phone call from Andrea warned us that he was only minutes away. Thirty or so guests peered down from the rooftop patio and as he entered the courtyard below we yelled, “Surprise” and then sang happy birthday. His jaw dropped and his knees where shaking as he looked up at the sea of faces. Now Alex did inherit some of that controlling behavior that German’s are famous for. So the fact that we were able to conceal the party from him left him absolutely flabbergasted.
Drinks were poured, the buffet was attacked and everyone had a great time. Regina held court in the living room, in the family room people discussed addictions and on the roof people enjoyed the view and as it happens, fireworks. The party broke up around midnight and moved on to Limerick (a popular pub) and then to La Cucaracha. It is said that some did not stop celebrating until 7:00 Sunday morning. (Was I part of that group?)
Today Cecelia’s son David showed up precisely on schedule, at my apartment on Cuesta de San Jose. A small, handsome Mexican boy in his beat-up truck, I thought he was about 18. But he is 22 and despite his size he is strong as an ox. As instructed, he brought rope and we lowered my trundle bed over the balcony and down three floors. We worked together for half the day and all my stuff is now at the new house.
Jesus, my 15 year old gardener showed up Saturday. He is not a gardener. He is a 15 year old who trims bougainvillea well. I have my work cut out for me. He and Elena and I sat down to comida together. He told me that he studies English in school but when I asked him, in English, how long he had been studying English, he gave me a blank stare. After my family’s visit I need to get back to Spanish lessons. While it is true that one does not need to speak Spanish to live in San Miguel, I believe that one misses a lot by not being able to communicate with these people. They are so gracious, so patient, and so grateful at even my feeble attempts at their language. Some days I think I’m on fire. All the words just flow. Other days it is as if every word escapes me. I will work on this.
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