Monday, May 26, 2014

Lots of Memories on Memorial Day

Over the Memorial Day weekend, we celebrated our 27th anniversary. And had to laugh when, before we sat down to our special dinner, we opened anniversary cards from each other. After 27 years together, I guess you start thinking alike. We had each painstakingly picked out and bought the exact same card! 
Happy Anniversary to the Love of My Life 

We also took the boat to Matagorda Bay and fished for about 10 minutes then did about 3 hours of boat riding in the ICW,  down the Colorado River, and down the "new to us" diversion channel. We just explored. We ended our trip with shrimp baskets at our new favorite eating dive.

I have been thinking of little granddaughter Maggie out in California as she celebrates her 8th birthday today. Happy Birthday My Sweet Maggie Girl! More memories...

We pay homage to all the military and their families, and remember and reminisce about Dad. His death on Memorial Day last year (5/27) will always mean on each Memorial Day we will have a special hero to remember in addition to our military heroes. But that brings me to another remembrance. 

We often get reminded of  life in Mérida...only different.

Right here two blocks from downtown El Campo we sometimes hear the sound of horse hooves coming down the street. And yes, the street is paved. You know I have compared Dad with his horse named Maude and his buggy-riding in Anderson, Texas to the horse and buggies that come in front of the house on Calle 64-A, Mérida. But when we look at the rider here in El Campo, we get confused. The rider isn't a white cowboy nor a Mexican cabellero. He is black. We couldn't help but joke about it this morning and decided if Dad was going to be re-incarnated it would be just like him to decide he wanted to come back as a Black cowboy

Yesterday, we were hanging around the house here in El Campo just relaxing. Terry was out in the garage with the door open, and I was sitting on the swing in the back yard. By many people's standards, we live in a less desirable part of town. There is not security gate leading down winding streets with cul de sacs. There is no name on a well-landscaped brick entryway leading into a subdivision. We live in the part of town that was filled with effluent homeowners of yesteryear. It was the snazzy part of town back in the 1930's. Right now, our house is by far the nicest of all the houses you can see from our front yard. It is the only house you can see that has been totally renovated. But, all of the houses on our block are receiving a facelift over time so we think of ourselves as "trendsetters". Our area of town is not considered so snazzy today. It is a mixed neighborhood of white, black and brown-skinned people. We are all respectful of each other, and smile and wave to each other on occasion. We visit when we catch each other outside but we don't visit inside each other's houses. We just go about living harmoniously. 

From the garage and the swing, respectively, Terry and I both heard a little air horn. It was a sound quite familiar to us IF we were in Mérida. It made me wake up from my pensive mood as I reminded myself I was in El Campo, Tx. Terry came out of the garage when he heard the horn as well. We looked up to see a Mexican gentleman coming down the street on his school bus yellow cargo bicycle. His bicycle was overflowing with sacks. I am guessing all the sacks were filled with homemade breads. That's what his horn sound was telling me. He was cruising the streets of El Campo just like he would be cruising down Calle 64-A or an infinite number of streets in anywhere, Mexico selling his wares and trying to make a few extra pesos...or dollars...I have a feeling he would take either. 

Last week we were sitting on the front porch in the retro-glider, when an old unmarked van came down one of the side streets, honked the horn, and stopped. Several neighborhood Mexicans walked over to the van and then walked away carrying white sacks. We were curious. As the van made its way to our street, we could see inside the window between the cab and the back end. The van was filled with crates full of fresh vegetables. Similar to the vendadores in Mérida, this vendedora was peddling her fresh produce to the Mexicans here in El Campo. 

By US standards, it is considered by many to be "unsafe" and "not right" to buy bread from a neighbor's non-commercial kitchen. We aren't supposed to be using pesos as our currency. And where did those fruits and vegetables come from? 

I give us a few more instances of hearing those horns honking and we will be whipping out those pesos we have for our next trip south, and we will be buying some fresh bread or vegetables from the vendedores right here in El Campo. And if somebody comes by selling fresh, cage-free eggs I'm definitely in!