Narrative Index to Older Entries
I am getting that tingly feeling that new visitors are coming to this blog. They are certainly welcome. But ironically, this is happening when I am busy watching birds, watching cobblestone installation, and shopping for groceries. It is not always such here.
It occurred to me to pause here and provide a little index of some highlights and lowlights of Señor Steve's most excellent adventure. I am a long, long way, not only in miles, from where I was when I was accentuating the positive back home in the midst of a very dreary March after the devastating flood of the previous summer, the straw that broke the camel's back.
First, please remember that this blog is not called The Solipsist for nothing. This blog is not an information source about México, politics, religion or anything else. Neither do we explore the empyreal together. This blog is about me.
Second, this blog was put together for family and friends, friends to include my colleagues at Goodreads and Constant Reader. Google does not search this blog, and I do not use tags to invite in the riffraff. We are not looking for "traffic," in other words.
Third, I can save some of you some time. If you are not a reader, and I mean the kind of reader who will read anything from all the text on the cereal box to the fine print in your mortgage documents, forget it. I run a high word count here.
On the chance that any of these following things at all do interest you, you can always open the archive for that month, scroll down the page and back through time, checking out the surrounding entries. Do not forget to click on any picture that you wish to see in a larger form. Here are the little descriptions so that you can decide what might interest you and what definitely will not:
My total isolation at the Corps of Engineers Canyon Lake Park near San Antonio at $8.00 per night led to a bit of craziness, my own iPod commercial.
Luckenbach, Texas, is Luckenbach, Texas, is Luckenbach, Texas, full of high end guitar players and the best free music I have ever partaken of, and where the roosters were so thick and obnoxious that I actually contemplated that repugnant spectator sport of cockfighting. I hasten to add that I did not partake.
Tubing on the Guadalupe River was a delightfully juvenile experience right down to peeing in my wet suit.
The music festival, Pickin' in the Pines with Cigar Box Steve Nicholas, deep in the piney woods near Mineola, Texas, was a unique one.
The border crossing was a catastrophe, but I lived through it.
La Corrida should roundly offend some of you.
The night at the opera at Teatro Ángela Peralta was difficult to capture, but the later video of the highlights of this national opera competition helps.
The place where I live now, San Miguel RV Park & Tennis Courts is strange, to say the least.
If someone had told me as late as May that I would have spiritual experiences in this place, I would have considered that a laughable proposition. Spiritual experiences do not come naturally to me. There have been a few here though.
The indigenous people's all night purification ceremony is in that category, although I am short of substantive pictures. You do not pull out your camera during one of these, just as you do not pull out your guitar and break into your best version of Kumbaya.
Santo Daime, the less said the better.
Temazcal, the sweat lodge, was another in this category.
The camping in the desert below the sacred mountain, Quemado, and the trek up it fit the category. That was in conjunction with the stay at the old, partially abandoned colonial mining town of Real de Catorce.
For my money though, if you are in the market for a spiritual experience, take a little tent out into the high desert and camp alone for three days. Comes with my highest guarantee.
You can walk with me through El Charco del Ingenio Botanical Garden and Nature Preserve and here, too.
You may accompany me to the colonial town of Pátzcuaro for Day of the Dead "festivities" and the amazing island of Janitzio in the lake there, both in the state of Michoacán in the west.
For sports fans there was the experience of watching the great fútbol game with the Mexicans, México vs. Honduras.
The horseback ride to that stunning little 16th Century church in San Miguel Viejo is a sentimental favorite of mine already even though it was not that long ago.
One of the little themes here is my determined attempt to age without exhibiting any grace about it at all. I rant about it for one thing. If you enjoy rants, you can visit dum vivimus vivamus, written during a moments hesitation just up on the other side of the border and dum vivimus vivamus redux down here. The word counts on these rants are 1,477 words and 1,328 words respectively.
There is also a rant of a different sort, a fatigue-fueled, hallucinatory, eerie one written in late April at the coffee shop in the Tex-Best Travel Center at New Braunfels, Texas, after driving the Austin/San Antonio corridor all night. That one clocks in at 1,261 words.
Video rants of a little different sort include those about the motorcycle hobbyists at Luckenbach toward the end of that too long video and the early morning aerial bombs here before I came to learn that San Miguel Arcángel loves aerial bombs and I embraced them, too. A little higher than usual profanity count in those.
And of course in addition to Cigar Box Steve, good old Jim up in Texas, Steve, the jazz guitarist to whom I owe so much, Maga, Fabien, and Frank and Allyson, all of whom reappear often along with other characters.
San Miguel de Allende when it was brand new to me will for the duration be a highlight of my life.
If you become curious as to exactly where I am right now, the recent entry on David Crosby's Almost Cut My Hair captures that pretty succinctly.
Lastly, and this is very important to me, if anything I have written here causes anyone to question how I feel about the United States of America, that person can go to the addendum at the very end of the mas o menos entry and find the answer to his question, again succinctly for a change.
In between all that is stuff, widely varied in content but all perfectly consistent with solipsism.
This Index itself is 1,255 words long.