Parking in Mexico


Found this fellow parked on the street in town the other day. When I approached he pulled back abruptly. His owner, a little old lady, told me that he only liked her, no one else. I’m guessing that these two have been together for years.

The owner changed from a baseball cap to the hat you see on the saddle, before mounting and riding away with her bags of groceries hanging from the saddle horn.

















Hotel Living

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“We’re living in a hotel.” A statement that seems to horrify friends and family.

Yes, we are living in a hotel for a few months until our new place, currently under construction, is completed.

“Why didn’t you rent an apartment?”

We did look, but apartments or condo rent was pricey and would entail a year’s lease and we only needed a place for six months. If we rented, not only would we be obligated to pay the rent for the full year, we’d also be responsible for the apartment for the time it sat empty. So living in a hotel seemed the perfect solution.

“But, a hotel? Isn’t that…?”

What it is, is wonderful. The hotel we are in is old, clean, and well maintained. It’s not fancy. We don’t need fancy. We have a suite—a living room with two sofas and flat screen TV, a tiny kitchen with a full fridge and stove (we even entertained friends and served a full turkey dinner for Thanksgiving), and a full bathroom. Cable and Internet connections are included and parking right out our door is free. There’s a laundry room down the hall for our convenience, a fitness room and a pool. Maid service twice a week with fresh sheets and towels is spoiling us.  The suite is small which equals cozy, and we’re finding that we really don’t need more space.

Best of all? The staff. From the front desk manager, to the maintenance man, to the maids, all are friendly and helpful and fun. We feel cocooned in a new family. Of course we’ll be thrilled to move to our new home next weekend, but we’ll miss everyone here too.

Parking isn’t as simple as it seems


He’s in his mid-forties and back in Italy for the first time in almost twenty years. He’s with his much younger wife and her girlfriend.

They’re staying with his family, enjoying his mother’s cooking, and reconnecting with extended family members.

He’s also enjoying introducing the two young ladies to his friends and showing them about town. Today he’s decided they should make a stop at one of his favorite cafes, the one he frequented often when he was young.

He parks the car and goes over to the ticket machine. He stands there with his wife on one side of him and her girlfriend on the other as he reads the instructions. The outdoor tables are crowded with people sipping their coffee and basking in the warm spring sun.

A prickling at the back of his neck causes him to turn. He sees that all eyes are on him. Perhaps not unusual for he and the girls are strangers and this is small town Italy.

He turns back to the ticket machine. “Turn and walk away,” he says under his breath.

“What?” the girls ask.

“Just turn and walk away.”

“Why?” the girls ask as the three of them walk back towards the car.

“That wasn’t a ticket machine,” he says. “That was a dispenser for condoms.”