This too shall pass and coffee
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Last week I
forbade, with wagging finger, I forbade Leo, our Rancho gardener who mothers
all of us oldsters, to get sick. The next day Leo landed in the hospital. No,
he does not have the virus. But we all had a frightening couple days while Leo
was sent to a specialist in Guadalajara for advanced imaging. That’s
doctor-speak for a second guess.
Leo’s got
the rocks, as they say it here in Mexico. The doc said it will pass. The gall stone
giving him such pain is tiny and should pass soon.
Leo is in
pain and he is justifiably terrified. For several days he’s suffered. He feels
okay, comes to work one day and does not show up the next.
Many of his
family have died of cancer, so every twinge scares the young man. Every pain
makes him think immediately, “It’s the Big C--I’m done for.” That alone is a
heavy burden to haul around.
People here
are matter-of-fact about illness. When Leo does show up, he both whines and
laughs and makes jokes about the stone being a slow traveler. He dreads the
pain of passage but dreads the thought of surgery even more.
Yesterday
was one of Leo’s good days as opposed to the day before when he stayed in bed
all day and described to me in vivid detail that I shall spare you. Perhaps the
rock moved on down the line.
In an
economy measure, I’ve begun making cowboy coffee in a clay olla rather than my
usual French Press method. I add a piece of stick cinnamon to the coffee
grounds for sparkle, boil it, and let it settle. I’d stack my coffee next to
the best.
You have to
know I’m a coffee snob. I like a good coffee. I’ve been buying coffee beans at
Costco in Guadalajara ever since moving to Etzatlan. In these dire times, trips
to Guad are a dream of the past and a vague hope for the future. My good beans
are gone.
Before he
collapsed last week, Leo brought me coffee. Coffee is coffee, right? Wrong!
This was nasty bitter stuff, sweepings from the factory floor. So I asked Leo
to find Marino, which is tolerable. The beans are roasted and packed in
Mazatlan so I’m familiar with Marino.
So when Leo
came around noon, laden with fruits and veggies, he also had a bag of Marino
coffee, found after vigorous searching at Michoacana, a corner tienda. Like any
addict, I am happy with my fix.
Leo worked
yesterday, mowing and yard clean up at Pat and Nancie’s, John and Carol’s. I
said, “You must be feeling better.” He said, “Much medicine.”
Before he
put away the mower and weed whacker for the evening, Leo told me the farmers
around were complaining about not enough rain, the fields should be soaked by
now. I thought, when do farmers not complain there is not enough rain?
It’s true and
strange that the Sahara dust blanketing us makes for spectacular sunsets. I
thought nothing can equal Montana sunsets, several of which I recall vividly.
I’m wrong. Last night the entire 360 degree sky lit up with pink-bronze-golden
fires.
Out over the
Pacific Ocean, in the night, an unnamed depression formed into Cristina, pushed
clouds inland which dropped rain the entire night. This morning is dark as any
night. In my house of windows I seldom switch on a light during daytime. I
turned on lights in the kitchen and the light over my desk.
My garden
plans flew out the door where they lie soggy on the ground. Farmers complain
they cannot work in the wet fields. It’s a good day to bake bread. My coffee is
brewed. It’s a good day.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
July 9, 2020
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