We're leaving for home tomorrow. This was a shorter stay for us than usual; two months for Allison and I, three for Robert. Overall, it was a pleasant time. Nothing too unusual happened, in fact; I am becoming jaded about our life here. The unusual seems normal to me anymore. I haven't felt inclined to write about every little thing. Loreto Bay is becoming our other home, one we are growing more familiar and comfortable with each passing year. I'll never recapture the wonder and astonishment I felt in the early days here. I tell people how things were just five years ago and I surprise myself at how primitive and pioneering I make it sound. You know, remember those days when we couldn't find the simplest items like brown sugar, or half-n-half, or an extension cord? We truly felt like we were living in a state of forced deprivation. Each year more is available in Loreto. I imagine in five years we'll feel like we live in a resort--well, relatively speaking. Loreto Bay has such a long way to progress, but we'll always remember the good old days.
Just when I think I've had enough of the dirt, the dust, and the deprivations, we get a string of incredible pink and orange-hued sunsets. I don't doubt half my neighborhood heard my excited shrieks to my own family to,"Get out here, you have to see this, hurry!" If I embarrassed myself it was worth the alarm to others to get outside. How could you let anyone miss something so beautiful? When I think about it there are dozens of remarkable images inside of a day here: whether it's a hummingbird nest in a neighbor's tree, a shark-whale in Puerto Escondido, an acacia tree in full bloom, a spatter of raindrops that lasts ninety seconds. Maybe because life here is so slow and modern-day distractions so few that we all have to look more closely at the show nature puts on.
Someone asked me recently, "What do you do here all day?" Some days not much at all, I answer sheepishly. I always feel guilty for my abundance of leisure time because: #1. I'm too young to be retired. And #2. I always think I should be filling my days with philanthropic works to counterbalance my abundant leisure time, but I never do because I'm basically private and somewhat non-social.
Besides schooling and supervising our daughter, I guess you could say I spend most of my time here just watching things. When I get tired of reading or surfing the internet I find myself outside with no purpose in mind but to wander. I like to ride my bike through Nopolo or take my camera out scouting for things to photograph. I might catch a glimpse of a pack of desert dogs hiding in the brush. Quail and an occasional roadrunner will nervously scramble across my path. I might encounter a stray burro or find someone's horse tied to a tree. I'll hear the tinkering bell of a goat on the hill beside the Carretera or the hum of a swarm of bees as I pass under a mesquite tree. Along the estuary I'll see fish leap from the water or pelicans dive-bombing. In Agua Viva I'll notice a house has been painted thus marking progress for the homeowners there. Avocado green, papaya, mango, tomato, one by one the palette is beginning to fill out.
The highlight of my day is the hour-long walk Robert and I take at sunset. We have a route we created that takes us along the length of the golf course and around the estuaries. Often-times, we start so late that we see both the sunset and the dark blanket of stars before we arrive home. It always seems that Orion's belt is right above our house when we reach the front door. I've never been so intimate with the stars than I have here in Loreto. They practically scream at you to look above. I now think I understand the ancients who studied them. In dark skies the stars and planets are a presence not to be ignored. Here our vision is captivated by the beautiful sunset against the mountain range only to be further entranced by the night sky that follows. We feel one with nature, or maybe we feel insignificant against nature for a few contemplative moments before turning inside only to spoil the effect by plopping down for few hours of mind-numbing cable television.
So my time here vacillates between meaningful contemplations and mindless distractions. Just like back home. And that's what I do with my time. Maybe my life, too.
