Mescal, Chorizo & Some Weird Orange Drink

Another reminder of childhood: every day may as well be Tuesday because there isn't a lot inked into the datebook when you're five (at least there wasn't in the mid-70s; I realize toddlers today are busier than I am). Those friends of ours who do honest work for a living probably won't find this at all charming, but this morning Chris and I weren't totally sure what day it was, and we ultimately had to check the Chicago Tribune home page to verify that it was Friday. It's probably more obnoxious to mention that I'm not sure why it even mattered, except the local paper comes out on Friday and it has a list of things to do throughout the week. It might save face a bit to also mention that I often don't know what day it is when I'm working.

Today, we headed out with an agenda. My sister, Susan, is coming for a visit next week (cheers for us!) and while we welcome her to stay at Calle Marte Numero 12 with us, we thought we might try to find some places very close by where she might enjoy a tiny bit more privacy, which in more specific terms would be any privacy at all since this joint doesn't have any doors, but for the bano and that door's glass and doesn't much fit in its frame. There is a curtain that separates the living room from the bedroom and unfortunately for a house guest the bathroom is on the bedroom side of the curtain. We'll let her decide if she's comfortable with the accommodations here once she arrives, but we thought options might be good, so this morning we visited several little hotels in the area. It made for a nice walk and we got to see in some different courtyards. It also meant spending a bit more time in our own neighborhood than we have yet because we normally head to the center of town and commence our walks from there.

We got out the map and headed to a new part of the city today and walked and walked and walked. The farther out we went, the wider the streets became and the fewer trees provided shade and you could feel subtle social and economic differences between neighborhoods and we encountered fewer expats, although we did stop in at the Empowerment Center, where Chris went for the song circle only to find there was no song circle, and so he asked after the song circle. Chris and I agree that it is possibly marijuana that empowers Laura the hostess at the Empowerment Center and she was frankly shocked to learn that the ad for the song circle was still in the local paper since the guy who lead the song circle went back to the States in November. She mentioned she doesn't know how to lead a song circle, but she took Chris's email, however, and told him about some guy named Rob who sometimes leads a song circle in his house. We'll see. It seems likely she might forget we stopped by.

Lydia invited us to a Plaza Inauguration this evening at Allende Once. It was sort of like a gallery opening except that instead of a single gallery it was an opening for all of the small shops and galleries and cafes and businesses within and around the courtyard of a particular entrance of a building. Each place had its own drink and nosh for the hangers-on, lots of mescal and tequila and some champagne. There was a DJ and a film playing up against one of the walls of the courtyard, so it was noisy in an exciting-things-are-happening-here kind of way and far too many people to fit in the space all preening in a see-and-be-seen dance and it felt nightclub-ish except for the fact that at least 65% of the people there were at least 65. We stayed long enough for Chris to experience a plastic cocktail cup of mescal and moved on to dinner, where there were several miscommunications about what we would like to eat and drink. I asked for a mineral water and the waiter brought me an orange drink of some sort and when I asked again for a mineral water, he rolled his eyes, took the orange drink away, went to the bar, made another orange drink and brought it back to the table. While the description of what Chris ordered seemed complex, he ultimately ended up with a bowl of chorizo for dinner. This may all have been because the place was apparently run by only three people and all of them were under the age of majority.

After dinner, we meandered the main square. There were hundreds of people doing the same. The park isn't big compared to Burnham's plan, but it strikes me that there are infants carried by young mothers, toddlers blowing bubbles, adolescents huddled in packs screwing around with their friends, young lovers holding hands, the middle aged sitting on benches listening to the mariachi and the elderly all sharing the same intimate space and in one way that makes it seem smaller but in so many other ways it makes it seem bigger.

We're home now and Chris is making yet another salsa (I think this may be recipe number five). The whole house smells like garlic and limes, so I think it might be delicious around here in a minute. Susan might want to stay right here with us, no doors and this salsa after all.