"Monday, Monday, can't trust that day..."

Written sometime in early November

I used to hum this little ditty on the way to work occasionally. Now, not so much. Mexico turned back their clocks yesterday, so Nunez was up at 5:30. Are you kidding me? So we decided to take a walk on the beach before the sun bore down on us. Hurricane Rick wrecked some serious havoc for some folks here. Its crashing waves did benefit us beach walkers by sending sea shells higher up onto the beach than ever before. I found a rare Mexican sand dollar. I didn’t know or care before yesterday, but when I spied it, I snagged it. Every woman who has subsequently seen it since has been all a twitter. It’s not a baseball card though.
Now invigorated, I wandered over to the gym for a two hour workout, then showered and made my veggie egg white omelet. I ate it on the deck while watching a pod of manta rays playing Marco Polo. They are cute little buggers. The ocean this morning looks more like a lake which bodes well for an afternoon float about. But first we have errands to run.
Nunez and I waltzed downtown to the gringo library near Puerto Viejo in Old Town on the malecon (six mile boardwalk with intermittent statues celebrating various aspects of life in Mazatlan). We exchanged our books, sat down for a beer at Puerto Viejo, and I hesitate to tell you this, but we clinked our long neck Pacificos to a Monday morning in Mexico. We discussed the weather in the northwest and the up coming conferences we would be missing.
Puerto Viejo’s owner Antonio came over for a chat before we departed and he kissed Nunez. My wife loves a Hispanic man’s affection. We trekked a block down to La Cueva de Leon under the Belmar Hotel where their rooms are named after early gringo residents: John Wayne, Robert Mitchem, John Huston etc. The owner of La Cueva used to own the Topolo restaurant where Vic, Pam, Nunez and I ate for back to back New Year Eve’s dinners. Manulo since has opened this tiny well located restaurant with four outside tables with a palapa awning and a menu on a chalk board. The most expensive meal is $55 pesos which is about $4 dollars. All of his dishes are gourmet, but he doesn’t serve chips and salsa. He keeps it simple and elegant. I had chile relleno stuffed with shrimp with a crème sauce. Sharon had shrimp cooked in a mango sauce. Both were obscenely delicioso. Nunez scored another kiss, and we left.
Due to the strenuous nature of our day, Nunez and I decided that we probably had over extended our work day and crunched up our list of chores. We drove straight home, and contemplated our next effort: nap in air conditioning, catching some rays, reading a book, splashing in the ocean, hanging with Jaime and a cerveza. Nunez chose to take a children’s book that she has shared umpteen times with her munchkins and translated it into English to teach some orphans that we are visiting tomorrow. She needed help from Jaime and Salvatore, our masseuse. She may have scored another kiss, but she’s not fessing up to it. I, on the other hand, chose to lounge poolside with a book, nap, wander off to the ocean for a dip, and meet up with friends at the palapa for happy hour. I don’t know why we call it happy hour since Jaime shows up at noon and the drink prices are always the same (17 pesos for a pina colada about $1.40).
Sharon felt guilty that a couple purchased 15 racks of baby back ribs to share with folks, so she made a salad (blue cheese, apples, romaine lettuce, tomatoes). So ribs and salad were for dinner. The Canadians who brought the ribs invited us up to their place after Jaime left at 8 and he swapped stories and lies. They lied. I told stories. I actually caught Nunez telling my stories. She’s improving. They told us about their Canadian friend who tattooed SWAN on his penis. When he had an erection, it said SASKATCHEWAN. I called bull shit. Nunez called for visual verification.