Looking out my Backdoor: Not my best day

Every day should be my best day! There I go, thinking I “should” be grateful and, truly, I am. However, “should” can take a hike into the out beyond and stay there. But my reality is that I feel shaky, in pain, and morbidly fixated on possibilities: broken bones, concussion, blood spatters. None of which happened.

My day started with pleasure. I woke to the musical prayers of the procession of thousands from Etzatlan marching with the Statue of the Virgin from here to San Jaunito Escabedo, about 12 kilometers from here. My casita is a couple blocks east of the road on the edge of town.

Families, many in traditional regalia, gather at 4:00 at the Cathedral for ceremonies to begin the procession, walking in prayer the entire route. It bestows great honor to be chosen to carry the Virgin. The faithful have made this pilgrimage every second Monday in October for hundreds of years.

Once they reach San Juaniito Escobedo, the Virgin is received with a high mass. The presidente of that city hosts a barbecue. Everybody from both cities are invited to the feast.

I did not join the procession. Perhaps I should have. There goes that “should” again.

Leo picked me up for shopping. I had a long list. I don’t see the sense in supporting an automobile. For a few pesos a trip I can ride with friends or take a taxi.

Walking through my garden, I put my foot, toe first, into a hole where it lodged. I could move neither my foot nor the hole.

Consequently, I fell on my hunky-dory, my back and my head, in that order. The earth moved. I couldn’t breathe. I lay on the ground for an hour though that time was compressed into two or three minutes. Josue saw me on the ground and rushed over to help Leo raise me from the downed.

Once upright, my knees and ankles went wibbly-wobbly and did not want to work. But with help I made my shaky way to Leo’s car. Nothing broken but my confidence and minor pride.

I had a lengthy shopping list, many stops. I sat in the car, shaking. Leo shopped with my list. I couldn’t keep my thoughts controlled. I have a prosthetic right knee and prosthetic left hip. It could have been bad. I was certainly in shock. I kept telling Leo I was loco-loco. He didn’t argue.

We went to the shoe store to adjust one of my shoes. I say “we” but Leo did all the back and forth work. I handed him a list with my money.

He bought eggs from the egg lady, a woman in her 90s who lives in a tiny house and has little but her chickens in her courtyard. From there we went to the woman who sells chickens. Leo selected a beautiful chicken, cut into quarters and a handful of chicken livers. Then on to the store for olive oil and cat food. Two cannot live as cheaply as one. At our last stop at my favorite fruteria, Leo gathered pineapple, melon, bananas, spinach and squash for me.

On the way back to the Rancho I said, “Let’s go to Dona Mary’s for carnitas de puerco con nopales.” The last thing I wanted to do was go home to make lunch. I could feel my bottom turning purple.

Dona Mary’s Restaurante is in one of the little colonias on the road to Magdalena. This eatery is a favorite place, like nothing anywhere in Montana. All the food is fresh, cooked on wood-fired stove, in an open tin-roofed shack. Whenever we pull in front, family faces light up with welcome.

The drive to Dona Mary’s and back helped me to settle down and gain perspective, to be grateful I didn’t badly hurt myself.

Alongside the road are millions of orange flowers that herald the end of the rainy season. The mountainside above the village looked as if a blanket of orange had been dropped from above. The blue sky, white clouds, orange flowers, green cornfields were the most brilliant colors I’d ever seen. The bedsheet butterflies have returned. The iguanas sunning on rock walls looked goofier. Leaves on trees seemed sharper. All my senses seemed heightened.

Back home, my chicken simmers in broth. Wasps build a nest in the window arch above my desk. (Outside — I’m inside.) I have a good book. I have food. Cat has food. Bruises will heal. The loco-loco part of me may or may not go away. So it’s not my best day. So what!

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].