Looking out my Backdoor: Reasons, seasons, and forever friends

Friends come in every size, color and flavor and I would not want it to be any other way.

I’ve heard it said that some friends are for a reason. I’d agree with that. Take Benjamin, for example, the man who delivers my twenty liter jugs of drinking water. He is a delightful man. I enjoy our short chats, always like to see him. But we don’t share home visits.

My long-gone but always with me friend, David, would say Benjamin is a business associate. And that is true.

We have neighbors with whom we are friendly, borrow a cup of sugar, share a backyard barbeque. We are not intimate but we look out for one another. Maybe we don’t share secrets.

My friend David enriched my life for a season. We were very good friends and through association with him, I became involved in live theatre, discovered and developed unknown talents, and enlarged my acquaintances and skills.

A bonus of friendship with David is that I also got to know and love his wife, Vidya, and though David died, both he and Vidya are forever friends. That’s the best kind.

This week, Steve and Theresa from my old stomping grounds on the Olympic Penninsula are visiting. They visited last year and fell in love with this area of Mexico.

Steve and I were business colleagues for many years. Through helping one another we progressed from “reason” friends to “real” friends. Eventually they invited me to join them when their talented musician sons were playing gigs in local venues. Together, we enjoy a “family” friendship that “took.” I’ve stayed in their home many times. We don’t keep secrets.

After they returned home last year, Theresa could not shake her desire to have a place on the rancho. The only casa for sale was a shell that had sat forlorn and empty for years when the owner died. A thief entered, stripped plumbing and wiring and fixtures before anybody caught on and stopped the destruction.

I described the house to Theresa. The bones are good but it needs a lot of work, a lot. New septic system, all new electrical, all new plumbing, for starters. But, the bones are good. I sent pictures. That sweet woman bought the house, sight unseen.

So the first question Theresa asked when they entered out little colonia the morning of their arrival was, “Where is our house?” Followed by, “I love it. It is beautiful.”

Well, it will be beautiful. Right now an open trench with septic pipes fronts the house, along with broken concrete and mounds of dirt. Work has begun. All our casitas are brick with arched windows, outlined with wrought iron. The bones are good.

We’ve spent hours in their new acquisition, painting trim, tearing out walls, buying new tile for kitchen, rearranging the bathroom, placing furniture, hanging artwork not to mention building a patio, planting trees, landscaping and installing a fountain in the new patio. All in our heads, of course. But that is where the real work begins.

Yesterday, we smudged the house with sage, inviting pain and lingering shadows from the past to leave and blessed the house with sticks of copal, the local equivalent of our sweetgrass, for cleansing and blessing.

Don’t get the idea their visit is all work and no play. One thing my friends did that I think brilliant is to stay two night at Hotel El Centenario, in town, in a room with balcony overlooking the plaza. They explored the surrounding streets to pick up a feel for the energy and workings of the town.

Like a chocolate-dipped ice cream cone, we topped off the fun with a day in beautiful Tequila, where we toured the Jose Cuervo distillery, popped into galleries and watched the reenactment of the ancient swirling dance of the pole flyers.

We explored small outlying villages, San Juanito de Escobedo to San Pedro and Santa Rosalita, ending up at El Parrel in San Marcos for dinner.

My good friends will return in October to check progress on their new home and make further plans. When good friends become good neighbors, that is the best.

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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 sondrajean.ashton@yahoo.com.