It's Monday (not really but just play along) and that means: Fronton. We didn't know if we would be able to go to play because we might have need to spend the day gathering supplies for the forth coming coast trip, but we decided to go anyway because there was a shadow of a doubt about our trip (for the dimensions of this shadow think about a cloud spanning from the Yucatan peninsula to the west coast of Mexico that would cast a shadow (and rain) for 100's of miles and essentially donate a weeks worth of rain to our getaway spot). Fronton it is.
We missed Alberto but Jose was still there so we got our warm-up in our usual spot and waited our turn on the court. Swingers.
Enter Alejandro, guy says he met Jose once before here at the courts, Jose doesn't remember but seems like a nice enough guy and besides Mike was going to come around 12:30. Show-off.
We finally got on the court and were going to play a couple of games just for fun and exercise, however with the racket and ball in the hands of Lefty (Alej) it was show time. Unfortunately you have met the type and I am not one to stereotype because I have dreadlocks and have never smoked anything illegal, but you know this guy. He's not very good, but an expert on the game, ready to give instruction to anyone who misses a shot; he doesn't put forth any effort to make a shot that requires movement, if it doesn't come directly to him for a kill shot you were supposed to get it. Any shot he takes must be the epitome of professional level difficulty (where, more than likely, you will miss costing your team 10 points (and the game goes by 1's to 15)). And finally the most ultimate example, playing in the back he shots a rocket toward the front wall hitting Jose in the cheek/eye region (his teammate at the time). What does he do at this point? He hustles (okay I'll give him that) over to tell Jose how to properly hold the racket when playing in front so he does get hit in the eye, while Jose is waiting to regain his vision. Classic! I couldn't believe this guy, if I hadn't known others like him in the States then I would have thought he was an anomaly of Mexico. I switched to play with Pa-cha so Jose could have a break and maybe enjoy playing for a bit; after a bit more effortless play by Wonder-Bro he had to leave asking us if we would be back tomorrow. I said that would be highly unlikely. Miguel never showed. It started to rain. Shower.
We went to the caseta.
Gerardo and Alma Rosa were there; we were hoping to give Claudia the baby hat Kimb had crocheted but she wouldn't be back until after her baby came, so we entrusted it into the care of the Bosses. We talked Mexican breakfast since this morning Marina had taught me how to make enfrijoladas. We parted in the rain and headed for Esperanza's restaurant for a late lunch.
Gourmet food as always, and Kimb was in desperate need of a journal; she was about to finish the one she was writing in and panic mode was becoming an option. I can somewhat understand because she has been keeping a journal since she was 11. Telling Jose we needed to go get one he kept saying, "I have a gift." Well, when dessert came (hot pancakes with cream) Kimb got a new journal from Jose. It is beautiful leather, with a Bible verse at the bottom of every page. She was very grateful.
We split up after lunch and Kimb and I found paradise. You see, there was a reason Jesus said I am the bread of life, not the rock, not the coat, not the sky, but bread. We found the bakery San Fransisco and it was the joint. Doughnuts fresh, sweetbread fresh, sweetbread with cream fresh, chocolate cover muffin fresh. Sweetness.
Why don't we have such bakeries in every city in the world?!?!?!
We bagged some paradise, caught a bus home, ate pizza (homemade of course by my wonderful wife), played games watched X-Men, Did Our First Set of Push Ups in the 100pushup workout, and eventually went to sleep thinking about the beach.
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