AHH, the follies of Mother Nature.
I was resting secure in the superior wisdom of Mary Ellen and her helpful hints, telling me not to clean my windows when it was sunny.
And then the clouds rolled in and we had a gray and sunless day.
So I could either pretend not to notice the hint from Mother Nature, or I could bow to her inimitable ways and clean the goldanged windows.
I chose the latter.
And I feel better about it, looking out of freshly cleaned if still a bit streaky windows.
Now for mopping the floors.
Nahh, maybe the next gray day, whenever that might be.
Mustn't overdo things.

I was checking my "Mary Ellen's Helpful Hints" about homemade window washing products, and right there, on the page listing ingredients for such a product she said:
Never wash windows on sunny days. They will dry too fast and show streaks.
YUUBI, I thought. Now I can legitimately put off this onerous task for oh, say a couple of months, til the rainy season, and then , what will be the point with all the rain....
SO many thanks to Mary Ellen and her helpful hints, they saved from doing this hateful job
at least until my inner houseproud person takes over. And that can be a while.

And so she came back, the chubby dame in the designer sweat suit, but this time she came already armed with a big stick that she was swinging wildly at the barking and mystified mutts, her not very attractive face set in a grim, determined look.
And I gave up.
Ignorance and fear are powerful forces, and she has both in abundance.
She is here but for a short time; the mutts and I live here, and we will survive this.

The fat lady in her designer sweat suit and with her designer thermos did not show up this morning.
Yesterday she was met--again--by the pack of screeching canines who share my house, and in spite of having met them before ( same way ) she grabbed the biggest stick she could lay her well manicured hands on, to ward them off.
That was when I stepped out and yelled at her that the dogs did not mean any harm so to put down the stick. Besides, I said ( yelled ? ) they live here, you don't.
It turned out that the female ( no lady indeed ) resorted to some low-class expletives, most I couldn't hear but the ones that I could were words like " pendejo" kindly translated as "asshole" .

When the couple I had seen when I got back from my trip to town this morning entered the safety zone of the Worthles Ones, I expected the same brouhaha.
Not so. These folks talked to the mutts and petted them and within seconds the barking had turned into obsequiousness, and everybody was having a grand time.
So, I learned, the mutts are friendly to folks who are friendly to them .
Very much like humans.

It can hit you at any time, doing the dishes or watching the telly
when that private little voice will pop up
like some impertinent child, and say
Hey...you know what ? You are all alone. You and the Mangy Ones. HA.
And the antidote to this bit of unwanted truth is always
another glass of wine
and if that doesn't do it, double the amount.
Maybe one day the voice will stop, either from overdoing it
or because it just isn't true anymore.
Either way, I am still here.

I was waiting for my delayed bus at the terminal in Guadalajara after a visit with Flemming and Alexis in Ajijic.
A young girl with Downs syndrome was selling mini lollipops for, said the hand painted sign, 1 peso a piece.
I gave her five pesos and refused the lollipop.
The girl got very agitated and even though I couldn't understand her, it was clear that she was upset that I refused to receive what she was selling and I was buying.
So I took the lollipop, and I still have it with me, reminding me that there is a fine line between begging and selling. The girl with Downs knew the difference and I had to learn it.

The ants came back last night. Scads and scads of them. All over the floors and up the walls but, having learned my lesson a long time and many visits ago, I let them do their thing, waiting for them to leave which they do, eventually.
And so I thought they had all left when I went to close the front door and lock up for the night, not realizing that some fringe group, a smaller and nastier breed than their big and burly brethren, was still busy by the door.
And I stepped on some of them
and they bit my feet. Yikes, but they have a poisonous bite. It took what seemed like hours to calm down enough for me to go to sleep; this morning I can still feel the pain.
They may be small in stature but they carry a big bite. Good thing they don't show up all that often.