MeXscape

Subtitled: Living on the Hill

The angle of repose is the incline at which various materials can maintain a state of rest. The angle of repose differs from material to material; you can stack square blocks to form a steeper incline than if you attempted a similar action with marbles. However, there is a point where the angle of the incline becomes so precipitous that eventually all materials will succumb to the forces of gravity; their angle of repose has been compromised. I believe that there is something akin to an angle of repose within the living and social communities of this planet that wholly govern both individual and group limits and their appropriate responses to the impending forces of psychic gravity when these limits are exceeded. Many things in ones life are governed by the angle of repose, both physical and emotional and we all respond in different ways to the inevitable tipping point.

Traveling the streets of Mazatlan can be exciting, frightening, enlightening, appalling, loads of fun and at times incredibly exasperating, all during a single outing. The safest mode of transportation in town is the omni-present city bus and the riskiest obviously being the ubiquitous motor scooter. The buses are numerous, cheap and cover this small city with a practiced efficiency that makes them the preferred mode of transportation for most of the locals. The bus system can place you where you need to be or get you within an easy walk; Mazatlan is not all that big. The copious quantities of motor scooters that ply the city streets move amongst their four wheeled cousins like gnats about a sweating face; always moving, always positioning and sometimes getting swatted. Given some of the astonishing maneuvers I have seen executed by Mexican women driving SUV’s, riding a scooter around town with shorts and sandals is an act that most certainly tempts the fickled finger of fate.

Chuck and I were having a lovely brunch on the terrace, enjoying the breeze and watching the sun glint off the ocean. Pretty much an idyllic morning here in Paradise. Suddenly, Reku jumped up and back pedalled so quickly he almost tripped over his own feet. I looked at Chuck, puzzled, wondering if he knew what was bothering Reku. He thought perhaps something had bitten him. But Reku wasn't looking at himself. He was staring intently behind me. I followed his gaze, and there, right behind my chair, was a bat. And Tasha was trying to make friends with it.

This Sunday morning saw Jennifer and I having a lazy morning. The weather was beautiful and clear. We had been out rather late last night so it was nice to take things easy. Sundays are very quiet days here, with most shops closed and few people on the street. All of a sudden the tranquility was rudely interrupted by a sound that is very unusual here, but somewhat familiar. Even though it had been a while since we've heard it, it only took a second to place it because it was a regular, daily sound in Fort Worth. Sirens! Lots of them and very nearby.

Sunsets are pretty sacred for Chuck and me. We drop everything we are doing, grab a cold Pacifico, and go onto the upstairs terrace and enjoy a cool ocean breeze and the show. And the show is usually quite spectacular. Sometimes the sky is a riot of blues, greens, purples, oranges, yellows, reds and pinks, with the sun a fiery magenta disk in the middle. Other times, the sky is tranquil, and the yellow sun simply drops behind the sea.