Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholden

As I was perusing blogs the other day for inspiration I saw that First Mate Mary had written a new post. Mary is a good friend as well as being a neighbor six months of the year. She has a wonderful free flowing, musical, descriptive style that I always look forward to reading. She and the "Cap'n" lived aboard a sailboat in the Bahamas for many years before putting down roots in our little village of Chelem. They acclimated easily and spend much of their time here helping out with the needs of the local people, when they aren't eating, drinking and playing in their new pool. Checkout Mary's blog on my sidebar!

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Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholden

The birds have spread the word that we are back and our feeders are busy this morning. I took my first wander up the mountain but I didn't make it as far as usual because my lungs haven't quite made the adjustment from sea level to 10,600 feet of altitude. It was one of those glorious mornings when the air is crisp and the sun is shining and you break a sweat even though it hasn't broke 40 degrees Fahrenheit yet. I took a deep breath and looked around and for about the millionth time congratulated myself on living in a place most people only dream of living.

And then I thought of our other home, Chelem, Yucatan, Mexico. Just a tad bit different. We had guests stop by for a short visit there a few weeks ago. They were on a cruise ship that made a stop in Progreso so they thought they'd take a gander at our new digs. We picked them up at the Mercado….. and then took them on a drive down the Malecon and then by the nicer homes of Progreso. It was a short tour. Then we crossed the Yucalpeten Puente (bridge). The weather was playing nice that morning and the sun speckled waters made the boats in the marinas look shiny and new or at least seaworthy.

We drove them by our favorite watering holes, our favorite place to grab a taco on the square, our favorite hardware store, Tocha, where we go first before we head off to the Mecca of Merida and her box store temples. Our guests were polite. They made nice noises. They actually oohed and ahhhed when we drove by a little tienda all freshly painted white with its bright red recumbent Coca-Cola bottle displayed on the side of the building. They said nothing about the trash that lurks in the corners and escapes across the dusty roads or the air of neglect that seems to permeate a good number of the buildings. They didn't have to. We knew what they were thinking. We knew because we think the same thing every time we take a drive. Why are we here?

The answer is always the same. The beauty.

The beauty is found in a crumbling bar at the table of a disparate band of expats struggling to figure out ways to make the burdened lives of the people of their adopted home more congenial without forcing their own ideas of "better" upon them.

It's there in a hot summer night with the sound of foreign and native laughter mingling in the joy of a child's first birthday.

It's there on an early morning beach in the shy smile of a sea worn fisherman as he offers a beautiful shell to the gringo lady he has seen devotedly combing the sands much in the same way he searches the seas.

They are both treasure seekers.

Beauty is that nugget of hope that if we look deep enough, work hard enough, and dream high enough, we will find the treasure.