Renewal and the Art of Roof Maintenance

As time psses I am less inclined to dive into large house maintenance projects, preferring to pay others to do them, or doing them mañana. Eventually in my quest for simplification, I suspect I will move out of this roomy antique and into a smaller and easier-to-maintain home. But I love living in this house, and for now I manage as best as I can.

However there is one recurring project that I enjoy a great deal. I love to do the roof.

Roof maintenance in this land of flat, concrete roofs is very different from what many of us who've owned houses in northern climes are accustomed to. Up north, a roof leak in a wood-frame house like my old one in Juneau can mean costly repairs that are best left to a professional. In Yucatán, if you start out with a roof that has never been left to deteriorate for too long, with a little bit of attention every couple of years you can keep expensive problems at bay for a long time.

The folks I bought the house from had deferred some maintenance, so for the first several years I owned the place I had a few leaks. Little by little I identified the sources of these problems and repaired them, and since that time I have had no leaks at all. The roofs are original to the house. That means that they are probably ninety years old. Because of their age, they need a bit more TLC than newer construction.

Annually during the January to May dry season, I inspect the entire roof surface, identifying new cracks or spots where the waterproof coating, called impermeabilizante, is lifting or cracking. Some years things look pretty good, and I just scrape loose coating and apply a fresh layer in those places. It's only a few hours of fairly easy work. Other times, like this year, much of the surface needs to be recoated, so I scrape the entire roof and attend to any new cracks that have appeared. 

Sometimes thin layers of old cement, used to level out or smooth over repairs, have become soft or have stopped adhering to the layers beneath. These need to be carefully scraped off, so as not to damage the remaining surface. Occasionally this is quite a bit more work than expected, as layer after historic layer, decades of accumulated coatings and repairs, begin to peel like layers of an onion. You've got to be careful in these circumstances that you don't take off too much and leave a low spot where water will puddle, causing further problems down the line.

Small cracks, if left unattended might allow seepage and cause deeper damage and leaks. To repair these, I drizzle in a thin mixture of roofing tar and then trowel the surface smooth once the tar has begun to set. For larger cracks or hollows in the surface, I mix the tar with a bit of sand. The benefit of using a stiffer tar-sand mixture is that it can be troweled and smoothed much like concrete, but sticks well even on dusty, dry surfaces.

While the patched areas are curing, the scraped sections get a good workover with a wire brush, followed by a thorough sweeping of the whole roof to remove as much dust as possible. Then comes the part I like most.

There is something about rolling on the luscious, creamy roof coating that I find very satisfying. I suppose that knowing my roof will be waterproof and the rooms beneath dry and secure during the daily rains and storms of the coming hurricane season is part of the reason for this.

But there is more to it than that. I love the repetitive work, dipping the roller into the bucket and rolling out the milkshake-thick liquid, over and over. It's a great pleasure to watch the sparkling, fresh surface quickly spread out before me. I enjoy doing things I am good at, and I've figured this one out. When I am done, the roof is perfectly clean and blindingly white. It's a good-sized roof.  It may sound funny, but the results are impressive.

After finishing, when the sun is down and the roof has cooled I sometimes climb upstairs to sit in the midst of this plain of pure, spotless white to watch the sky. I might bring a small lounge cushion and lie down up there to watch for falling stars, owls, bats, satellites, airplanes and distant storms. Even on a moonless night I can see perfectly well on the newly-coated roof.

Spring cleaning, for some, achieves not only household cleanliness and organization but can represent a new beginning and readiness for the coming year. In agricultural communities, tilling the soil in preparation for planting can mean about the same thing. I know devout Catholics here who feel refreshed and renewed after attending mass and confessing.

I don't mean to imply that working on the roof is anything like a person's faith, but for me, the annual ritual of attending to the roof  is something that achieves a similar kind of result. It's a renewal of a sort, a tabula rasa. The house is ready for another cycle, and so am I.

Business: Quinta in the City For Sale

As I have done occasionally in the past, I offer for sale an interesting piece of real estate in Mérida.

A quinta is a country home, often with sufficient space to keep a few animals or have a garden and fruit trees. In Yucatán, the term is typically applied to a place smaller than a ranch, but larger than the average city lot.



This quinta is a slice of the countryside in La Ermita, one of the most popular neighborhoods in Mérida's centro historico. The atmosphere of this large urban property is green and tranquil, despite being located in a mixed-use area on public transportation routes and within easy reach of downtown's cultural activities, shops and services.



For a person who is torn between country and city life, this might be the perfect solution.

Set back from the street there is a small, one-bedroom, one-bath house with kitchen/dining and living rooms. The sala retains its original pasta-tile floor in good shape and an interesting archway leading to the kitchen. The house is in habitable condition and everything works, but most buyers probably would install modern upgrades. Attached to the house at the rear is a covered workshop area with a second full bath.

The lot itself measures 11 x 83.5 meters, or about 36 feet street frontage with 274 feet in depth. A large entry gate on the street opens to allow parking for several cars inside.

And the great depth of the lot is what makes the possibilities so interesting. There is ample space for the construction of a private home in the rear away from the street, plus room for guest houses or to accommodate a small business, such as a plant nursery. Or the property could be enjoyed as it is, with lots of open space for pets, a garden and fruit trees.

Speaking of plants, here is a partial listing of mature trees on the land: lemon; sweet and sour orange; mandarin; avocado; anona; guayaba, guanabana; guaya; cayumito. There also is nance, ramón, ziricote and a large flowering plumeria.



One of my favorite things here is the antique Chicago Aermotor windmill, used to pump water from the hand-dug well. The motor needs to be rebuilt (and I am told the estimate for this work is about US$1000), but the tower is in excellent condition. The windmill was originally installed to fill a large square water tank, which is in good shape and suitable for use as a swimming pool. The 12-meter well also is set up for installation a submersible water pump (at the cost of just a few hundred dollars) in order to fill the pool and water the garden.

The house has a large underground water cistern to catch and store roof runoff for use in irrigation during the dry season. An old cement block hen house could be demolished or easily renovated for use as a dog kennel.

All paperwork is up to date on this property for a trouble-free transaction.

Lot: 11 x 83.5 meters, with fruit trees, well, windmill, and water tank suitable for pool.
House: Living room, kitchen/dining, bedroom, full bath, with cistern and attached workshop with second full bath.
Price: US $79,000.

If you have questions or would like to see the property, please contact me at:
marc_olson@hotmail.com

Click on photos below to enlarge.

Photographer Without a Camera

Querétaro -- There are many sayings about the fact that you don't really appreciate something until you don't have it. I've gotten a taste of that this week, but with a twist.

This is probably the first post ever on this blog to not feature photos. There is a reason for that.

At home in Mérida last week as I packed for this trip, I placed my camera in the small bag, put the spare battery on the charger and plugged it in. I didn't notice until the next day, when I pulled out the camera to record the quinceañera I was attending in Querétaro, that the battery and charger remained where I had left them back home in Mérida. In my last-minute preparations I'd left this critical equipment behind. And the battery that was in the camera was dead.

So I took no photos of the party. This was not a huge loss, because there were many others taking pictures, but it's interesting how disconcerted I was to realize I was not going to have a camera during my ten-day trip. I had planned to work on some blog posts and photo ideas while in Querétaro, and this little problem entirely changed the nature of the visit. But sitting there at the party with my dead camera, I decided to treat the situation as an opportunity.

I have always felt that the camera helps me observe. It certainly helps refresh my memory of places, people and events long after they are over or gone. I have not traveled without a camera in my entire adult life.

What I realized, on the road this week sans camera, is that in some ways having a camera makes me less observant. When I find myself paying narrowed attention to the light and color and finding interesting juxtapositions of subjects, often I get lost in my work. People may become mere elements of a composition. When I get into the flow of making photos I may miss many other things around me: sounds; smells; expressions; interactions. By focusing on images, I may not see the big picture.

I worked as a newspaper photojournalist early in my career, and the habits I developed then, as a stalker and hunter of images, persist. Although the camera can prompt keen observation of my surroundings, it also can be a barrier between me and the people I encounter. It certainly can change one's interactions with others, making an intent photographer more like a voyeur or observer than a participant in events.

This week I attended the village festival for Saint Joseph in Tenasdá, Querétaro with my longtime friend Sister Mary Jane Ranek, who is the music director of the church there. Tenasdá is a beautiful pueblo, the small church situated amidst rolling hills where pine trees contrast with rich, red soil. The church was colorfully decorated with flowers, streamers and banners. Residents of several nearby pueblos attended, bringing with them the saints from their parishes, which were lined up in front of the church and garlanded with flowers, cookies and other food. Many of the residents here are Otomí, the women in their white hats and bright traditional clothing. They were sharing their indigenous dances, which are accompanied by drum and fiddle. After the mass we all sat in the shade and enjoyed a traditional lunch of tortillas, beans, rice and chicharrón, washed down with large vats of agua de jamaica.

I was surrounded by rich subject matter for a photographer.

And what I did without a piece of technology between me and the world was to listen and observe more. I was "taking pictures with my mind," as one songwriter friend of mine used to say, knowing that I will not have digital images on my hard drive to refer to later. I used all of my senses more because I was not concentrating so much on just one. I noticed different things. I connected more with people. I felt a part of the event instead of being an observer apart.

I am missing my camera this week, and due to that in some ways I appreciate it more. But I have noticed that without the camera I am aware of my surroundings in a different way. I think I am more in touch with my environment. I am soaking up more diverse impressions, living more in the moment and not spending my time storing up images to be looked at on some future occasion.

Without my camera it's been an odd, but enlightening week. I doubt that I'll intentionally leave the camera behind in the future, but I will be more thoughtful about how and when to use it.

A Nasty Week; Happy to Be Here

I haven't posted for awhile. It's just been one of those months. Topped of by a week that I'd gracefully describe as one of the most stressful I've had in some time.

Details aren't important, but it's been sort of like this...

I have been waiting for Immigration (Instituto Nacional de Migración) to approve and deliver my new permanent resident visa, which I must possess in order to leave and return to Mexico. In January and February I have met with the same friendly and helpful personnel in Migración who've annually processed my paperwork. I have had no problems with the process. It's just that this year they are working under brand new federal laws, and the system has slowed down somewhat while they implement new procedures.

Since the new visa was in process, I've been putting off a planned February visit to the States to see my elderly father. Finally a week ago when I found I would not have my new resident visa ID card for a couple more weeks, I decided to apply for a special letter of permission that will allow me to leave and return in lieu of my regular visa. This involved going in at 7:00AM a couple of mornings this week to be near the front of line when Migración opens its doors at 9:00AM.

At the same time I've had some business dealings go awry. A check I received and deposited was returned due to a spelling error, causing me technically to default on a payment I'd promised to make the following day. Resolving this problem necessitated consultations with my lawyer, careful diplomacy with the person to whom I'd promised the money, various visits, calls and emails to banks, and jumps through a few other hoops. It's all working out, but it has been time-consuming, tiring and stressful, because of the need to resolve all the problems by Friday or end up paying out quite a bit in losses and fees.

And I have a ticket to go see Dad on Monday. He's been expecting me for a month.

To slather sour icing on this already-rotten cake, I ate something that disagreed with me Sunday night, and have slogged all this week through a dense haze of fever, lethargy and nausea. Being stubborn and thinking I'd deal with it on my own (not to mention being really busy), I waited a couple of days to see the doctor. I could not sleep and became dehydrated; instead of feeling better, as all this transpired I felt steadily worse.

There was a lot more, but that's the basic outline. It's been a pretty nasty week, truthfully. But it looks as if I've made it.

The good news is that when finally I called my doctor he saw me within the hour, and two hours after my call I was back home, medicated, and on the road to recovery.

And this morning after my last meeting, knowing now that everything is on the right track, I went home for a break. I threw off the shoes and business costume and stepped into the garden. The sky was bright blue and the morning breeze was warm but not yet hot. Heliconias are in full bloom as are some orchids. I thought gratefully about several Mérida people who stepped in this week to help me feel better, smooth over problems and make it all work out.

And I felt very happy to be here.

Contentment: You Get What You Need

No matter how you plan and try, life never works out the way you thought it would. And that's what makes it so fascinating.

Some time ago I was talking with my friend Hammockman on the topic of planning for security later in life. What he observed is that it doesn't pay to plan excessively because things will never work out the way we think. Security is all an illusion, he said. And I agree with him.

I don't make new year resolutions any longer, but I do find that the beginning of a new year is a good time to think about what I can focus on that will be meaningful to me in the year ahead. I have found that if I keep moving toward what gives a sense of purpose to my life and eliminate all that is unnecessary and distracting, although I may not get what I want (in the words of the Rolling Stones song), I get what I need.

For example, for decades I thought I would live out my life in Juneau, Alaska, living in the old wood-frame gold miner's house I owned on Starr Hill. I couldn't imagine spending my days anywhere else. However I pursued my interests, and eventually landed in Yucatán, a region that in important ways resembles the Alaska of my childhood, an Alaska that barely exists any more. I maintain strong ties with my roots, but am happy in this new place.

I never imagined that career ambition and "accomplishment" would seem so unimportant. In fact, I've come to view much of what I once would have considered constructive or successful as precisely the opposite.

I would not have guessed that I'd be interested in agriculture, but now find myself fascinated by planting and growing things (not to mention eating what I produce).

I find meaning in dealing well with the most difficult problems. I never imagined I would have the capacity to be so patient.

I love people and love life in ways and with an intensity I had never expected would be possible.

I believe my best years are ahead of me. That is because I accept that we can't know what to expect, and therefore I feel prepared for whatever happens. I feel a steady force pulling me towards a future that is satisfying and meaningful.

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want

You can't always get what you want

But if you try sometimes you just might find

You just might find

You get what you need



If this topic interests you, I recommend this thought-provoking book.

Wanderings: Finding "Old Tulum"

It had been ten years since I'd stayed in Tulum. When my visiting friend Paul suggested we drive over and spend a couple of nights there before he headed to Cancun to fly north, I wasn't sure what to expect. Tulum has changed a great deal over the years, and I was not sure I'd like it.

I am not terribly interested in fancy vacation hotels, and my budget does not allow for frequent expenditures of this sort. I enjoy myself, better appreciate a place and find I meet more interesting people when the accommodations are simple. I was afraid that this would be hard to find in modern-day Tulum.

I needn't have feared. Although fancy and expensive resorts have spread like a fungus down the Tulum beach, pockets of "Old Tulum" still exist.

By "Old Tulum" I mean what I remember Tulum to be when I first visited years ago. Of course "Old Tulum" means something very different to local residents who remember the place before tourism became the basis of the local economy. But my memories of Tulum are of a quiet, casual place, where most visitors carried backpacks and slept in hammocks strung between palm trees or in rustic Mayan-style cabañas. The cabaña we rented years ago had no electricity and a "path to the bath." When we checked in we paid about twenty dollars, if I am not mistaken, and were handed matches and candles. It was an idyllic spot.



It can be idyllic still. Using the internet, Paul found a rustic rental identical to my memories of the "hippie-in-a-hammock" days. We were right on the beach, used candles at night, and the bathhouse was twenty steps down a palm-lined, white sand pathway. It was just about perfect.

The most noticeable difference now was that to both sides of us, naked Europeans were paying hundreds of dollars per night to lounge on queen-sized platform beds placed on the sand, and to have their umbrellas adjusted, pillows fluffed and drinks served by armies of attendants while they languidly ignored everyone around them. These tourists were entertaining. What I found even more delightful was the fact that we were paying a small fraction of the cost to enjoy the same world-class beach, warm, crystalline water and beautiful weather.



Certainly we lived differently from the package tourists; our accommodations (picture above) were just a notch or two above camping. We kept our drinks and snacks in an ice chest. There was no maid service and showers were cool. But we had a fantastic time and I would not have traded our place for one of the others.

One thing that time has improved in Tulum is the choice of restaurants. Some are very expensive, but good, reasonably priced meals are still to be found in the area. The thin-crust pizzas at OM, on the beach, are delicious. Back on the highway, El Camello, located on the east side of the road on the southern outskirts of Tulum, provides generous servings of economically-priced, delicious seafood. The mixed ceviche at El Camello is hard to beat for price and portion size.

And there were other nice details, like the young man where we stayed who would climb like a monkey up a nearby palm, knock down some coconuts, whack off the ends with a machete, and present them, straw inserted and ready to enjoy, for a few pesos.

But the best thing about Tulum is the beach. Miles of fabulous, pristine, uncrowded beach. No large hotel developments have been constructed along the beach south of the archaeological zone, and I hope the situation stays that way. It would be a great loss if Tulum ever develops in the way of Cancun...and if the last of the rustic old-style beach accommodations is some day closed down.

Lila Downs Visits Mérida

I was introduced to the music of Lila Downs, the Oaxaca-born Mexican-American singer and actress, in 2003 when she sang in the high school auditorium in Juneau, Alaska. That very month I closed on the purchase of my new home in Mérida, Yucatán. In my first blog post, I wrote about how my fascination with Lila and her powerful music intertwined with my transition from Alaska to a new culture and way of living in Mexico.

Ten years after singing in my Alaska hometown, as if to affirm my Mexican life this week Lila performed in my adopted home town of Mérida.

One difference when I see her these days is that due to circumstances, now I have a personal connection. Several years ago I met Lila's godmother Victoria at a concert in Lila's hometown of Tlaxiaco, Oaxaca. Since that time I have been privileged to make many visits to Oaxaca to attend concerts, the baptism of Lila and husband Paul Cohen's son Benito, and to hang out in the city of Oaxaca, explore pueblos, and to visit Lila's home in Oaxaca and Victoria's home in Juchitán. It has been a fascinating opportunity to make new friends, and to get an insider's view of the region's fascinating culture.

It was a wonderful concert. The energy and flexibility of the singer's performance and the virtuosity of the entire company is of international caliber. I tend to like the old Mexican standards, and there were plenty of those this time, songs like La Martiniana, Naila and La Cucaracha, but also rock-, jazz- and rap- inspired contemporary themes.

Lila talked during the performance and to the press about how this visit to Yucatán may inspire a new project. She wants to come back to Mérida to study Yucatecan traditional trova with the goal of interpreting it in future recordings. She indicated, to the roaring approval of the crowd, that she will be back, and she confirmed that to me as we chatted briefly after the concert. That's exciting news.

I love the music and it was wonderful to see Lila, Paul, Benito, Lila's wonderful assistant Eddaliz and the band in Mérida at long last, but for me there was more to this event.

As I sat with the audience along side of Mérida's Plaza Grande, as always I was mesmerized by the spectacle, passion and intensity of this music. The entire crowd, which numbered in the thousands, swayed and pulsed with the beat. The cheers, clapping and chorus of voices rose and fell with the music. There seemed to be nothing but the moment and we were one soul together in it.

The moment was yet another indication, accompanying the many quieter and less flamboyant ones that I experience daily, of why I love living here.

Read all posts on Lila here.

Hammockman wrote about the concert.

Joanna at Writing From Mérida wrote about the concert.

Hacienda Dreams (revisited)

This is a favorite piece from 2009. Three years ago An Alaskan in Yucatán was new and had few readers. I recently realized that this post has had very few hits, so I've decided to share it again.

Sometimes I go on the road with a purpose. On other occasions I go just to see where the highway leads me. I rarely fail, in wandering around Yucatán, to return home with an interesting experience or having seen something thought provoking, mysterious, or beautiful. Recently I went, purportedly out of curiosity, but in reality just on an impulse to go, to spend a couple of hours tramping around a parcel of land that's for sale a bit more than an hour's drive from the house in Mérida. On the return trip, I took an old two-lane highway that meanders quietly, and with more bicycle and pedestrian than motor traffic, through hennequen plantations, ranches, and groves containing native trees like cedro, ramón, ceiba and chacá. Along the way it threads through several small pueblos and old haciendas. The road then abruptly melds into a more modern, divided four-lane highway, quicker and more efficient but far less satisfying, that leads back to the city.

I had passed through here before, but until this day had not noticed a gate and big old house, mostly hidden by very large trees, set back a bit from the road. The casona is situated on a straight stretch at the approach to a community; on past trips I must have been slowing down and watching more for animals, bicycles and topes, or speed bumps, than looking at the scenery. 

I squinted. This was a hacienda. Large tracts, thousands of mecates of spiky blue-green hennequen plants grew here. When they were harvested, the pencas, or leaves, were bundled and heaped on horse-drawn trucks which ran on a narrow-gauge railroad from the far reaches of the property to the factory buildings. There the leaves were processed into sisal fiber, the basis of all variety of ropes and lines for the world's navies and merchant fleets, and baling twine for American Harvester machines. There probably was a huge chimney here, taller than the nearby church belltower back when enormous, belching smokestacks meant progress, prosperity and wealth for Yucatán's landowning elite. 

It was a Golden Age. Mérida became fabulously rich on this trade. Due to the vast quantity of ships coming into nearby Sisal and Progreso harbors, it was easier to travel to ports in the U.S. or across the Atlantic than to go overland to Mexico City, and Yucatecans looked abroad. European-style mansions mushroomed on Mérida's boulevards. Women wore the latest in French styles and directed vast housholds of servants while ensconced in salas furnished with the finest, imported furniture and carpets; men smoked Cuban cigars and drank the finest whiskies, wines and liqueurs from across the ocean. Not only did hacendados send their privilieged offspsring to the Old World for schooling; the wealthiest are rumored as well to have sent their clothes for laundering there to avoid having the fine fabrics damaged by Yucatán's hard water. Haciendas like this one made it all possible...for awhile.

As the sun prompted trickles of perspiration to tickle my neck, I came out of my waking dream. The house is not terribly well-kept, but neither has it been abandoned to nature and fallen into ruin, as rapidly happens in this climate. Someone, probably a caretaker or watchman -- an older señor living in more modest quarters nearby -- keeps the weeds trimmed back near the house, most likely by putting a few animals out to graze on the place, and maintains gates, doors and windows in repair and locked. Nevertheless several other visible structures, farther back in the trees, are nothing but shells, their roofs long gone, columns vine-encased green cylinders, arches intact but no longer supporting the load they were designed for, and with mature trees dropping an ever-thickening compost of leaves onto floors where once people lived and worked and mopped away the dust.

There are rocking chairs on the front terrace of the old main house, but they are weathered silver, warped and beyond reclaiming, woven bottoms long rotted and the shreds carried away by the wind or nesting birds. The walls, once painted a rich "hacienda red," are streaked by many years' accumulation of black mold and at the same time bleached pink by neglect. A section of the delicate French tiles on the porch roof, molded and fired in Marseilles and imported to Yucatán more than a century ago as ballast on a returning hennequen ship, have fallen and shattered. It is easy to imagine that decades ago, one morning after breakfast, the doors had been locked when the owners left on a trip, and because of some incident lost to history they never again returned to live here. Thereafter, for a long time the house was perfectly maintained like a time capsule, ready for the owner's imminent return, only to very, very slowly edge into decrepitude as hope eventually faded and the household staff aged or dwindled.

I have dreamed from time to time of finding an old place such as this, fixing it up just enough, bringing in furniture and my books, hanging pictures and putting in a garden. Perhaps I would get a dog and keep a few other animals. I would eat my own wonderful fresh fruit, gather eggs hidden by the hens in far reaches of the garden, escape the heat by swimming daily in the ancient cistern's invigoratingly cold well water, and live a long, healthy life of genteel rusticity. Then I begin to wonder if I, too, perhaps out loneliness, isolation, illness, wanderlust -- for economic or some other reasons -- might one morning finish my coffee, casually lock up and drop the keys in my pocket, walk away, and never manage to make it back home again.

Blogging: Favorite Posts of 2012

I enjoy reviewing a year's worth of posts and selecting a few to share once again with readers.

It was hard to choose my favorite posts this year in part because the blog's focus has evolved. I started writing here several years ago to share my experiences and observations about the life of an Alaskan living in the Mexican state of Yucatán. The emphasis was heavy on travel, nature, culture, and life in a foreign country.

This year was a challenging one personally and in my family, but surprisingly I found myself content -- not one hundred percent happy, of course, but optimistic and centered in my place in the world -- despite a lot of changes and stress around me. That's what I wrote about. An Alaskan in Yucatán became more personal and introspective in 2012.

One of my January posts amounted to a resolution for the new year which still looks good to me eleven months later. It was titled, Contentment: If I Had a Million Dollars.



A few months later, reflecting on many things that had quickly and irrevocably changed in my life, I found myself considering how much I'd learned about maintaining a perspective and finding meaning, even in times of change and stress. The result was a post called The Splendor of Each Day.

You can read more posts on the theme of contentment here.

In keeping with the theme of staying positive and feeling good, early in the year I posted about the fine art of napping, Mexican style (photo at top). The Art of the Siesta summarizes what I have learned about the techniques and benefits of taking an afternoon rest.



In 2012 I didn't abandon entirely the sorts of things I wrote about when I first started blogging. I continued writing occasionally on animals and our natural surroundings. My favorite on the topic this year was about the pair of tortoises I adopted several years ago and which live in my back yard.

I also continued writing the series of posts called Living Here, which focuses on everyday life and adapting to the culture of Mexico. Earlier this year I tried to help a Yucatecan friend resolve a difficult legal and personal situation, so I plugged into my network of friends and contacts in Mérida. I was gratified and humbled by the way Mexicans can come to the aid of a friend in need. I told about this experience in a post entitled The Power of Relationships.

Two thousand twelve was not among my best years, but nevertheless it was a year of great learning, and I had many things to be thankful for.

Best wishes for 2013.

The House and Garden Tour, From the Inside

Brent Marsh (center) leads a House and Garden Tour

I've never been the type who wanted to live in an Architectural Digest sort of house. So when my friend and real estate agent Jennifer Lytle approached me recently about putting my place on the Mérida English Language Library House and Garden Tour, I was a bit reluctant.

This tour affords the curious an opportunity to peek inside interesting homes within walking distance of the English Library in Mérida centro. The fee charged goes to support library programs. Most of the tour-goers are foreigners visiting the area, and many are considering living here at least part of the time.

My problem with throwing open the doors was that my house, even after nine years, remains unfinished. There are windows without glass, cabinets without doors, and the whole second story is only half-completed. The facade has not been repaired in decades and occasionally little chunks of it rain down onto the sidewalk. Stuffing pops out of furniture cushions. Nothing is really done.

To make matters worse, since the first phase of the renovation was completed six years ago, much that was finished, nicely painted, shiny and new back then is now peeling, a bit rusty or otherwise weather- and time-worn. The house is very comfortable, but in its current condition it is not a candidate for any design or decorating awards. And since that sort of thing is not an interest of mine, I doubt it ever will be. I do not worry about a little peeling paint or falling plaster here and there. These things happen to an antique house in the tropics. I am not about to dedicate an excessive amount of my time to maintaining my home in picture-perfect condition.

I have never been on the tour, but am aware that many of the homes included feature award-winning architecture and are among the most elegant and well-appointed in Mérida. I just wasn't sure my unfinished home,  set up more for comfort and convenience rather than impact, would fit with the program. But Jennifer convinced me that visitors would be interested in seeing a place that is "lived in."

So last Tuesday they came. There were about twenty on the tour, enough to make my ample front sala feel a bit cramped when they'd all gotten inside.

It was obvious that most of the tour-goers had done a little homework or visited other homes in the area. Mostly they asked specific, practical questions about the ins and outs of fixing up an old house in Mérida. Many were interested in materials not so commonly seen north of the border, things such as polished concrete floors and poured countertops and the variety of tiles and stone used in finishes. Some loved the copper sinks and basins from Michoacan. Others had questions about gardening and plants.

I even met a couple of readers of this blog.

It was an appreciative group, and I found it interesting to view my home through their eyes. Once again I was reminded of how fortunate I am to live in this place.