This is still an inchoate week. The word means something that is partially in existence or operation. Today is Tuesday so we can say that this week is just the beginning of something. We ignore what is going to be the final balance. Inchoate is full of expectations; however the word implies more an unfinished characteristic than a work in progress status. This entrance was inchoate yesterday and only today, Wednesday, I have the strength to end.
Finally San Luis (my hometown by adoption) was on the news today, in the front page of one of the most important news papers: “Marcelo de los Santos (the Governor of the state) inaugurated it; he mentioned it proudly in his annual inform; and six months later, the shinning new high way is impassable”. There was a picture with the note that demonstrates the text. This is not unusual in Mexico, the unusual thing is to have it in the front page. Bad luck?
San Luis was also mentioned last week in the news it was the city from where the defunct Secretary of State started his fatal flight, his inchoate return to home.
Apparently, San Luis is becoming famous, maybe it should remain in anonymity.
The Barasala
Last weekend I went to a Barasala. This is a Hindu cradle party. My inseparable Queen of the Desert came with me. As she barely leaves her palace, when we went to buy a present for the little child, she was trying to take with her all the indispensable items that cannot be found among the perennial sands where she lives. When I finally took away from her the pair of motorcycles brakes we were almost late and without a present: -We do not even have a motorcycle- I said, -With motorcycles one never knows- she responded cryptically and put them back in the shelf.
We choose a nice toy and begun our march to the party. The evening was cold and dark. The lamps of the car drilled the shadows as wood drills gray iron. In this problematic environment it was within the logical expectations to have problems to reach the party precinct. I had troubles. A bad turn transformed our peaceful joyride into a Blair Project 3 (with a vengeance), at least from the perspective of the Desert Queen. She is used to see the golden sand illuminated by the pale moon every nigh for miles and miles therefore to feel herself trapped in the obscure embracement of enormous trees was certainly disturbing. –Are you crazy??!! Do you even know where are we going? Oh, now we are going to be killed here!! This is a disaster!! I want to get out of the car!- among all the calamities she prognosticated she said something that hastily inflamed the delicate combustible of manliness – You need to call someone and ask for directions- She said, and all the sudden the car was deadly quiet. Only the whisper of the pneumatics surfing the black asphalt could be heard. What happened next, I will write tomorrow.
Read each other soon!!
