A Breeze at the Door

 

Brisa, breeze in Spanish, has swept into our lives with charm, and grace—as if she always belonged.

I wish I could talk with her and hear the story of her life before we met her on the streets near our home in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, in southern Mexico. Who did she ever belong to, if anyone? Where did she sleep? What paths did she walk before crossing ours? How could she be so good-natured?

When we first noticed her, she bore evidence of a small mishap, favoring her front right paw. Even so, she lifted it to “shake hands” with Amy—a polite gesture that suggested she still believed in people. Aside from that, she seemed healthy—no collar, no signs of a home, no hesitation in her step toward us. From the start she showed nothing but affection and friendliness, without fear. Everyone who has met her thinks she is about three or four years old. Her story is a mystery.

It took a few days—coming so soon after losing our former street adoptee, Avión—but one evening we gathered her up from in front of a gas station and brought her home. It felt less like a decision than a recognition, as though something already understood simply needed to be acted upon.

Now she is home and fully part of our “pack”—Amy, our dog Mali, and me, and now Brisa. She is so well-mannered and loyal that my heart thumps with gladness—like her tail, which begins wagging even when she is resting and knows I am entering the room.

She comes when called, racing back to the house from the yard as if responding to something urgent and joyful. She eats enthusiastically alongside Mali, then checks Mali’s bowl, just in case something important has been left behind. And she gives what can only be described as hugs—sitting up and wrapping her front legs around ours, gazing upward with bright, uncomplicated happiness. It is a gesture that feels both earnest and disarming, and resistance proves futile.

Brisa has already had several veterinary visits. She received injections to ease the pain in her paw, which may have been the result of a severe bruise. We took her to a clinic in town for examinations and to schedule sterilization. During the exam, several clinicians felt along her underside and said she appeared to have a scar, indicating she had likely already been spayed.

When I heard that, my heart sank. A cloud formed over our happiness. My God, I thought, what if she belonged to someone? The possibility had crossed our minds before, but a friend who knew her—and had been feeding her scraps at night—assured us she was a street dog.

The veterinarian explained that it is common here for street animals to be neutered and then returned to their familiar territory. That explanation brought some relief. Brisa received three vaccines, and we decided not to pursue further surgery.

On the drive to the clinic she shook the entire way, her body tight with worry. On the way home she was calm. And when we arrived, she leapt from the car and raced into the house, joy restored and fully operational.

Her past may always remain a mystery. But her present is clear, and her future, at least for now, feels certain. Brisa is here. She belongs. And like a gentle breeze, she has brought something quietly refreshing and life-giving into our days.

A Night at the Feria

Last night, Amy and I drove into Oaxaca and headed to Llano Park, where a lively "feria" has been set up for the holidays. These traveling fairs, which appear in different locations throughout the year, are a delightful mix of mechanical rides, games, food stalls, and cultural exhibitions—bringing joy to communities wherever they go.

We arrived just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the park. The feria was beginning to come alive, with flashing lights, swirling rides, and music building to a festive crescendo. The air was thick with the smell of roasted corn, sweet churros, and fried delights, mingling with the excited chatter of families and children.

Amy has a knack for games of chance and skill, so we plunged into the action. She threw darts at balloons, went fishing for surprises, operated cranes that teased at stashes of stuffed toys, bowled oversized marbles into numbered holes, and even took her chances at a horse-racing game.

Later in the evening, I decided to join her at the horse-racing table. Standing side by side, I reached into my pocket for some change, but as I faced the track, I felt a gentle tug on my sleeve. Turning around, I found a young woman looking at me with concern.

“You dropped your money,” she said, gesturing to the bills at my feet.

For a moment, my heart skipped a beat. I had left my wallet at home to avoid the risk of pickpockets, opting instead to carry cash in my pocket. I bent down to pick up the bills, feeling both relief and gratitude. Smiling, I thanked her profusely and offered a tip, which she accepted with a gracious nod. As I watched her walk away, I couldn’t help but feel touched by her honesty and kindness.

4 minutes

By the end of the night, Amy was triumphant, returning home with an armful of stuffed animals and prizes. True to her generous spirit, she plans to share them with our neighbors’ children—a small token of the joy the feria brought us.

What a fun and memorable night.

Memories We Create

Amy and I left behind our beautiful home in Oaxaca, Mexico, and returned to the embrace of Santa Fe, New Mexico, where we had spent four decades of our lives. As we embarked on this transition, we found ourselves immersed in a whirlwind of gratitude, hospitality, and the remarkable kindness of friends old and new. Neighbors Marta, Mayolo and our comrade and house sitter Azul all sent us off two weeks ago with loving warmth . . . and Santa Fe friends picked us up at the airport to take us to the grand home of a couple who collect our art and offered their place and car for us while they are in their other home in Milwaukee.

With daughter Sarah who came
 from Albuquerque to visit.

Remarkably, in our travels thus far has been the absence of traditional arrangements like renting a car or booking lodging. Instead, we have been blessed with the good fortune of finding exceptional places to stay through the open arms and graciousness of dear friends.
As we prepared for this journey, our hearts were warmed by the knowledge that our Oaxaca house and beloved pet dog would be cared for in our absence. The generosity to take on such responsibility is a testament to the profound sense of hospitality that permeates the human spirit.

Everywhere we have been met with love and caring. We took a trip to Taos and stayed with friends . . . and in the past week we have stayed in the house I built with my ex-wife Jean, about thirty years ago. We are house sitting for nine days and caring for her two cats while she attends a creative dance gathering in Tucson. 

There is an enchantment that comes with staying in a space that carries the imprints of love, friendship, and shared experiences. Especially living once again in the house I built and raised my daughters in has caused many emotions to well up—an amalgamation of memories, laughter, and deep connection shared. I take note and understand it is all part of the context of my life.

Further, we have received donations of art supplies to take back to Oaxaca and give to our poor neighbor pueblo children who come to our home once a week for art classes.

These homes have become havens of respite, offering not only a place to rest our weary bodies but also a canvas upon which new memories are painted. Within their walls, we have found solace, comfort, and the sense of belonging that only true friendships can provide.

When we traverse the landscapes of Mexico, we are continually humbled by the acts of kindness and warmth shown to us by strangers-turned-friends. Whether it's an offer to help us with something important we do not understand, a heartfelt conversation over a home-cooked meal, or the simple act of a warm embrace, hospitality has touched our hearts and reaffirmed our faith in the inherent goodness of humanity.

Same in the USA. We have felt great love and hospitality.

Amy and her mural in Taos

Amy leaves for Minneapolis tomorrow to see her sons and relatives for two weeks.
Jean returns and I will move on . . . to another home. A friend has offered me a bedroom. Then Amy will return here and we will go home to Oaxaca together.

Our hearts are filled with profound appreciation for the hospitality we have received, and we recognize the transformative power of genuine connections. As we continue to embrace the unknown and navigate the winding roads that lie ahead, we carry the spirit of hospitality in our hearts, knowing that wherever we find ourselves, there will always be a place to call home.

In the end, it is the people we meet, the friendships we forge, and the memories we create that truly define our journey.

Posses a pure, kindly and radiant heart

“O Son of Spirit!
My first counsel is this: Possess a pure, kindly and radiant heart, that thine may be a sovereignty ancient, imperishable and everlasting.”  ― Baháʼuʼlláh

Amy and I are more or less “strangers in a strange land,” here in Mexico. Spanish is not our mother tongue and we have never before had permanent residence outside the USA. We made a leap of faith when we bought our home in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, Mexico. It is a humble village with a standard of living well below what is typical in America. We have challenges and opportunities. It will take time to become part of the fabric of life here. But we are already weaving ourselves in.

It helps tremendously to have friends who look out for us. Thank God for them. They are like gifts of spirit. Mayolo is one of them.

Mayolo is our neighbor. We were introduced by Salomon, who is building a house next to us. We wanted someone who could do iron work and make a railing for stairs to our second floor. We got Mayolo. We quickly discovered he is a master craftsman. He doesn’t speak English but we have bonded to become good friends. Mayolo has helped us in many ways, from paying bills to making screens and installing them. But most of all Amy and I have bonded with him through shared love of art, and the making of it. The railing he made is beyond our dreams, and now he makes excellent frames for our art.

Just last night Mayolo called and asked to come over and show us something. He arrived with a marvelous tin box he made as a wedding present. It is meticulously engraved and embellished with handwork. It has two little oil paintings on either side. It opens to reveal a velvet interior and engraved monogram to the newlyweds. Along with it is an embellished tin bible cover with two doves on the front. 

Then he handed us a lantern he made. “This is my gift to you both”. 

We put a candle inside and lit it. An emblem of a pure, kind and radiant heart.

Lessons Of Love

Standing with Hagag and his family.

Front of Hagag's house

My Egyptian brother Hagag and I sat at the simple wood table in front of his humble home. The front door is always open to the flow of family life. Tea is served every time we sit together—either chai or hibiscus. I looked past the dirt road in front of his courtyard, past his tiny green crop of alfalfa, watching sailboats on the Nile River in the distance. After a while he studied my features as if to memorize them, and began crying. I was leaving. Seeing his tears, my eyes welled up.

The three weeks I spent in Luxor taught me lessons of love. Hagag and Abu'l Ezz and their families showed me such kindness and affection that I felt special. By American standards they are very poor—without goods or means. One a marginal farmer and the other with a motorboat taking people between the banks of the Nile River. Their homes are of earth, they live with animals, have the barest conveniences and share one toilet for the entire household. They do not have closets full of clothes or new gadgets. What they have is sincerity and goodness that reached deep into my soul. They know I am comfortable in their surroundings. I need nothing more than the love that lives within them and their families.

Drawing made by Iyah, 12, Hagag's 2nd daughter. It is me, and she included my camera bag
over my shoulder and cell phone in my pocket.

Hagag’s oldest son Mohammad is serving in the army because the family could not afford college. Now Amira, the oldest daughter is on the verge of graduating secondary school. I photographed his home to begin a funding campaign. When I asked Hagag about sleeping arrangements he pointed to the tiny room in front that held two divans with cushions. All four of his children sleep in a room about the size of an American walk-in closet. It has one window facing the front courtyard. The floor is earth. I thought of Amira, 17, sleeping with her sister and two brothers so close. “Amira sleeps on the earth, here,” he said, pulling out a straw mat and showing how it went over the ground.

I have watched Amira many times studying with her face in books, or helping prepare meals, or speaking a little English with me. She is thoughtful and with hope—not scarred from never knowing the comfort of a bed and room of her own. Rather, she is strong and can meet life’s tests. What will hurt her is diminished opportunities as she becomes an adult. Her talents must flourish.

My friends know I will be by their side as they have been by mine.

Nile River at dawn.

“So powerful is the light of unity that it can illumine the whole world.”  -Baha’u’llah