THE SONGS OF YESTERYEAR

I confess.  I didn't go to the birding lecture nor the Molly Bloom talk yesterday. I stayed home until later, when we went downtown for a walk and dinner.  After lunch I sit on the lower deck and read usually; that's when I become sleepy and snooze, the sun warming up my feet and legs.  

We took the bus once again yesterday.  Shock absorbers are not popular on the buses I guess because the rides are so bumpy over the cobblestones and street humps.  So bumpy. We got off at the end of the line and walked, passed one of the churches, went in, came out, and kept walking, mostly downhill (which is good for me), but not always.  We were looking for Ancha, the street we like, but it took us about an hour to arrive somewhere where we wanted to stay.  I was, needless to say, tired.  We found a new - for us - restaurant: Mexifran.  Yes, as it sounds: a combination of Mexican and French cuisine.  

There is a nice patio and we sat, ordered a beer each, and played Qwirkle, munching on guacamole. So much guacamole! After the game - which I won by the way - we had supper.  David ordered chiles anchos rellenos and I had estofado frances.  Delicious food!  And the best surprise - a singer started at 8 pm.  He sang Los ejes de mi carreta, the song made famous by Atahualpa Yupanqui, the Argentine folklorist.  He also sang tangos and Cuban nueva cancion.  I was delighted.  Happy.  I told him we'll be back and stay longer.  His name is Ramon Arancibia; he's Mexican.  I think we'll go back Friday for Valentine's Day.  

I don't know what it is (or maybe I do know) but the songs of the 60s, 70s, 80s, and earlier too, from Latin America make me so happy.  And sad at the same time.  They are in my bones. They inhabit me and will always take me to that past we lived and struggled in.  A sweet nostalgia takes over; sometimes I cry when I listen to them at home, alone.  I sing along and cry.  But it's a good cry. A cleansing cry. And after a while I am renewed, energized, serene, hopeful again.