In the last blog you were introduced to a dusty little Mexican town where I take visitors to the island to get a flavor of the area, and where I go occasionally with local friends without any real purpose except to shop and take in the “local color.” I also introduced you to my friend, Carlene, who was best known to many of you as a spirited, redhead who pranced down the halls, in extremely high heels that always matched her business attire, of an intermediate school that she “controlled with a velvet glove and iron fist.”

Seldom did you see a break in that professional armor. As principal she was tough, as an educational generalist, keenly knowledgeable about instructional strategies and curriculum, and as an individual, warm, compassionate and self-disciplined. The mother of a Baptist minister, she has always been just such a role model.

But I suppose there comes a time in the lives of everyone when one has to “live a little.” to branch out, and try the forbidden fruit which in this case is the blue agave! And try she did, and loved it. And because her first taste came in Mexico she is convinced that it is the one and only best stuff ever bottled. Granted, it is about half the price there, so that’s a good thing. Thus, came our reason recently to visit Progresso again—for what we say here in the “valley”—a quick liquor run. I might have guessed I would be an accomplice for this type of adventure for anyone in the whole wide world, EXCEPT my friend Carlene. Let’s hope her son doesn’t read this. How the tables turn. And so it goes……….with a little salt and lime. Salute! Or is it, Ay,Caramba???

I took the day off yesterday and went to Progresso, Mexico for an “outing” as my parents would have called it. It is always fun to visit this dusty little Mexican village which is about an hour’s drive away.  Not only is the change of culture something unique, the time warp is equally interesting.  It wasn’t until a few years ago that the streets were paved, well sorta paved, and only a few buildings lined the main drag basically to nowhere. Back then, the street vendors sold tacos and other mysteries folded in tortillas (which I am neither brave nor stupid enough to eat), silver jewelry, and almost every “knockoff” ever made available to us gringos.

The street vendors are still there along with some of the early wares from days gone by, but now there are curio shops everywhere, along with at least 100 farmacias and as many dental offices. I will not get my teeth worked on there either, although that is the main draw for the Q-tips—that and cheap medicine. In a few weeks, the cobblestones will be overrun with the winter visitors, especially those who stay in the motor home villages close to the border.  Cheap margaritas will flow and guacamole will be in large demand. I thought now was a good time to miss the crowds although it is fun to see the “winter gringos” wearing their sporty windbreakers, embroidered with the names of their trailer parks. Some wear big nametags, adorned with pens denoting the number of years staying at that park and other similar affiliations. This name tag custom I have never quite figured out.  Are they afraid they will forget their name or forget where they are staying?

Actually, I do somewhat understand, and maybe this is a very good idea because the margaritas in this tiny town are not like those here in the States. None of that pre-mixed, watered down stuff for these hearty bartenders. These drinks are where the lyrics from the country western song by Lorrie Morgan and Sammy Kershaw must have originated: “He drinks tequila and she talks dirty in Spanish.” These are potent concoctions, just the way these visiting folks like them. After all, they haven’t lived this long for nothing, which is another reason my friends and I were there for the day.

Now, as you know I really like wine, and my good friend Judy likes her whisky. But my other good buddy, Carlene, has been a bit of a teetotaler until recently when she read a novel where the protagonist was drinking tequila shots. She decided that she had been good too long, and as she is approaching another birthday, she wanted to do a few things she has never done and drinking a shot of tequila appeared to be one of those “things.” As I said about the street tacos, I am neither brave nor stupid enough to go there—again—in my life.  But for some strange reason, the lime and the salt and the tequila were just the right mixture for my friend…and your friend, for many of you reading this. So, to pique your interest this is “to be continued”.