Not Even Two Days

Last week, if you pulled our calendar down from the wall, it would have looked like a captain’s log. Gardeners, pool guy, painters, cleaners. Someone fixing something, someone trimming something, someone installing something.

Having the exterior of the house painted was supposed to be our last big job. The workers were friendly and did a great job, but by the end of the week, Heather and I were exhausted. Not from doing the work. From everything around it. Conversations in another language, decisions, moving the car, moving the furniture, asking if anyone wanted water. Taking two steps and having three conversations.

So on Saturday, we said no more workers for a while. We wanted to eat in private. No interrupted meals, no worrying about whether someone needed something, no translating or talking about where we were from. We even joked about taking the doorbell off the door.

Monday morning, we were at the dining room table discussing our cravings for Subway breakfasts while trying to stay healthy. We decided to make a breakfast salad and ordered the missing ingredients from the supermarket.

While Heather prepped breakfast, I went outside to leaf blow and hose the pool deck. I was problem solving and hadn’t died from the heat. A great start to the day. Just long enough for three generations of mosquitoes to enjoy my offerings.

Seeds from our neighbour’s tree had been falling nonstop. Stinky, sticky seeds that were ruining our outside time. Enjoyment and relaxation: zero stars.

I was almost done cleaning when I saw a ladder going up into the neighbour’s tree. Our message, relayed through our gardener and the neighbour’s maintenance man, must have reached the owner, who lives abroad.

They were here to fix the problem. Relief. Thank you, Mayan gods.

I came inside with leaf dust stuck to my clothes and a bit of sweat glitter, feeling happy about the clean deck. I reported to Heather that the gardener was next door. We giggled about the grand breakfast we were about to have and our seed tab being closed without our help.

Heather put out the bowls: eggs, sausage, onions, cherry tomatoes, black olives, salsas. We each took a bit and mmmm’d it.

Then, crack.

A huge branch fell onto our new plants, swept across the clean deck and landed in the freshly cleaned pool.

We went outside. “Hey, you just squished our plants.”

He said, “If it’s okay, I can come over and fix it.”

We said okay.

A few moments later, the doorbell rang. A man in a blue uniform came in and apologized to both us and our yard, which he said was beautiful. I thanked him and warned him about the water on the deck.

We went back inside to eat while he macheted the branches, removed them and cleaned the pool.

We asked if he wanted water. Gave him a broom. He asked if I was from France.

Then we returned to breakfast in our aquarium, feeling like specimens. Oh, this is how the gringas eat. Cute.

On my third bite, I started to laugh.

Heather looked at me. “What?”

“Here we are, doing exactly the thing we said we wouldn’t do. Look at us!”

We’d had Sunday off. Back at it Monday.

Breakfast was great. Just not private.

Afterwards, we went outside and talked about soccer with him. His name was Orlando. Like many people here, he was a gardener, pool person and plumber. We exchanged numbers. I mentioned a window repair, and he said he could do it easily.

He also said the tree was too tall to trim enough to solve the seed problem. We would likely need to add some sort of structure.

Sigh.

After he left, Heather took her things to the casita for her Spanish lesson. I decided to make the most of the quiet and write this story.

Then, crack. Another branch. Smaller this time, but I could see pieces coming over the wall.

I changed seats so I couldn’t see what was happening.

Now I’m sitting on the couch with the music up.