He's not much of a talker, and sometimes I wish that weren't the case, but I suspect it has something to do with what a lovely companion he is.

Once while camping with my family, I crossed paths with a girl who told me that true love meant to be able to "tolerate" a person in silence. The presence of the word "tolerate" in this sentiment still strikes a sour chord in me. I find a tolerable silence unappealing. I do, however, feel that a comfortable silence is rare and valuable. 

My mother and I left for Mexico on Saturday the 13th of March. My Sisters, my father, Auntie Marie and Phillip were already there, but Auntie Marie left on the pane we came in on, so we didn't even see her. It was nighttime when we arrived in Mexico. We have a house there, that used to belong to my grandfather. My mother has now inherited it, but it is still known as Papa's House. There are apartments Papa built in the back, separate from his house, that were his source of income while he was living there. All of the dogs and cats he owned are gone, but there is a new resident, who goes by the name Intelligente (in-tel-le-hen-tay).

She's a real beauty. She isn't very large, maybe a foot and a half at the shoulder, and she keeps herself very clean for a stray. We don't feed her, but she likes to hang out a our place, and we leave fresh water for her at all times.

What became clear by the second or third day was that Intelligente, already having borne one known litter, was in heat. There were always at least five male suitors out front of the house, barking at her and getting into fights with each other. My mother says that if Intelligente is still there next time we go to Mexico, we are going to get her fixed, which I would very much like to do because it means she'll live longer.

In the mornings Phillip and Natalie would often lie in bad and read or play game boy. We shared a room, Papa's old room, and Anna slept on a cot in The guest room with Mum and Dad.

The interesting thing about living with almost no schedule is that time becomes irrelevant and a week becomes eternity. You forget what day it is and you forget what meal you are supposed to eat next.

We have some friends in Mexico. They come in several different groups, and the groups seldom mix. First are the friends we made through Papa. They come in couples, eg. Jerry and Rosie, Terry and Connie. Jerry is quite an interesting guy. He says I'm the prettiest little dyke he knows and he's always telling stories about the people he has met in his travels.