Of course the wind has ceased, the sky is blue, the water is...
Mr. Moon has gone back to town to return the scooter. The suitcases are filled and overflowing and there is still more stuff to go in.
Why must I buy so many dishcloths?
Who comes to Mexico to buy dishcloths? And fiber cookies?
I really want to thank all of you for coming to Cozumel with me. It sounds like some of you may decide to come here, too. I can't recommend that enough. And if you do, take all the time you can to talk to people here. I just spent a good half hour talking to our waiter whose name is Luis and who has a daughter named Marisol and when she comes to embrace him when he gets home, he cries for the love of her.
When he told me that, I cried.
There is such a sweetness here. There is such a tenderness.
"I live in Paradise," he said, nodding towards the water.
"Yes, you do," I told him. "I'm glad you know that."
On Sundays, the beaches are full of families with their coolers, their children. Their faces are like the faces carved into the stella at the ruins. They are Mayan, they are beautiful, they are proud and kind and funny.
I was so tempted to get a tattoo last night of Ixchel. Of course I didn't. But I was so tempted.
"You will come back," Luis said. "Maybe you will meet my daughter."
"Maybe I will bring my grandson," I told him. "They could meet too."
Who knows? Or, as they say here, "Quien sabe?"
I am wearing my earrings. I'll have to take them off before I go through screening. I love the way they feel, so smooth in my fingers when I reach up to touch them. They are my reminder, as if I needed one, of this place.
Thank-you for coming with me. Thank-you for coming home with me.
I'll be reporting in tomorrow on how things are in Lloyd, Florida. Another world, mine too.
Here we go.