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Yesterday we did too much. Two shopping excursions: between 10 and 2 and then after 4. Of course, in between, we had a sumptuous lunch and polished off a bottle of wine, then had a little more when we returned to our room. So by 4 we were really dopey and footsore. We didn't really absorb a thing. For some vain reason I'd kept on my contacts, so my eyes were all scratchy and focused poorly.

Today, new resolution: only one shopping walk-a-thon — either before the lunch hour or after. We actually squeezed in 2 before lunch.

First, we went to the Tuesday Market. A first: we hopped a city bus and got to our destination for 5 pesos. As markets go, this one was dull, maybe because San Miguel is somewhat more middle class. The farm goods and meats appeared to be secondary to practical household bric-a-brac and hair decorations for teen-age girls. Nearly all the booths were shaded by plastic tarps, so that the light wasn't even any good for pictures. (Markets have always been my favorite place for getting photos of the locals and their colorful produce… looks like I'm getting picky now.)

We grabbed a taxi back home, regrouped, then took off for downtown to find a few more shops we missed. I bought a pottery plate for a gift, maybe to my sister.

If we lived here, we'd go crazy buying stuff to decorate our place — I'd love to have a painted pottery basin in our bathroom, with lots of hand-painted tiles. It seems like too much of a hassle to get fragile or awkwardly shaped stuff back to the States.

But I'm inspired to do something with our dull walls and countertops and floors. Initial thought: coat the kitchen walls with something that has texture, like the stucco here, then glaze the white with a subtle wash of some sort. I could paint our ticky-tacky cabinets, but something of a more professional nature needs to be done with the gold-flecked Formica counters.

Do I want to live here, part-time, full-time? Do I even want to come back? I can feel myself relaxing, but I sense Jim's restlessness. Maybe I even sense my own restlessness as I wonder what happens after I write and fool around with some art projects. I think we'd have to have a place of our own… a place to decorate. But we are such duds at rehabbing and creating interesting spaces for our collections. I'd have to get my brother off methadone to come down and help or make some friends to help (equally hard -- making friends, that is).

An afternoon thunderstorm is sweeping through and I had to close the windows on all three sides of our lovely suite. Jim is out somewhere, without his jacket or umbrella. Buying wine, I think. Maybe he's just downstairs charlando with the proprietors.

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