Friends: Backgammon Dates

In general, I don't like to have too much on my schedule, and I manage to keep my calendar pretty flexible. I am not one of those who needs lots of events on my agenda to feel useful or happy.

Diane and a curious observer

On the other hand, it's nice to have a little structure to the weeks and a few regular events to look forward to. One of the things I do every week is play backgammon with Diane. These sessions are regular, but never routine.

Typically we select one of several venues in Mérida centro, and meet on a weekday morning for a couple of hours to drink coffee, sometimes eat something, and play. We frequent several downtown cafes and restaurants, and have been known to venture up to Progreso to play at the beach. On occasion we meet for a session in the evening. That doesn't change the action much, except that at night we trade coffee for beer.

We have played the game together weekly for more than two years, except for when one of us is out of town.

And speaking of that, in June I had a problem. For a month, Diane was care taking a waterfront home in Bacalar, Quintana Roo, a good five hours by highway from Mérida. So, addicted as I am, I took the bus to Bacalar for five days of pure backgammon, punctuated by daily swims, good meals, and some exploration in the area. Not to mention lots of hot, strong coffee in the morning and a cold beer later on, as usual.

Bacalar back yard: a spectacular backdrop for a multi-day "BG" marathon

Since backgammon is not terribly well-known in the Yucatán, we occasionally find that curious waiters, children or passersby want to watch or know more about the game. Only once in all the time we've played together has an experienced player asked to sit in on a game, and that was a European who lives in Oaxaca. He played one game with Diane, and then reluctantly returned to his family, waiting for him at another table. He was a pretty good player. We exchanged email addresses; the next time I am in his part of the country I will look him up for a game or two.

Sometimes when I am intensely involved in a particularly close match I become so engaged that my surroundings recede into the distance, and all else is forgotten for a brief time. The world is reduced to myself, Diane and the game board. Recently when this happened I was surprised that the cafe had filled with customers around us while we played, and I hadn't even noticed. When I get into the flow of backgammon this way, I know I am having a good time and my brain is getting a good workout.

Diane and I went for a period of months recently during which I hardly ever lost. I began to feel badly about it, but must admit (a bit guiltily) that I did enjoy the winning. Back when we first began playing I was years out of practice and lost most of the time. So when the winning streak started I felt that I finally was getting my game back. Diane was a good sport, though, and didn't complain much.

Then just recently the tide turned and she started kicking my behind around the block. The game is always unpredictable and always interesting. And in my mostly appointments- and schedule-free life, it's something engaging "to hang my hat on." I like that.

Yucatecan Still Lifes: Flow of Images

Training and working as a photographer teaches your eye to look at the world in a certain way. An experienced photographer observes things differently than most other people. It has been many, many years since I created images for a living, but the habits of looking and visualizing, of seeing the world as a series of compositions and qualities of light reflecting off of surfaces, persist.

I don't do much photography anymore. When I do decide to pick up the camera it's usually for fun, for recording events and places for myself, and to share with others.

I also pick up the camera occasisonally because the act of creating images sometimes puts me in a place that few other activities can. Psychologists call it flow. Flow happens when a person is so immersed in an activity that the outside world and the passage of time hardly seem to exist. The activity is so engaging that it seems to fill all the available processing space in one's brain, and a sense of extreme contentment, intensity of purpose and serenity ensues. In this state, you don't start wondering if you are going to be late for an appointment. You don't feel tired, hungry, thirsty, or check your watch. Your inner dialog (that little voice in your head that just asked you "what inner dialog?") has no room to operate. It's peaceful, you have purpose, and you feel pleasure.

Athletes, artists, musicians, artisans -- or anyone who does something that makes them feel energized focus, full involvement and at which they achieve success -- can experience flow. I have a friend who experiences flow when working with plants in the garden. For me it usually happens when I notice something visually interesting and decide to get out the camera. As I focus on that object or composition, I notice details I never knew existed. I intensely sense light, shadow and color. One observation leads to another. After awhile perhaps I notice something else interesting close by. As I spiral into intense focus, my problems, my body, the weather, in fact the rest of the world, disappears for a little while. It becomes a meditation. This only happens when I am alone, and involves observations in a very small space. If I have to get up and move around much, talk with people, or if my attention is divided, there's no flow.

I am not presenting these pictures as examples of high-level photography. They are simply products of observations I have made while in this intensely focused state. Although good images sometimes emerge from this process, it is the process and not the photos that is the point. The greatest payback for me is the concentration, minute observation and that feeling of intense involvement I experience as I make them.

With the exception of one, which I made on an earlier occasion, these photos were made this morning over a short time period in and around my Mérida house.

Top: A Jaguar mask I bought in Michoacan years ago sits on the edge of my desk.

Upper middle: Bright sunlight shining through (transilluminating) a leaf creates soft images of raindrops on its surface, viewed from underneath.

Lower middle: A ripe Nopal cactus fruit, tuna in Spanish, has fallen and speared itself on a hennequen cactus leaf.

Bottom: A wildflower blooms in the shade of an orange tree.