Finding Clarity Along the Way

People have emailed me lately. They are asking if I am OK and why I have not been writing much for this blog.

I am fine, and all is well here in Yucatán.

Travel, unexpected events, lots to do and my changing interests all have contributed to the infrequent appearance of new posts on An Alaskan in Yucatan.

My recollections of the first half of 2013 are a fog. I am not sure where the time went, but I was busy. Too busy. I don't like the kind of "busyness" after which I can't seem to recall what I accomplished, but that's how I spent some months, dealing with details, riding on trains, buses and airplanes, putting out small fires, and waiting around for others to get things done.

I have had plenty of ideas for blog posts. Just now I looked at my drafts, and see that I have started seven different posts since I last actually published one. I keep being interrupted and distracted and can't seem to finish them.

I thought about this as I spent hours in the pueblo of Mucuyche a week and a half ago, waiting for help with my broken-down car, which with eleven years and 100,000 kilometers of use has begun to experience typical problems of age. It was very hot when the car stalled, but fortunately it died in the shade of a small tree near a friendly tienda which sells cold drinks and snacks.

The day started out with the good idea of visiting some friends in Abalá and having lunch with them on Fathers Day. It's a long story, but in a nutshell, we burned a couple of hours waiting for one mechanic who never showed up. Finally we reached the very agreeable and friendly llantero, tire repairman, from Abalá who drove over in his broken-down car with a bucket of tools to see what he could do. Appropriately named Santos (Saints), he was knowledgeable enough to help me figure out that the problem was an electrical short that could not easily be repaired alongside the road. Santos went back to the pueblo and borrowed a long rope (the tether for someone's cow), and very kindly pulled my car at slow speeds all the way to the house of my friends in Abalá. Although we were not able to fix the car, at least it was in a place where it would be secure until I could get someone to look at it the next day.

And that brings us to the young parrot pictured above, which greeted us when we arrived tardy at the house in Abalá. Actually the bird is one of a pair rescued after a nest was knocked down, either by winds or a predator, some weeks ago.

I spent the nicest time I had in several weeks simply observing and feeding this delightful bird, and then eating a home-cooked Fathers Day meal with my good friends in Abalá. Near sundown Santos gave us a lift the four kilometers out to the highway, where we caught a bus back to Mérida in the evening.

It was this day of forced down time spent alongside the road and tranquil hours with friends that helped clarify the facts. Some of my "busyness" is necessary and unavoidable and I'll just have to deal with it. But a fair portion of my cluttered lifestyle is of my own making. I moved to Yucatán in search of a simpler and more fulfilling life, and I have made long strides in that direction. But old tendencies are hard to change and after eight years of becoming very comfortble here I find myself falling into some of the old patterns.

I've been restless and pondering these things for some time, but during this Fathers Day interlude I realized that I am ready to work on changes. I have had in mind this quote from an unknown author:

"Sometimes in the winds of change we find our true direction"

Change is in the wind, and it's hurricane season in Yucatán.

Details to come.


Other related posts:

Contentment: Inspired by the Birds
Contentment: You Get What You Need

Contentment: The Splendor of Each Day

As I often do, today I got up when the sky began to brighten, and made fresh coffee. I then slipped into the pool just as the first orange rays of morning sun illuminated the upper branches of the trees.

The water was warm enough to be comfortable, but cool enough to refresh and finish the job of waking me up. I sipped steaming coffee and watched the morning light move down the tree trunks and the stones of the back wall. I felt the air stir and the temperature begin to rise.

A flurry of wing beats gently broke the silence and several doves settled near the pool. Startled to discover they were not alone, they eyed me warily for a moment or two before edging closer to sip deeply from the water. More flutters signaled the arrival of additional birds, who apparently taking comfort in numbers, joined their fellows at the water's edge.

I leaned back and watched the sunlight, now glancing off the water to cast rippling reflections into the shadows. Moments passed. When I looked once again for the birds they were gone. My attention had been so captivated by the light show that I didn't hear them take flight.

I savored the bitter richness of my hot drink as a pink dragonfly began to trace a rectangular pattern overhead. I put down my cup and floated on my back. With each pass the insect came lower, and then suddenly it began to dip into the water, making a small splashing sound with each contact.

"It's drinking," I thought. But the dragonfly continued to splash, time after time. I counted twenty, thirty, thirty-five impacts, often within an arm's length of my bobbing head. Sometimes when it rose it seemed to shake itself; fine droplets of spray flew in all directions. The tiny dragonfly certainly can't have needed that much water. Was it bathing? Does a dragonfly have the capacity to do something for the fun of it?

I am reminded of a passage I read several months ago that has stuck in my mind ever since:

"At such an instant, it seems as though no other day will ever attain the impossible splendor of this one. Already, I feel a nostalgia for today even as I live it."

The passage was written by Dr. Sherwin B. Nuland in his book, How We Die. He was writing about noticing the incredible beauty around him one morning as he drove to visit a patient who was about to die.

The morning earlier this month that my mother died, I took just a moment away from our vigil and went outside. I noticed the blue sky and white clouds, and the way the leaves of the live oaks shimmered silver-green in the breeze. I took some deep breaths and realized that it was a marvelous day. I went back to Mom's side and about half an hour later she was gone. It was a very difficult and sad day, but I always will have that memory of it also being a very beautiful one.

I think one of the most important lessons I've been learning recently is that if we consider death our ally, it teaches us how to live. If we acknowledge that there is a definite number to our days, we make each day count to the greatest extent we can.

Each individual finds his or her own way to do that. We each find our own meaning. It's up to us.

Living Here: The Art of the Siesta

Some people are very casual about their siesta

I think that taking a good siesta is an art.

The traditional afternoon siesta developed for good reasons. Napping is a great way to escape the worst heat of the day and refresh one's self for the evening ahead.

Some people, like the guy pictured above, just casually plop down for a little rest in the afternoon. That's great and it works, but I think a siesta can be something more. There's a technique to having a really good siesta.

First, you don't want to sleep too long, or you wake sleep-drunk and spend too much time recovering your energy and focus. And there's nothing wonderful about waking up at dinnertime and realizing that you've accidentally slept a whole beautiful afternoon away.

However when the siesta is too short, I find it unsatisfying. I don't simply lay down. I make it special, and here are a few of my guidelines.

Although it's tempting, don't take a rest immediately after lunch. Stay up and get a little exercise first. It's better for your digestion. You'll rest easier.

Take off your clothes. Especially if the weather is warm, this is a good idea. It's more comfortable, and your clothes will feel fresher when you put them on again.

If daytime sounds bother you, create white noise. Soft music or a fan are good for this. Silence the phones to ensure quality time. If you are serious about your siesta, you've got to make sure there are no interruptions.

Try taking your siesta in a hammock or another place different from where you sleep at night. I think this signals mind and body that it's just a siesta, not a full overnight sleep and makes it easier to get up.

My favorite place for a siesta...an empty beach house

Unless you are good at cat napping, set an alarm, and get up when it goes off. For me, 30 - 60 minutes is the perfect length for a siesta. However if you wake up after 20 minutes and feel good, go ahead and get up.

Jumping in a pool or having a cool rinse-off in the shower after a siesta really helps get the afternoon off to a good start. If you like caffeine, have a cup of coffee or tea. I like to drink my cup of hot coffee in the pool. On afternoons when I am having a hard time getting up, the dangling carrot of a cup my of favorite beverage in the cooling water helps get me vertical.

I find that the sleep of siestas is often deep, dreamless and less restless than at night. Taking a good siesta doesn't necessarily help me stay up later at night, but the quality of my evening improves when I have rested.

That's what works for me. Of course, here I am talking about siestas taken alone. The art of the siesta -- accompanied -- can be something altogether different. I am not sure I am prepared to write about that, in this blog, at least. But you'll know it if I do.

Photography: Up-Close Simplicity

I am finishing up a presentation on photography for this Saturday's bloggers conference. I have been looking at lots of pictures and trying to distill what I have learned about making good images into about a 40-minute talk.

What I keep coming back to is, "as in life, as in photography." If you've read this blog for awhile, you know that I value simplicity in all things. 

Leaf in the garden

The most effective and striking images are typically extremely simple. In photography, the skill is in the use of angle, composition, light, focus, and camera position in order to eliminate what is unnecessary and emphasize what is important.

Hanal Pixan flower petals, fallen on the sala floor

But the easiest way to start eliminating the unwanted from images is to move in close. Closeup images by their very nature are often simple. On the surface, moving in begins to eliminate distracting trees, telephone poles, overhead wires and shadows, for instance. It also allows the photograher to observe the subject closely. I am not talking so much about zooming in with a telephoto lens, although this is often useful. I am talking about getting physically very close. I am talking about getting intimate with the subject of the photo, whether it's a living thing or an inanimate object.

My unmade bed (with apologies to Imogen Cunningham)

One of the things I am going to emphasize in Saturday's talk, where I will address an audience with photo skills ranging from hobbyist to professional, is that a good way to practice the discipline of simplification is by moving in close. As a photography teacher of mine once said, "If your photos aren't good enough, you're not close enough."

A bitter orange leaf floats in the pool

With the exception of the top photo of the church in Santa Elena, these images were taken around my house this morning with a point-and-shoot camera that has a macro mode. Expensive equipment is not required to make interesting photos. Simplicity in cameras also has its merits.

Other posts on photography.
Other posts on simplicity.

Images: Conservatism or Simplification?

As I occasionally do, this week I selected a few recently-made images to share. As I looked through picture files, I was surprised by the formality of the compositions. The images follow traditional rules: lines are often straight and direct the eye, forms geometric, spaces neatly delineated.

Oaxaca, Oaxaca: The red striped shirt and white hat popped out against a rectangle of shadow. This man was sitting alongside one of the buttresses of the La Catedral de Oaxaca. Directly above him was a large swath of pale green paint that had been used to cover political graffiti, which has become ubiquitous in the city over the past few years. I had one shot. The guy jumped up and walked away as soon as I had made this exposure.

It is sometimes the case as people get older that we become more conservative. We like structure, are less interested in novelty, and as the energies of our minds, bodies and health wane we take comfort in the routine and the predictable.

Skylight in old house, Juchitán, Oaxaca: I was attracted by the quality of light and the geometric shapes, especially the tiny triangle of light framed between handrail and balusters. I stayed two days in this house, which belongs to a friend of mine, but I didn't really see this stairway until the morning I left, when I noticed the shapes made by sunlight shining from a side window.

Looking at these images I began to think that in my photography perhaps I have become more rigid or conservative. These do not look much like the photos I took in my younger days, which many times were more immediate, off-balance and less composed.

Valladolid, Yucatán: I visited the Palacio Municipal, city hall, on the main square, and upon entering a gallery on the second floor was struck by the view of the church outside. The church has been beautifully lighted. I had taken some pictures of it outdoors, but when I found the frame of this balcony window I made my best image.

In most areas I am definitely not more conservative. Given the way things are in the world today, I cannot accept that the old social, political and technological approaches that have gotten us into a lot of these messes are the best way to creatively deal with the complex situations we find ourselves in.

However, as I get older I do find myself appreciating routine more and novelty less. Perhaps creating more structure in my photography is a way for me to feel secure by controlling what I share with others about my environment.

Hacienda San Antonio Xpakay: I fell in love with the landscape of this hacienda, owned by my friend Jonathan, when I first saw it a few years ago. The ancient and gigantic Pich, or Elephant Ear Tree, is a landmark, and the first visual sign, approaching on the long and winding access road, that the old casona is near. Visiting last weekend I was struck by this view of the Pich, seen through the hacienda gates, other trees and red bougainvillea. If I were a landscape painter, I would spend a lot of time on the hacienda with my sketchbook, canvas, brushes and paints.

After spending time working on this post, I have come to the conclusion that more than anything else, I am simplifying, eliminating the superfluous, making my life more straightforward. Is this conservative? I guess so, in a manner of speaking.


Another sign of the change is that I am not nearly as interested in travel as I once was. Often I am happy to stay at home and enjoy reading, creative projects, the garden, and getting together with friends and neighbors, often without leaving a few-blocks radius of the house for quite some time. I leave home less often, but when I do go I enjoy it more.

I and another friend stayed Friday and Saturday nights at the hacienda, a bit over an hour's drive from Mérida. The old house is large, and although comfortable, mostly unrestored and without electricity. Wandering in a side room I discovered this badminton raquet and a small religious print, hung casually on nails, not for effect but to keep them off of the unfinished floor. I like the haphazard arrangement against the nail holes and peeling colors of the wall.

One thing I enjoy about San Antonio Xpakay is that I have visited many times and feel right at home there. A couple of times (including the recent visit) Jonathan has not been at home when I arrive. He leaves the door open and food on the table. It is an uncomplicated place. It is easy to feel at ease there and enjoy the present moment.

It's possible I'm getting more conservative as I age, but what I am doing primarily is simplifying. I hope that this is a result of having learned a few things about priorities. I like to think that I am making wiser choices that enable me to enjoy more while needing, expending and consuming less.

Contentment: A Do-Nothing Day

Yesterday was a Do-Nothing Day. That does not mean it was unimportant, uneventful or worthless. I didn't spend hours numbing my brain by staring at a TV or computer display. I actually accomplished a lot yesterday.

Here I often spend those days

Do-Nothing simply means that I do not start with an agenda. There are no concrete goals. I just concentrate on the moment and find out what the day will bring. Do-Nothing Days are luxurious. Usually a Do-Nothing Day is the best kind of day.

Do-Nothing Days are not only a luxury, they are a great privilege, not to be wasted. With so many people around the world struggling every day of their lives with survival, or demanding jobs, social and family obligations, being able just to exist for a few hours or a day without worrying about food, shelter, health, safety, appointments, or taking into consideration others' opinions of what you are doing, is a blessing and a responsibility.

And others' opinions -- criticism -- is what you sometimes will hear if you tell people you are "doing nothing." You're a good-for-nothing, lazy, a bum, a slacker. In our culture, the standard wisdom is that you should always be doing something: you must accomplish. It's your social and patriotic duty to have a job and earn money so you can contribute to the economy by going shopping, and by doing so to create jobs and keep the whole, increasingly precarious house of cards that is the world economy standing. Idle hands are the devil's tools. You must be productive.

Frankly, I think one of the best things one can do for the planet is to have a Do-Nothing Day. It is peaceful; you are not destroying anything, polluting, contributing to global warming or wasting resources on superfluous and silly things. And if you like, it's free, without cost.

A Do-Nothing Day consists of simply appreciating the good there is in the world and enjoying without consuming, without wasting. How does one do that? Here are some things that I try to do:

Be in the moment, here and now. Be constantly aware of your surroundings and of what you are doing. Try to silence the inner critical voice, the internal dialog that goes on inside your head. If you just asked yourself "what internal dialog?" well, that's the voice I am talking about. Don't fret about problems or unfinished business. Do not plan or think about tomorrow. Do not criticize yourself. Just observe and be self-aware in the current moment.

Concentrate on the gifts nature has given us. Use your senses to appreciate what is around you: colors and textures; air movement and temperature changes; aromas and tastes, natural and human-created rhythms and sounds. This is easier to do at first if you concentrate on one sense at a time.

Breathe and smile. No further instruction needed. This makes you feel good.

Dedicate time to think about the good things, all of the positive things you have in your life.

If you talk with friends, really listen. Practice listening, making contact and focusing on that person.

Do-Nothing does not mean you have to stay home and sit in a chair, although for me spending some time alone in a pleasant place is important. These can be good days to work on creative projects, or mop the floors for that matter (but you shouldn't do those things unless you feel like it). Many of the things I list above can be done while you are involved in other activities.

Do-Nothing Days often turn out to be days of pleasure and accomplishment. They are days of full living, because to-do lists, obligations and "work" take a back seat to just enjoying being a sensitive, thinking animal alive on this planet.

Living Here: Economy

When I began last year thinking about ideas for this blog I started a list, and near the top of that list I scribbled, Economy. This is the title of the first chapter of the American philosopher Henry David Thoreau's Walden, or Life in the Woods. It was in Economy that he wrote what have become probably his most famous words, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." The note was a reminder to myself that several of the chapters of this work, which I read for the first time in high school and have re-read several times as an adult, would make good models for entries in this blog. Thoreau wrote about why and how he lived alone in the woods for two years; a lot of this blog is about the why and how of living in Mèrida, Yucatan.

I was reminded of this topic again when I started reading, maybe two months ago, a blog called Hammock Musings from Mèrida, by a guy here who goes by the name of Hammockman Paul. He quotes Thoreau, and I enjoy his blog because it is thoughtful and in many ways Paul and I have similar interests and goals. So with apologies to HDT and to Paul, who has written about the economics of living here, inspired by Thoreau's detailed accounting of the economics of living by Walden Pond I am going to do the same thing.

I decided to do this because lots of friends up north seem to think that I must have become rich or have some kind of whopping retirement to be living here the way I do and at my age. And, a few are curious about the practicalities of living here. These are the ones who talk about coming down here to "check it out," with the idea of living here seasonally or permanently some day. The fact is that I live on less money than just about anyone I know up north. It's all a matter of setting priorities, simplifying and dedicating your resources to the most important and meaningful things, and not worrying about the rest. And, this can be a very economical place to live. So, for those who are curious, here is what my monthly expenses look like (converted to US dollars).

Home

First, I paid cash for my house and all improvements, so I do not have monthly rent or house payments to worry about. Although prices have risen, it is still possible here to buy a good house for about what you might pay for a nicer new car. House maintenance, things like paint, roof maintenance, electricians, plumbers and small parts and repairs (I do as much as possible myself): $100. Bank trust for the house and miscelleneous: $50. Property tax: $8. Garbage removal, curbside pickup three times per week: $2.50 per month. Electricity (I do not have AC, but run lots of ceiling fans, pool and well pumps, computer and a large refrigerator): $45. Natural gas (stove and water heater): $15. City water: $5. Telephone, which includes the local connection with 200 calls, unlimited long distance calling within Mexico, WIFI connection and rental of all associated hardware, and a low rate on international calls: $55. Cell phone (I have a plan that is pay-as-you-go, no calls, no charges): $25. House cleaner (sweeping, mopping, dusting of whole house, kitchen and bathrooms twice per week) and cleaning products: $80. Pool chemicals (I do the labor myself): $15. I stopped watching television years ago and don't have one, so I have no monthly cable bills. Home total: $400.50.

Auto

I paid cash for my used car so I have no car payments. I live in an area where you can walk to just about everything and don't drive much except for the occasional "big shop" at Costco or one of the malls, and for things like visiting plant nursuries, the beach and out-of-town trips, so monthly gas costs around $50, occasionally more if I take a long trip. Insurance: $50. Routine maintenance like tires, oil changes and small repairs: $50. Auto total: $150.

Personal

Soap, shampoo, toothpaste, clothing, shoes, and all personal and grooming items: $50. It is possible to buy good quality clothing here very economically. I get good polo shirts that last several years for about $7 each, but quality, longer-lasting jeans and shoes are a better deal in the States, so I buy there when visiting. I don't have a job to costume for, so jeans, polo shirts and running shoes or sandals are my uniform. I don't need much else. Health insurance and doctors are another great deal in Mexico. I have good private-carrier health insurance with a $250 deductible for about $100 per month. The facilities here in Mèrida are top notch, with many specialists trained in the US, and normally a doctor visit costs $45 (if one is really on a budget, it is also possible to go to a Farmacia Similar and see a general practitioner for $2). I find service to be more personalized here than up north. Personal total: $150.

Food and Fun

I don't spend a lot of money on things like alcohol, fancy restaurants or nightclubs because these things just don't interest me much. Value for the money they rate way down on the scale. However I eat out once or twice per day, and I also like to drink a coffee or iced mocha in an air-conditioned cafe in hot weather, or an open sidewalk cafe when possible. A couple of beers out with friends is an occasional pleasure. Small restaurants are one of the best deals in Mexico, with great, home-cooked food available for $2 - $3 per person. It's often cheaper for me to eat out than shop and cook at home. Cafes and eating out $250. Food, beverages, bottled purified water, movies, other going out and miscellaneous purchases $100.

I often shop at the local markets, where yesterday a friend found these mangoes for five pesos per kilogram, or about eighteen cents per pound. Coffee is another bargain here. Mexican coffee is among the best in the world, and I am picky about my coffee. I buy rich, fresh whole bean roasted coffee, prima lavado from the mountains of Veracruz for about $5.50 per pound. There are numerous regular cultural events that are free or low-cost. First-run movies at the theater three blocks down the street cost about $2. Food and Fun total: $350.

Total for all of the above: $ 1050.50. My monthly household budget is about $1050. Art, books, recorded music, gifts, furnishings, the occasional other luxury, computers, other technology (which is minimal) and travel are not included in that amount.

Travel

This one is not included in the above budget because it is variable and I do not consider it part of the cost of living here. It is my largest annual cost along with food. I travel to Alaska two or three times per year to see family and friends. I also travel quite a bit within Mexico; it's quite economical because high-quality long-distance buses and reasonably-priced hotels are the norm. I rarely pay more than about $35 per night for hotels and often pay less. A week-long trip I took last fall to Oaxaca, including round-trip airfare from Mèrida, three restaurant meals per day, concert tickets, taxis, buses and six nights in hotels set me back about $600.

In Economy, Thoreau wrote: "Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind." I continue to work at simplifying my life because I have found that by not having to work excessively to acquire and maintain unnecessary luxuries, and by simplifying my comforts, I have been able to afford an abundance of the priceless, the greatest luxury of all: time.

People: Goodbye, Neighbor, and Thanks

My neighbor Alejandro died last week. I was out of town when it happened, and busy away from the house when I got back, so I didn't get the news until several days later.

Alejandro and I were not close, but he was my first friend in the neighborhood after I moved into my house in Mèrida a few years ago. He was an outgoing, gregarious type, always waving and saying hello, and I guess it was just in his nature to be the first one to start a conversation with the new guy on the block.

Alejandro was not a young man, but with his unlined face and continual smile he was energetic and always busy, so I was more than a little surprised when he told me several years ago that he was 75 years old. I would have sworn he was no more than sixty, and he might have passed for younger. He'd lost his wife at a young age and remarried, and worked many years as a taxi driver. He remained happy in his second marriage and together with his wife Ingrid raised a houseful of children, who now have families of their own.

Alejandro was always busy with projects, such as painting and repairing old cars he would buy, fix up, drive for awhile, and then resell. He told me he liked to work, and the problem-solving and tinkering involved with the cars, along with the incentive of making a little extra cash when he sold them, kept his mind and body agile and gave him something interesting to do.

Not that his days were empty. Various children and grandchildren were usually around, and the modest house full of activity. One of the last times I saw him, a few weeks ago, Alejandro was delightedly painting the house next door, which they had rented so his daughter and her family could move in. People from the U.S. often don't understand why different generations of a family would want to live in such close proximity. Here, people can't fathom how people from el norte manage living so far apart from the company, affection and support of their closest loved ones.

Passing by on the street when Alejandro was outside working often entailed more than a casual "buenos dias." He loved to talk about what he was doing, and to find out what I was up to. I sometimes brought him my car and home maintenance problems for advice. The give and take usually ran on for awhile. It seemed as if the socializing for him was the main point of being out on the street, and that washing the car or fixing the tire was something he would get done but not particularly important in comparison.

Alejandro's family owns a ranch about an hour's drive outside of Mèrida, and many times he invited me to go with him for a couple of days and hang out. Unfortunately that's something we never did because I always had something else going on. I started thinking about that when another neighbor told me Alejandro had suddenly died of a heart attack earlier last week. One of the reasons I moved to Mexico was because I wanted to stop living in tomorrow (laboring on and on for that retirement, saving all year for that brief vacation, etc.) and start doing what I want to do now. I have gotten better at living in the now, but the fact that I had put off the ranch visit time and again until it was too late bothers me. I looked forward to that trip as much as I liked Alejandro; he was a nice guy and we probably could have been better friends. I take all this as another of those little messages that life sends us, if we only will pay attention to them, telling us maybe we need to make an in-course correction along the way. I am taking it seriously.

Once my train of thought got rolling along these lines, I started thinking about how happy and successful this neighbor had always seemed to me. He was not a wealthy man, in fact by many Americans' standards he would have been considered poor. Alejandro and his wife raised a large family in a small three-room (not three bedroom, three room) house, where they lived for at least forty years. He didn't have a lot of stuff. His thirty-year-old cars were worth at most a few hundred dollars, and sometimes were broken down. But he always, even when under a balky car and covered with sweat and grease, seemed to enjoy living in the present and have a good time.

I read not long ago that Mexicans have among the highest levels of personal happiness in the world. I think that Alejandro is a good example of some of the reasons for this. It looks to me as if my late neighbor's success in life boiled down to a few simple points. He liked to be happy, so he usually was. He had a good attitude and didn't let small irritations or things beyond his control ruin his day. He was completely authentic: he had no "image" to maintain. He enjoyed everything he did as best he could. He seemed to be more interested in relationships -- his family, friends, and neighbors -- than in things or schedules. I think these qualities gave meaning to the life of a humble and modest man, and filled it with affection and love.

There is an example and a message here.

Adios, vecino, y gracias.