A few years back, when I was visiting my daughter in Benin, West Africa, I commented that we could make a great coffee table book with pictures of what people carried on the back of their motorcycles (or motos as they were called).

My daughter had already taken some pictures that would have qualified. Two plate glass windows, wholly intact and rising about five feet above the driver’s head; a mattress held in place by two hands of the passenger and one of the driver; a family of five traveling together on a single seat, the youngest on her mother’s back; two 30 gallon trash barrels somehow balanced behind the driver without ropes or other tether.  

In a country where motos greatly outnumber automobiles, the pictures seemed to tell a story of the ingenuity and fortitude of Benin and its people more effectively than words.

My daughter and I never got around to putting together a coffee table book, but I rarely see a motorcycle without thinking about Benin. It makes me wonder what will remind me of Mexico once I leave.

There’s a house I go out of my way to pass on my walks to and from my grandson’s preschool. Painted a bright orange and with an ornate iron gate, it’s one of my favorite houses. I included a picture of it in a photo essay of Mexico that I posted on a blog site recently. 

The first comment I received about the essay was,  “Now I want to go paint my shed.”

I chuckled at the comment, but saw the reason for it when I looked back at the pictures I had selected.  Every single one was filled with vibrant color. A bright yellow house, a multi-colored playground, numerous murals, flowering trees – each one more colorful than the last.

Is there a coffee table book waiting to be published about the colors of Mexico, I wondered.

There is certainly color to be found. But what I also noticed when I looked at my pictures was that most were taken in historical areas of Mexico or in older neighborhoods. That, with the exception of the orange house and some flowering trees, I had  included very few of modern Mexico.

It made me look around and take notice that color seems to be fading somewhat from the more recent structures. The defining hues of my own newer neighborhood are various shades of white; the rare colorful door standing out in stark contrast.

I walked by the orange house last week and found painters there. Within a few days, the bright orange was gone, replaced by a subdued light yellow. The house is still pretty, but it makes me a little sad.

It makes me want to paint my shed. If only I had one.