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“No hablo español,” I explained to the driver as my daughter left after giving him our address and some general directions for getting me home.  

Of all the jobs I’ve had, my favorite remains my first – lifeguarding. Forget bigger paychecks, mental challenges, or even the luxury of spending every day in a bookstore. Never mind the occasional sunburn, the hassle of sunscreen, or the wrinkles from all the years I didn’t know I needed it. Just give me that tall chair in the sun.

I don’t know if this is common in Guadalajara or just my neighborhood, but several times a week, while out walking, I hear cowbells ringing. When I first followed the sound, I discovered a garbage truck with workers trailing behind, collecting trash and wearing cowbells attached to their belt loops.

There used to be a game show in the United States called, “Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader.” I don’t think it’s still on, but I don’t really know. I never watched it. Because, frankly, I didn’t want to know.

When I came to Guadalajara, my car and most of my possessions followed behind by a couple of months. I arrived with whatever essentials I could fit inside two suitcases, which ended up being too much underwear and not enough books.

We arrived in Guadalajara in mid-August with my three-year-old grandson who remembers every detail of the trick-or-treating he did once, nearly a year ago.