Retirement is not all it is cracked up to be: sometimes it is more.
Sometimes it is lunch together, just because we want to. This time--today--it was at San Agustin Kitchen, more or less on the spot where Native Americans seem first to have settled in what is now Tucson, there where once upon a time, and sometimes even now, there is water at the foot of a black mountain.
Today--in spite of the rain last night--there is no water in the Santa Cruz, but no matter, no water, there is wine and beer!
Mercado San Agustin is a courtyard, with several shops, and with an open farmer's market once a week. We ate at the namesake restaurant, and have every intention of going back again and again!
It is an elegant little corner of a traditional open courtyard; half quiet, dark wood, and half bright bar. Out in the courtyard, people gather as people do where the sun shines, sometimes to have a drink, or maybe a taco; perhaps to get off the bicycle after having gone over and back Gates Pass. Any excuse will do.
There is fine pottery, and fine clothes, and a bakery, as well as ice cream and permission to sit and do nothing at all.
Last time, when we came with Jao, he discovered that the chairs outside had trampoline straps, and that the straw bales were not just to lean bicycles up against.
But not yet! There is still wine. And we have promises to keep.
Comments
Post a Comment