Pasta y Fanta

Yesterday makes me smile.

Did the work thing. Then, T. and I took a great walk. There's a Jack Nicklaus (sp?) golf course going in right next to her house, so we walked at least 2 miles in there. It was gorgeous. The sunset was stunning, too. And, the crash of the waves has yet to start getting old.

After the walk, the fam loaded up in the Genovia (Cadillac Escalade) and went for pasta.

Very good. Enjoyed it. We were starving. (I wore a white shirt. No sauce. Go me.)

After pasta, we visited the plaza. According to T., the plaza is where the Mexican community congregates. They just hang out there. It's essentially a very large tiled-area (think football field? About.) with a sort of large gazebo in the middle, a stage at one side and people scattered about. It's well-lit and quite safe. Kids run everywhere.

Which bring me to my favor part of the night:

Picture it: Cabo, around 9:00 p.m. Me, Trish and Bry sitting on a park bench watching a game of sorts unfold.

Kick ball? No. Catch? No. Running bases? No. Soccer? No.

"Kick the Fanta bottle."

Yup - that's what kids play in MX.

Marianna and Chloe kicked the empty fanta bottle back and forth for quite some time. The bottle, which was called a "ball" at one point by Marianna, actually worked quite well.

(Trish and I decided that in Mexican homes the Fanta bottle could be used for many things: a candle holder, a glass, a maraca... what am I forgetting Trish?)

Anywho, the irony of 3 Americans sitting in a Mexican plaza watching two barefoot "Mexican" girls kicking a plastic bottle on concrete seemed very National Geographic.

Serious angle: How simple. How fun. How great. That's a memory. "Hey, remember that one time in the plaza? With the fanta bottle?"

Photo to come.