I have been out of touch for a while‚Ä¶but there is good reason for that. For those that don‚Äôt know, Chris and I got married a few weeks ago and it was an amazing night.
But, this isn‚Äôt about that. This is about the Mariachis, well, one Mariachi in particular. We took Chris‚Äô family to San Antonio to see the river walk, the Alamo and then to the Mercado. (I had to make sure my mother in law and aunt walked away with some Mexican pottery you know).
It was closing time and we sat out in the almost abandoned square, enjoying the warm sun. A Mariachi band walked past and the fellas decided to surprise their gals with a serenade.
So I sat there, between my mother in law and Aunt Mary listening to the most beautiful song being played just for us.
But this guitar player caught my eye.
I loved his gorgeous wrinkles and the look in his eyes.
I loved the wisdom that just seemed to radiate outwards. You wanted to hear his life stories‚Ä¶because I am sure he has many to tell.
But it was when I saw his hands that my heart melted.
Those were my Popo‚Äôs hands. I sort of felt like I was staring at his lost Mexican brother (very fitting, my Popo was a short Sicilian).
It was a beautiful reminder.
I think this was his way of letting me remember him, to let me know that he was there at our wedding.