Some of these memories awaken in us a past when things were simpler and mother did not lock the doors. The blanket chest here in Yucatan is just a box, but imagine the cool nights when its contents made life possible in the high plateaux or an Appalachian valley The beams are scavenged from the debris left by 18th and 19th century builders of Merida, and one special piece was created by my mother. The found windows date from a period called Art Deco and the blue door from a time referred to as Art Nouveau. The pencil post bed is a Shaker creation.
Above this room there is a sunny terrace the size of the room - and the four columns support wooden posts where Jorge feeds his doves. There are two types of doves - the tortulas, small brown and grey, and the larger torcasas, which have a mournful cooing sound. Jorge’s Mayan grandmother said that because the torcasas were tricked by the squirrels, they coo to tell of the bad times to come, usually something associated with weather. Seems like something was left out of that story.
The balcony of the room is small, but big enough for a chair - it extends over the garden below. The terrace above has desert roses and frangipani blooming.
For several decades this space was named for a favorite composer, Enrique Granados, and everything was Spanish, even the iron grill headboard, but mother died and I inherited her Colonial Smoky Mountains primitive furnishings. As a baby I was rocked in that rocking chair and a blanket chest, here in Yucatan, is quite useless. We don’t use many blankets. The colors of cool grey and blue are calming and restful.