I went to Mexico for three days last week to attend the memorial service for George Miller, the photographer I’ve written about. It was a beautiful ceremony, and the church was packed, not a dry eye in the crowd. He was much loved by the expatriate crowd.
On the way down, I sat next to a lovely woman who was on her way to spend a month in San Miguel del Allende—something I’ve always wanted to do. Sometimes I look up the wonderful houses you can rent there through VRBO. Just take a look!
“Did all your friends freak out that you were going to Mexico?” I asked. “Did they tell you how dangerous . . .
I looked out of my window as we approached Mexico City and framed there, I saw Iztaccihuatl and Popocatepetl, gleaming white in the brilliant blue sky. The pilot turned in a wide arc and flew us straight down Avenida Reforma, past Chapultepec Castle, right above the Monument to the Revolution. I could even see the gold wings of the Angle of Independence as we flew above it. Dave and I arrived in Oaxaca at twilight, the beautiful . . .
Today I am mourning the loss of George Miller, a man I met on the internet.