There are moments in life that are too beautiful in their imperfection to leave to the whim of memory.
Last week my sisters and I stayed in Sayulita, Mexico, where life is slow, people are happy and a carefree lifestyle adds a rosy hue to the crumbling, colorful streets. There was much imperfection in the way the town functioned, but this only enhanced the beauty. We saw a sweaty, round man clean the tables outside his restaurant with the sloppy rope mop he had just used to wash the sidewalk. We nearly stepped in so much dog shit that to leave the town with unblemished shoes was nothing short of a miracle. And one night, the neighborhood Mariachi band strolled into the restaurant where we dined and attempted to serenade us with a familiar ballad so out of tune and time that it was simply perfect.
Crisp white shirts against the pink walls, they sang their hearts out, collected our coins, then went out for a smoke in the plaza. We reveled in their blare.