Jungle fever

I returned recently from a trip to Central America, where I was struck by the beauty of the Guatemalan women. That's not a typo. And I don't mean those that are of primarily Spanish ancestry; I mean those who are heavily indigenous. There's a certain nobility in their facial structure and a clarity of countenance that holds a curious allure. In the town of Flores, I was smitten by one little Lolita (which makes it sound like it was her fault...right?) in particular. Then I imagined her at age 73 and was quickly able to return to my touristic responsibilities, undistracted.

Other than a good deal of gawking, it was a well-behaved trip. Although in a bar/club in the pseudo-resort town of Panajachel, on lake Atitlan, I did dance with a twentysomething and her professor, both of whom were with a large group of law students from the university in Guatemala City. Both were attractive, though not stunning, and more of Spanish ancestry than indigenous. No lambada-like moves that would have been out of place at your garden-variety stake dance, but I was definitely "aware" that this was probably the first non-instructional time (we've had some tango and salsa lessons) since I've been married that I've held the hand and felt the (clothed) lower back of a woman to whom I was not related.

The trip (on which my wife didn't accompany me, as she doesn't "do" Latin blight very well) afforded me a great deal of time to reflect on my marriage and my family. I was joined by an intelligent and insightful friend, who knows both of us fairly well and served as a helpful sounding board, and I returned home with a general feeling that, all other considerations aside, my marriage was worth more effort than I was giving it. This feeling came with a sobered, hopeful contentedness that I haven't felt in a very long time. I mentioned to my wife a day or two after I returned that she was more beautiful than I had remembered her. She said I was feeding her a line. I reminded her that I'd never fed her "a line," for better or for worse. I think it meant something to her, maybe just a little something. There's a little more sweetness in her eyes, a little more patience and interest in our tone with each other. We've spoken openly and earnestly about a variety of hot-button topics, even the idea of my leaving my semi-high-paying job and its 2-hrs-per-day commute, to be able to spend more time with the kids. No fireworks. Just something akin to being wrapped up in a fleece blanket that just came out of the dryer. Not sure exactly why. We'll see. But at the very least, it seems to feel better--at least for this moment--than the various alternatives.