By Abe Villarreal
I was in Cananea, Sonora this week. It's a small city just an hour into Mexico. About 30,000 people live there, and the large copper mine is the industry that keeps it going. During my visit, I was reminded that to a lot of people in the world, every day is Groundhog Day.
I crossed into Mexico through the Naco, Arizona, port of entry. Naco is a quiet town. The kind where you notice anything that moves or makes noise. The port of entry had no cars in line. The world hadn't woken up just yet.
At the bus stop, a block from the border, was a lady wearing a company polo shirt who was waiting to get picked up. She had a purse to one side and a cup of coffee to the other. I knew she was there, like she was every other day before that day. Same time each morning. Same cup of coffee. Same polo shirt.
For small-town people, every day can be like a time loop. Like the Groundhog Day movie. You get up, you get ready. You make your cup of coffee. You head out the door. You start your day. You finish your day. The next day, you do it all over again.
This is probably true for big city people, too, but in small towns it seems more noticeable. The traffic doesn't change. The visitors are few and far between. When there is something new, it is out of the ordinary, and everyone knows about it.
I walked a few blocks that morning as I waited to cross the border. I'm sure whoever noticed wondered why there was an unfamiliar face crossing their front street. Things aren't supposed to change when it's Groundhog Day.
In Cananea, after the one-hour drive, the morning streets quietly came to life. People were rolling up their storefront gates. The gas stations and tienditas (mini-marts) already open because they always are. Everything seemed to be happening just like it always does.
I like it when life is what you expect it to be. With so much change happening around the world, now more than ever, I like the expected more than the unexpected. It means that things are okay and the way they were meant to be.
I like seeing the same lady at the bus stop every morning. The old man who walks the plaza. He walks slowly, taking short steps, everyone passing him. Still, he's there every day for his walk. When I see him, I feel that things are going to be alright.
Once in a while, something new happens. The old man doesn't show up. The bus arrives, and the lady isn't there waiting. That's when the rest of us do that we do in our tiny corner of the world. We ask questions. We check in. Is everything okay?
Then, after everyone returns to where they are supposed to be, normality returns as well. The next day, the sun comes up, and the coffee cup is made. The lady gets ready for her workday and puts on her company polo.
The store owner rolls up his gate. The man heads out to the plaza. I don't know what's happening in faraway places, but where I live, everything is happening just the way it's supposed to happen.
Everything is going to be okay.
Abe Villarreal writes about the traditions, people, and culture of America. He can be reached at
