There are days in our lives for which we wait with painful anticipation: Christmas, when a child. A sixteenth birthday when a teenager. And the day the FM3 arrives when you are moving to Mexico.
Friday was my day. I drove up to Portland to have lunch with a colleague who retired a few months ago. We ate at what was once one of my favorite restaurants -- and is now just as good under a new name. Catching up with my friend was even better than the meal. He gave me a few "when you retire" pointers that I will put to good use.
Then I grabbed a copy of my signed passport, my Oregon State Police "he-has-not-been-caught-doing-anything-bad" letter, and an apostilled copy of my income source -- and headed to the Mexican consulate.
I arrived to the same general pandemonium as my last two visits. But my appointment with the consulate assistant was literally an oasis of calm in a hurricane.
She called me to the desk right at my appointed time. I handed over my documents. She took my photograph and three fingerprints. I paid $134. I was done. And out the door in less than 25 minutes.
In two visits (I do not count the first one where I surrendered in ignorance), I had the document that will let me enter Mexico as a resident retiree. And I must give credit where credit is due. If Paty of Casa de PATY had not provided me with the information on how to find the visa office, I would have simply abandoned the task.
And Jennifer Rose, of course, kept encouraging me with the Portland consulate's reputation for customer service. I thank both of them. Blogdom is a great support center.
On Friday night I also closed another chapter in my Salem social life. For several years I have had season tickets to our local theater. I realized that tonight will be my last visit to that theater.
I almost did not attend. The play was "Seussical," one of those Broadway productions of mindless pap that is designed to separate tourists from Des Moines from their hard-earned dollars.
I almost did not attend. But I am glad I did. The show turned out to be as hollow as a politician's promise, but it was just good plain fun.
Even more important, it gave me an opportunity to say goodbye to cast and audience members -- some I have known for 30 years. But like all good relationships, we will continue to tell each other's stories -- no matter where we are and what documents we carry.
Friday was my day. I drove up to Portland to have lunch with a colleague who retired a few months ago. We ate at what was once one of my favorite restaurants -- and is now just as good under a new name. Catching up with my friend was even better than the meal. He gave me a few "when you retire" pointers that I will put to good use.
Then I grabbed a copy of my signed passport, my Oregon State Police "he-has-not-been-caught-doing-anything-bad" letter, and an apostilled copy of my income source -- and headed to the Mexican consulate.
I arrived to the same general pandemonium as my last two visits. But my appointment with the consulate assistant was literally an oasis of calm in a hurricane.
She called me to the desk right at my appointed time. I handed over my documents. She took my photograph and three fingerprints. I paid $134. I was done. And out the door in less than 25 minutes.
In two visits (I do not count the first one where I surrendered in ignorance), I had the document that will let me enter Mexico as a resident retiree. And I must give credit where credit is due. If Paty of Casa de PATY had not provided me with the information on how to find the visa office, I would have simply abandoned the task.
And Jennifer Rose, of course, kept encouraging me with the Portland consulate's reputation for customer service. I thank both of them. Blogdom is a great support center.
On Friday night I also closed another chapter in my Salem social life. For several years I have had season tickets to our local theater. I realized that tonight will be my last visit to that theater.
I almost did not attend. The play was "Seussical," one of those Broadway productions of mindless pap that is designed to separate tourists from Des Moines from their hard-earned dollars.
I almost did not attend. But I am glad I did. The show turned out to be as hollow as a politician's promise, but it was just good plain fun.
Even more important, it gave me an opportunity to say goodbye to cast and audience members -- some I have known for 30 years. But like all good relationships, we will continue to tell each other's stories -- no matter where we are and what documents we carry.
