don't tread on me

I moved to Mexico primarily because I wanted to awaken every morning and not have the slightest idea how I was going to get through the day.  I have said it before -- and I am saying it today:  Mexico has lived up to its end of the bargain.  In spades.

Yesterday was a perfect example.  I had one big item on my agenda -- to drive out to the Manzanillo airport to pick up my brother and our special guest star for the week.  The house was in perfect order to show off its lines.

If you have not already guessed, our special guest star is Darrel's wife, my sister-in-law, Christy.  It turns out their adventure began a little earlier than they anticipated.

They had gone to bed early on Friday night to be ready to catch a pre-dawn flight from Bend.  Around midnight, they received a text message that their flight to Portland had been canceled due to fog.  And that was the only flight that would allow them to catch the once-a-week flight to Manzanillo.

So, they jumped into their car and drove the multi-hour trip to Portland to catch the flight.  And catch it they did, arriving in Manzanillo right on time. 

With greetings all around, we piled into the Escape.  I was telling Darrel I thought I had a malfunction in one of my dashboard lights.  The low tire pressure was on, but all of the tires seemed to have adequate pressure.

We were passing a Pemex station as I said that.  I am glad I stopped.  The front left tire was well on its way to being flat.  The reason was immediately obvious.  There was a hole in the tread that looked as if Kojak had shot it out.  I suspect I had picked up a nail and the head had finally snapped off.

Being the take-charge guy that he is, Darrel changed the tire.  But it was late Saturday, and there was no hope of finding a repair shop -- or to order a new tire, which is probably my option.

That didn't bother me because I knew the day's centerpiece would be Darrel and Christy getting their first glimpse of the house.  I threw the door open -- and immediately in front of them was my swimming pool doing a St. Patrick's Day impression.  When I left it was clear.  It was now an interesting shade of pond scum.

The fact that the house internet has not been working for a couple of days seemed like an afterthought.

So, here we are at Rooster's having breakfast.  My brother has handed over my new computer (the platform for this essay), camera, and Kindle.  Within a couple of days, all of the circumstances of Saturday will be grist for tales.

What matters is that my brother and his wife are here to investigate what I hope will be part of their retirement plans.

And, as soon as I buy a memory card for the camera (something Sony does not seem to provide any longer), I will have some shots of the coming week.

After all, I need to start sharing the house with you.