chillin' out

The first thing I did this morning when I wandered out on the patio was check the calendar.

No, I was not confused about the year, though I am regularly accused of living in a different century, if not millennium. What I had to check was the month.

Sure enough, it was still May. Right on the eve of Mexican Mother's Day.

The calendar seems to be having a bit of an argument with the thermometer this week. It was 64 degrees this morning. In tropical Mexico. That is about 17 degrees celsius for those of you who do not live in The States, Liberia, and Myanmar (née Burma).

Personal recollection of weather patterns is a dicey thing. We went through one of those cycles this spring when people complained how cold it was.

In truth, we have cold spells every early spring here on the Costalegere.  I know that because I am one of the people who gets sucked into the whinging mode each year. All I need to do is look back at my "Gee-it's-cool" essays to remind myself that Mexpatriate has a better memory than I do.

But this is not March. It is May. And we should be out of the pleasant morning cycle by now.

I am not complaining. Even though I have had to don my thick terry cloth robe that warmed me during trips from the hot tub in the Salem snow, I am quite happy with this temperate zone bonanza. Crisp mornings are a blessing. And I will certainly miss them in a month or two.

The fishermen tell me our relief from what should be hot. muggy mornings is caused by cool water in the Pacific. I do not know if that is true. But it makes sense. The breezes off of the ocean have been cool and refreshing.

What has not been so refreshing is the return of another cycle -- the recalcitrant ATMs. Last February I wrote about the problem of trying to withdraw enough pesos from our local ATMs to pay for my solar power project (spinning for pesos).

I was not alone. It appeared that almost anyone with a northern credit card was blocked from obtaining pesos. I found relief only by driving to Manzanillo.

During my last trip, I used the same cards in Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, California, and Oregon. The ATMs gladly coughed up the requested local currency. The day I returned to Mexico, I withdrew pesos using the same cards.

A week later everything changed. My cards would not work in any of the local ATMs. When this happened last time, my northern bank informed me it had no record of ever having been contacted by a local ATM. The Mexican banking system was rejecting service even before contacting my bank. The same thing is happening again.

And what is worse, the problem has now spread to Manzanillo. While standing in line this week, I watched several northern cards being rejected. Mine was simply the next.

Whatever the problem is, it is a nuisance. Fortunately, I have some lifelines that will keep me from resorting to begging in the streets. I can use my credit card at a few places in town. For cash, I can draw on the few pesos I keep stashed in my Banamex account.

And, best of all, I know it will eventually get resolved. Because it always does. That is just the way life works.

So, here I sit in my robe enjoying a cool morning chatting with you over a pot of green tea. My peso-less wallet simply means that I may be able to sing that Shaker hymn we discussed last week in the mean streets of barra without feeling a hypocrite.

It truly is a gift to come down where we ought to be. Especially, on delightful cool mornings like this.