Home ownership is a mixed bag of benefits and responsibilities.
None of that is news to anyone who has owned a home -- from the first Neanderthal in his cave to the British Queen with her string of palaces.
When I moved to Mexico from Oregon, I swore I would never again own a house. I wanted to be free enough to pick up my bed and drive whenever the urge hit me. My rule was simple, I would not acquire any possessions that I could not load into my Escape on one hour's notice.
That plan worked well until I bought the house with no name in Barra de Navidad. The ink was barely dry on my fideicomiso with Bancomer when I started filling the house with art, books, and all kinds of kitchen gadgetry. All of that, of course, at the cost of my liberty and moral accountability.
I would vow to keep my life simple. Then I would turn around and accumulate some new stuff.
One of the most effective gadgets I bought was an electronic opener for my garage doors that was recommended by a fellow blogger in Pátzcuaro. I had seen a similar setup at his condominium where I have stayed a few times.
Prior to installing it, my SUV was dented when the wind would swing the doors into my fenders while I was driving into the garage. The electronic doors helped solve that annoyance back in 2016 (knocking on heaven's door).
Our coastal weather with its high temperatures and humidity accompanied by clouds of brine is not conducive to the well-being of electronics. When I lived on the beach, my computer died within four months. But the electronic doors have proved to be more resilient. Until this month.
A week ago, one of my twin garage doors decided to go on strike. One door would open, but the other was just as unresponsive as any golden retriever puppy I have owned.
The sole electronic method to open the doors is with a remote. One button opens one door. The other button opens both doors. No matter which button I pushed, only one door would open.
Using my Sherlockian reasoning, I concluded the motor that opened the east door had burned out. Occasionally, the synchronization of the doors goes amiss, and the doors close in opposite order. I thought that mishap could have been hard on the motor.
So, I steeled myself for a hefty repair bill.
Hugo, the owner of the company that installed the openers lives just one village over. He was at the house within an hour of calling him.
Hugo took the remote and tried one button. Only one door opened. He tried the other button -- and as is the way of these repair tales -- both doors opened. I would have felt embarrassed if I had not tried both buttons myself.
He laughed when I told him I had tried both buttons because, as he explained, the problem was not in the remote or the motor, but in the synchronization between the doors. So, he pulled out his screwdriver and ladder and spent the next two hours attempting to customize the synchronization of the closure.
Admittedly, Hugo, Ozzy (my friend who was helping me with the project), and I spent a healthy portion of the two hours talking about a stream of topics that would have made up an afternoon's news coverage on local television.
When Hugo was done, his requested fee was 200 pesos -- or about 10 US dollars. For two hours work. I padded it a bit with a tip. Our conversation was worth the total price.
Once again, I can easily move my car in and out of the house.
Doors, for some reason, have always reminded me of the line between life and death. And how easily it is to step over the threshold of one into the other -- though I suspect the process only goes one way. Maybe that is why keeping my doors in operating order is an investment in my future.
It couldn't hurt.
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