Years ago, when asked how I was, I would respond with what I thought was a rather factual: "One day closer to death -- just like you."
My co-workers took up an intellectual collection to buy me an alternative greeting. It has now become my trademark: "Practically perfect in every way -- in this best of all possible worlds." As if I were the love child of Dr. Pangloss and Mary Poppins. The Spanish version is occasionally on offer.
Whichever version you like, either one is fitting to today. It is my brother's birthday. A rather major one. It is not often I get to share such an event with my best friend.
And how did we celebrate? In true Cotton fashion, we went on a scavenger hunt. In Mexico, that means trying to accomplish too many tasks in one day. To make it more difficult, we tried doing them in Manzanillo.
Here is what we did:
- Switched a Telmex account from my name into my friend Ozzy's name
- Picked up a modem from Telmex
- Settled a personal account
- Re-filled my three prescriptions with only two pharmacy stops -- it usually takes three or four
- Had a birthday lunch at Monster Burger
- Clarified the payment system on my new Telcel plan, and made a three month deposit
- Bought a battery backup for my computer system at Office Depot -- the prior backup was fried in one of our electrical storms
That was it. It doesn't sound like much. But the pharmacy, Telcel, ad Telmex stops ate up the vast majority of our day. As a result, we were unable to get to the Ford dealership to set a service appointment before it closed for the two-hour lunch break. But I can do that by telephone. I hope.
Then came the grand finale. Darrel and I drove over to La Manzanilla for his birthday dinner at Magnolia's -- where I delivered a muled package to Alex, one of the co-owners.
Magnolia's has long been one of my favorite restaurants. I can always count on a well-crafted meal of quality ingredients. But, most of all, the menu always offer some choices not readily available in the area.
For instance, I had a chicken pot pie that owed far more to haute cuisine than its diner name would imply. It was just the right size to be complemented by a mixed berry pie topped with vanilla ice cream.
Best of all, though, I was privileged to share the day with my brother's wit. He probably knows me better than almost anyone I know. So, it is a waste of time for me to pretend to be anyone else. And I truly like that.
Not only do we share our pasts, we talk about our futures. In less than a year, Darrel and his wife Christy will be moving into the house with no name. It will be a new world for all of us. One that will be filled with adventure.
But that is the future. For today, I will simply wish my baby brother the happiest of birthdays.
We are back in Barra de Navidad -- after a 5000 trip north and south during the past three weeks.
Three weeks? Actually, two days less than than. t seems as if I have been away from the house for at least a month.
One of my rules of travel is to empty the car within an hour of arriving. And then putting everything away.
The requirement was met. Almost. Darrel and I unloaded most of the plastic containers and stored (or displayed) the contents. Books are shelved. Clothes are hung. Kitchen goods are sorted and drawered.
By carting my goods down from my mother's garage, I have managed to impose part of my old life on my Mexican modern dream. When I bought this house, I intended to start with a fresh look. Clean lines. New furniture.
That was the idea. Even though everything I brought down has utility (well, maybe not the pile of sweaters), they are part of my past, rather than my future.
Take theses cook books. I gave away about 80% of my collection to Goodwill when I moved out of my Salem house. There appears to be no consistent thread to the rump I retained. Some were gifts. Some have recipes I cannot find elsewhere. Some are simply pretty.
But there they are. Just waiting to assist me in putting together the dinner parties I dream (and write) about. And I have no excuse now with a full complement of china, flatware, and linen napkins.
And maybe that is how this trip has furthered my life in this house. The accessories may not be Mexican modern, but there is no reason I cannot live a Mexican modern life.
Bring on the guests.
Darrel and I have been on the road since Tuesday -- on our return road trip to Mexico.
Our largest challenge was to find a weather window to allow us to get out of Bend and on our way. Tuesday morning there was still enough ice on the roads to make driving a challenge. But a freezing rain was racing toward Bend -- and an even larger storm was aimed at the Siskiyous; right in our path.
I would like to say we braved the ice to avoid worse weather. But "brave" is hardly the word. Only the first 50 miles of our trip was on ice -- and Darrel drove them. After that, it was clear sailing.
You will not be surprised to hear that I do not have a lot of photographs to illustrate our adventures during the past four days. That is just as well because the internet connection at the motel where we are spending the night is anything but broadband.
And I do not have many photographs. Darrel and I are more likely to comment on the immediate beauty of a view rather than to stop and take a photograph. What I do have are a handful of shots through the window of my SUV driving at speeds designed to escape the Earth's gravitational pull.
To say that Mount Shasta is stunning is a cliché. But it is. It nestles against one of my favorite stretches of I-5. As long as the road is free of snow.
I am almost equally impressed with the golden hills -- more golden than usual, thanks to the state's drought -- of central California with their hedonic interplay of light and shadow. The Impressionist in me wants to pull out a paint box every time I see them. They also remind me of one of my favorite years (1973) that I spent at Castle Air Force Base.
Shasta and whispering hills had to take a back seat, though, to my favorite event in California. My brother insisted we stop at Dorris -- barely across the border -- where he introduced me to the "best burritos" he had ever eaten.
He was correct. El Ranchito is operated by a man and his wife who know their burritos. I had tongue. It mixed perfectly with a home-made salsa that blended the beans and rice together.
The place was filled with Mexican-born truck drivers. I could just as easily have been outside of Guadalajara. And I had an opportunity to put my Spanish lessons to work.
Because we got a late start, we spent the night at a Motel 6 in Santa Nella not as far south as we would have liked. We made up for lost time on Wednesday by skirting Los Angeles through the Mojave desert -- dropping us onto I-10 just in time to witness the manhunt for the shooters in San Bernadino.
We were so close to Phoenix that I could not pass up the opportunity to see my friend Leo. He took off a full day from work to squire us around Scottsdale. It was nice to spend the time at "his resort" -- as he so accurately calls it. Both of us needed the break.
Our border crossing this morning at Lukeville was a bit slow. The customs people wanted us to unload a portion of my household goods and to try to estimate a value. We were then stopped at two other customs stations along the way, and asked the same thing.
The good news is that all of my stuff is now in Mexico -- and we are headed back to Barra de Navidad.
Tonight we are in Navojoa Usually, I would try to drive through all the way to Barra de Navidad from here. I doubt we will do that. Darrel is still suffering from residual cold symptoms, and my right ankle infection is not fully resolved.
We will take our time. Maybe with an overnight stay in Puerto Vallarta.
That is the nice thing about these trips. We can do what we want to do, when we want to do it.
And that is another reason I love Mexico.
I do not like driving on snow or ice.
It is not a fear. I have only one fear, and that is not it.
The dislike stems from letting my driving skills go rusty. When I skied, I would regularly drive in the snow. And I was rather good at it. But those days are long gone.
Or so I thought. Our roads in Bend look a bit like scenes from Dr. Zhivago. Not the Moscow ballroom scenes. More like the winter dacha where Yuri and Lara resume their affair in ice-drenched salons.
I have dusted off my cold weather driving skills, and I have been enjoying re-learning the feeling of driving on a surface where I have next to no control. Just like life.
The time is drawing near when I will need to use those skills -- even if it is just as a backup driver. We are planning to leave Bend early Tuesday morning. Our route will subject us to about 200 miles of roads packed with snow and ice on the first leg of the trip. Darrel will be the primary pilot.
Yesterday afternoon I went back to the emergency room. I ran out of antibiotics. The cellulitis in my right ankle seems to be under control. But, to be certain, I saw medical advice.
In turn, I received five more days of antibiotics. And a clearance to travel -- as long as we stopped for frequent rest breaks. (Doctors do not read my essays about the Cotton School of Driving.)
The primary purpose of the trip north was to retrieve the goods I had left behind in my mothers garage when I headed south in the shiftless Escape -- back in early 2009. I have now sifted through those boxes. My sister-in-law suggested re-packing everything in plastic containers to save space.
I did just that. Books. Clothes. Kitchen items. Games. Things I did not need as a renter, but that will be useful as a home owner.
There is one task I have not yet accomplished -- completing a menaje: a detailed listing of each item in each box. Some people even include an estimated value. All of that is to ease the calculation of any duty that may be owed for bringing my personal belongings into Mexico.
I have decided against the full list. The plastic containers make it easy to see the contents. The only question is whether I will need to pay any duty. We will discover that when we cross the border at Lukeville -- later in the week.
It is turning out to be a good time in Bend. I have picked up my ice-driving skills. My health is back on an even keel. Darrel and I are ready to face another 2500 miles of adventure. And there may be a puppy at the end of all this.
What could be a better life?
I am about to become a Dad.
Actually, I am about to become a dog owner -- or to be owned by a dog. That is, if all goes well.
A golden retriever in Barra de Navidad had a litter of 9 pups on 14 September. They are now ready for their new homes. I understand the majority have taken up residence with their new owners. But at least one is still available.
When Professor Jiggs died (just over 6 years ago), I was unclear if I wanted another dog. At the time, I was traveling a lot, and that is not something to which I wanted to subject another dog. During Jiggs's young dog days, I spent a lot of time traveling on business. And Mexico is certainly not the most convenient country in which to travel with a dog. Especially, a big one.
But I have missed the companionship of a dog. During my morning walks, a lot of people bring their dogs along for the exercise. That image was enough for me to put "get a dog" back on my "to do" list.
So, let me introduce you to who may become my boon companion. He was born sixth among the nine.
I have already chosen a name for him. But you are going to have to wait for its unveiling. The name had to be Spanish -- or Spanish-ish. It is two names. The first has to do with what dogs do; the last describes his color. It even has a political significance.
However, there is no need to tell you the name until I have the dog in hand. That means getting back to Barra de Navidad -- which I hope we do soon.
Happy Thanksgiving. Whether you celebrate it on a conventional date or, as we do, whenever the mood strikes.
I have a lot to be thankful for this year. My health, even though I have undergone a few setbacks, has been good. I have friends who constantly add joy to my life (while I remember the friends who are now memories). And I have a great family, who has been with me through good and bad times during the year -- and who will be much nearer before the next year is out.
I thank God for providing all that.
Take a look at the photograph at the top of this essay. On their face, they are three "get well" cards. You have seen the one on the left (thinking of patti). It is from my friend Stephanie -- who I have known from the sixth grade.
The card in the middle is from my cousin Dennis. Of the seven cousins in our family, he is the closest in age to me -- and an occasional cruise partner.
The golden retriever card is from my friend Leo. You remember him. We have been friends since college. He visited me in Barra de Navidad in August, and added some new adventure to my life.
Some people would see those cards as mere pieces of stiff paper embossed with rank sentiment. Maybe they are.
But, to me, they are far more than that. The people who sent them took time from their schedules to pick out an appropriate card, to write me a note, and to then place it in the hands of a postman, They are physical representations of a bond that exists between giver and recipient. Between friend and friend.
So, Stephanie, Leo, and Dennis, I thank you. I am thankful for the relationships we have had over the years -- and for those to come.
And I am equally thankful to each of you who have sent me well wishes through comments on this blog, on Facebook, and email. It is almost worth having a few health maladies to receive what has been a very reassuring outpouring of love.
For all of that, I am thankful. But, most of all, I am thankful for my Mother, my brother Darrel, and my sister-in-law Christy, who I will be sharing a slice of bird with in a day or two.
I trust your day -- and year -- will be as blessed.
Memories are buried like treasures in our lives. And, often, in the most unlikely places.
This afternoon, I was rummaging through several months of medical bills to submit to my insurer. Due to the wide-spread use of thermal paper for receipts, two-thirds of the pharmacy bills will not be reimbursable. Even I have no idea what I purchased. They are lost memories.
I need to remember to scan them when I receive them.
But they are small potatoes. The ones where I could still read the totals added up to $3,224 (Mx) -- or about $195 (US). Dinner for twelve in Melaque or lunch for one in London.
While rifling through bills long paid, I ran across a type-written note. I knew immediately what it was. But it was an odd piece of paper to slip into my financial work.
When my brother visited in October of 2014, he told me the bathroom in his room presented a slipping hazard. Water from the shower dampens the ceramic tile on the floor, and a fat, white boy like him could easily be injured.
The note is from my friend-sister Patti who died two months ago. When I last saw her before I left on my trip to China, I must have mentioned the bathroom floors had safety problems -- in the eyes of some.
Several weeks later, a package arrived from Olympia. The contents? Four bath mats. Two gray. Two black. A perfect match for the evolving look in the house with no name.
I remember chuckling when I opened the box. The cost of shipping bath mats to Mexico was expensive -- certainly more than the cost of the mats. But that is the type of person she was. Her friend had a problem; she was going to help set it right.
I was going to excerpt what she wrote. But let me give the floor to her in her own words:
Hi Steve --
Just wanted to get these off to you -- you may not get them until you return from China, but who knows? When you were here, you mentioned an issue with the showers -- water splashes into the main part of the bath on occasion. I think a good old-fashioned bath mat may be the solution -- you can launder it like a towel, it dries quickly (unlike a rug) and it can be hung up. If that doesn't work for you, at least we tried!
Have a wonderful cruise, dear friend.
Love, Patti.
I immediately put the bath mats to good use. And Patti was correct -- as she almost always was with her practical tips. The mats work perfectly.
But why did I save that little note? Her death was not imminent. In fact, it appeared she was regaining strength.
And it certainly was not because I am sentimental. I usually do not save anything for its sentimental value. If it does not have a current utility, out it goes.
Maybe that's it. I knew the note would have utility. Because it brought back fresh memories of Patti's kindness, thoughtfulness, and ability to put herself second to others. In other words, the very virtues that make true friends.
I have now transferred the note from the financial documents pile to a folder containing items that trigger similar memories concerning others. Its contents will be my secret. For now. After all, nothing remains secret for long in the land of Mexpatriate.
And that may have been the cheapest hook I have ever written.
