weather or not

Something seems to be amiss with the weather this year.

At dinner on Monday, Ed, Roxane, and I were talking about the lack of hurricanes this summer -- even tropical storms. They simply have not been directly affecting our little villages.

What caught out attention is that there have now been thirteen named Pacific storms this season, but none have threatened our bucolic shores. Lester, who is now barreling down on the Hawaiian islands, was spawned off the coast of Mexico. Apparently, it had a mind to wreak havoc on higher priced land.

When we are not calling it the hellishly hot season, summer's well-earned title is the wet season. The problem is it has not been very wet this year.

One of the pleasures of past summers has been the rain that would fall a couple of times a week temporarily relieving us of the type of humidity that is just short of waterboarding. At night, it can feel as if someone has wrapped a hot, wet towel around my head.

I can recall only two rainstorms this year that are worthy of the name. We have had a few sprinkles now and then, but almost no gully-washers.*

That is one reason I have succumbed to the siren call of air conditioning. At least, for my bedroom. Barco is struggling with the afternoon heat. If I am home, he has his nose pressed as close as he can to my floor fan.

The installer was here this morning taking some measurements. He will be back tomorrow afternoon with his crew to install a system -- with the compressor resting on the roof.  All that for $7,000 (Mx). About $370 (US).

I now have the pool for daytime cooling -- and will have air conditioning for sleeping. It will be far better than waiting on the rains to break the heat.


* -- We are not yet out of the weather woods. Our big hurricane last year (Patricia) did not show up until late October. That orange X, off the coast of Guatemala, on the hurricane map may bring us some joy -- or terror. With storms, you never know what you are going to get.

slipping a mickey to the feds

My little tryst with the IRS may be at an end. For now.

If you read three little words, you know when I filed my income tax form in 2014, it contained two errors. The errors were mine.

Being johnny-on-the-spot, more than two years later, the speedy folks at IRS spotted the error. They may have been too busy auditing political organizations to have enough time for my paltry return. But they finally got around to it.

Last week, the feds notified me I had an additional $2,600 to cough up or -- I actually don't know what the "or" is, but I am certain it must be something medeival. The delinquency form (after informing me I had a very nice house; it would be a shame if something happened to it) said we could resolve this matter amicably if I would simply write a check, sign a mea culpa admitting everything was my fault including the last recession, and send it off to Fresno.

Meanwhile, the interest clock was ticking from 2014.

As much as I like the Mexican postal service, speed is not its outstanding quality. A couple years ago, I would have popped the envelope in the local post office box. Letters were taking about 10 days to two weeks to make their way north. No more. Now, it is more like two months.

Because money is involved here, I thought I could just transfer the amount electronically. But I could not find anything on the IRS web site. Jennifer Rose came to my rescue. That service is available: https://www.irs.gov/payments/direct-pay. The instructions are a wee bit clunky (actually, incredibly confusing), but I received word today the IRS has my money.

That just left the form. I was going to count on the kindness of friends flying north. But no one is leaving soon. And the form needed to be on its way.

Felipe suggested DHL. I had thought of that, but my experience with the local DHL agents is that they will accept payment for next-day delivery, but the package will still be in their office a week later because the truck from Manzanillo has not yet shown up.

So, I cut out the middle man. I headed off to Manzanillo to leave it at the DHL warehouse.

Like most delivery service warehouses, it is in an industrial area filled with other -- well, warehouses. I knew where this one was because it is smack dab in the middle of Mexican Dashiell Hammett country.

Last summer I decided to do a little research on the seamier side of life in Mexico. Through some of my local sources, I met and interviewed a series of guys who claimed to sell drugs of all varieties, to be able to hire someone to bump off the party of your choice (for a nominal fee), to grease any political transaction, and to fence all things electronic with same day service.

I spent a decade as a criminal defense attorney and a like number of years as an Air Force prosecutor. A lot of what you hear on the street is simply guff and bluff -- to give the speaker unearned cred.

And that is what I suspected of these guys. Until one of my sources ended up as a corpse. He had earned his cred.

But I dropped the stories. For a number of reasons.

This blog is not a police blotter and I am not a wannabe Mike Hammer. It is not the type of tale my readers expect to see here.

I also decided it was not the wisest choice of topics to earn my journalist spurs. The fact that all of this happened about the same time I decided to stop publishing daily is an indication that last August was not a pleasant time around the house with no name.

What I did learn, though, was the location of the DHL office. It is at the navel of Manzanillo's crime network.

For $613 (Mx), approximately $32.88 (US), my form is on its way to Fresno -- and should be there tomorrow. It was worth the drive to Manzanillo to get it shipped, but I am not certain it was a wise financial investment. The interest that will accrue during a slower transit time would be far less.

The good news is it is all done. Until I receive my interest due notice.

I hope I can then simply use the site Jennifer so graciously provided.

Just in case anyone is thinking of asking -- No! I will not publish any of my stories about crime in Manzanillo.  I am already dealing with the American government's version of the mafia. I don't need to be talking with another brand.

three little words

Notice of Deficiency.

I am not certain there are three more disturbing words in English. Especially, when the IRS is providing the notice.

Yesterday, my friends in Nevada told me the IRS had sent me a certified letter. I knew it could not be good news.

Certified letters from the IRS usually do not contain notes of apology: "We sincerely regret we have been acting as bag man for the welfare-military-industrial and crony capitalist complex. Having seen the error of our ways, we are returning all of the money you have paid to the federal government since the day you started pulling weeds for the local bank branch in 1962. We wish you, as a free American, much joy in spending the money you earned and that we took from you."

Nope. It was a notice I had failed to properly report income from two sources in 2014. The IRS claimed I had received an additional unreported payment from a deferred income account and that my tax form did not reflect the total benefits I received from Social Security.

I did some quick research. The IRS is correct. For some reason, I slipped the deferred income into the wrong line on a form that did not add the amount into total income.

The Social Security entry was not initially my fault. I used the total I originally received from the federal government. Apparently, a corrected form arrived after I filed my income tax return. When it arrived, I did not look closely at it.When I retired in 2009, I seemed to be well-set for a pleasant post-employment life. Partly through my own ignorance, I did not take into account that I would have to pay income tax on my Social Security benefits at a marginal rate of 28%. That if I withdrew a large amount from my savings in any given year, it would radically increase the cost of my Medicare premium. And that when I withdrew amount from my deferred income account, I would pay income taxes on it at the same rate as when I was working.

The total due in additional taxes is almost $2,600 -- an amount I will gladly pay.

I searched through the packet for a website where I could acknowledge my stupidity and make an electronic payment. Certainly the IRS is modern enough to have a process like that.

I was wrong. The instructions make it perfectly clear that I must sign a paper waiver and mail it along with the deficiency -- as a paper check. And the time the packet takes to wend its way to The States, I will be incurring additional interest.

The most difficult task may be to find a check book for my account. Who writes checks these days?

Or was this is some sort of elaborate scam? We senior citizens are often preyed upon by the unethical.

Probably not. The address in Fresno is an IRS processing center. So, into a paper envelope it all shall go.

This week's Economist has an article about major protests concerning Chile's pension plan. Unlike most countries that have defined benefit pension plans, Chile decided it would provide its citizens with a defined benefits plan.

Each citizen was provided a savings accounts where the account owner could deposit up to 10% of his income. If the maximum amount (10% of income) was deposited, after 30 years a retiree could anticipate receiving 70% of his last income as a pension.

For those who fully participated, the returns have been outstanding. Instead of receiving 70%, full participants have actually received 77%.

So why the protests? Most account holders failed to make the maximum payments. Now, they are angry that some of their fellow citizens are receiving more in retirement than they are. And they want taxpayers to pony up for them. They also want to change the system to the type of defined benefit system that is currently putting financial strains on every western government.

It is a response we have seen around the world -- people wanting someone else to pay their benefits. This tax deficiency notice has made me wondering whether they are correct.

As I was growing up, I was told the wise and frugal person should forego immediate gratification to save up for the future. Particularly, retirement. So, I did. For 20 years, I went without one day of vacation. Instead, I invested the maximum amount of money I could in tax-deferred savings accounts and stripped my daily budget to the bone. I wasn't Bob Cratchit, but I was close.

Now, I am not certain I was the smart guy. Had I spent all of my income on my hedonistic desires, I could have had a lot of fun -- and my tax bill would be greatly reduced. I could then do what the protesters in Chile want -- expect the government to bail me out of my wrong choices.

It is thoughts like this that remind me why there are so many angry American voters. People who played by the rules and were told if they did, they could see a better tomorrow. They think someone lied to them. And they may be correct.

Of course, I still have the money I saved. A giant chunk of it is going to end up in the hands of the federal government, and there is very little I can do about it.

Well, I guess I could vote. And after today, I just may do that.

mind the gap

Not the one in the London underground. The one that adorns many an Appalachian smile.

Me? I need no longer worry about that type of gap. My dental implant is complete.

The saga began back in 2013 when my left rear upper molar became infected on a visit to Morelia. For almost a year, a persistent endodontist attempted to save it. But the root was cracked, and bacteria were flooding through like Chinese soldiers swarming over Korean hills.

There was nothing to be done, but to pull the tooth and hope the infection could be controlled. In February 2014, my new dentist (Omar) extracted it (the tooth-- the whole tooth -- and nothing but the tooth).

Because there was now a gap in the chorus line of my upper jaw, my dentist suggested a dental implant.  It was not simply for aesthetics. I have lost that battle long ago. But gaps tend to loosen other teeth. Without support they succumb easily.

So, I agreed. I finally started the process around Christmas last year. And it was truly a process. The bone in my upper jaw had receded enough that it would no longer accommodate an implant without a bone graft.

And that is where it all began. For three to four hours, I sat in the dental chair while Omar sliced and diced to slip a piece of cadaver bone onto the top of my jaw. He then drilled and chipped to make a home for the temporary post that would later be replaced by a permanent one.

When I returned to his office last month, the graft had taken, and I was now ready for a shiny new molar (the reverse tooth fairy). And this morning, in it went. That, of course, is it at the top of this essay.

To install it, Omar screwed the permanent post back in place. He then seated the new molar on the post, and screwed it in place.

Yes. Screwed. As if he were mounting a rear view mirror or a fender on a 1994 Toyota pickup.

You may remember the scene in Star Trek: Insurrection where F. Murray Abraham's character undergoes dental and cosmetic surgery in a losing battle to aging. That is about how I felt. At least, the dental part.

But I am now done. The gap is filled. And, other than a couple of followup appointments and being careful with what I eat for a month or two, I am back where I was in December 2013 -- except without the infection.

The total cost? $22,000 (Mx) for the bone graft and post; $12,000 (Mx) for the crown.  About $1,924 (US).

Omar wants to install a second implant where a molar was extracted long ago by the Air Force. But I am not certain I want to go through the process again. I am happy to have the tooth he installed.

If I ever return to my Appalachian roots, I will next need to lose a tooth was far more visibility.

a better man for it

Keeping in touch with old friends has its rewards -- sometimes, very tangible ones.

I have known Al French for almost forty years. He was an assistant district attorney in Clackamas County when my law partner and I opened up shop in Oregon City. We had a few trials together, but not many.

Our common ground was politics and Coos County. He was raised in the big city of Coos Bay while I was chasing tadpoles in Powers.

Whether it was our joint interest in the Federalist Society or him introducing The American Spectator to me, we quickly became fellow debaters and, more often, political sympathizers.

It was a heady time with the elections of 1980 and 1984 -- along with property tax limitation initiatives that split our conservative consensus. When I ran for a seat in the Oregon legislature, he was there to assist.

So, it was no surprise when he offered to mail a Harding biography to me as part of my presidential biography project. It arrived the other day. Over $30 in U.S. postage. That is a true friend.

The book is Francis Russell's The Shadow of Blooming Grove: Warren G. Harding in His Times. When I started my project, I researched the internet for the best biography of each president. Russel's book appeared on almost everyone's list. But it was not available in a Kindle edition. Al solved that problem for me.

Re-learning how to read a hard-bound book is an interesting process. I have heard other people say the same thing. They seem to read more books -- and read them faster -- on an electronic reader.

I concur. I am only on page 52 of this 663 book, but I have the flavor of it. I am hooked.

Harding is still a teen at this point. His father has purchased a cornet for him, and he is playing in the town band.

Russel comments on the role politics and religion played in Marion, Ohio. Most of his neighbors were Democrats. Harding was a Republican. "A man was born one or the other, just as he was born a Baptist or a Presbyterian, and gave an emotional allegiance to his church and party without, however, letting either interfere with his practical life."

That description helps to explain what would otherwise have been an anomaly. Russel describes how the town band, managed by Harding, would give street concerts every Saturday night, as well as providing background music at the local roller link, and playing at political rallies of both parties.

That last item on the list struck a familiar chord. The year was 1966. Oregon had an open United States senate seat. The two favored candidates were Republican Mark Hatfield (then governor) and Democrat Bob Duncan (a congressman). But both of them had primary opposition.

Duncan had announced enthusiastic support for President Johnson's escalation of the war in Vietnam. That drew opposition from an anti-war candidate: Howard Morgan.

I do not know how it came about, but our band, from a suburban high school, was invited to play music at a Howard Morgan political rally in Portland. Most of the band members arrived by school bus. My parents took me because the rally was on Sunday and within blocks of our church.

To the best of my knowledge, no one ever questioned the use of taxpayer money for the school bus or the non-volunteer time of students on a Sunday. My mother has always been a staunch Republican. And my father was in the process that year of leaving the Democrat party. But I am not certain either of them questioned our participation in the event. Maybe it was just one of those things that seemed normal then -- and now seems like a political land mine.

I asked the band teacher if I could wear my Hatfield hat (a cardboard derivative of an Uncle Sam topper with "Hatfield" written across the front) and a Hatfield button. He told me that was what the First Amendment was all about.

It turned out to not be much of a protest. All of the Morgan people I talked with said they were going to vote for Hatfield if Duncan won the primary.

Well, he did, and a lot of Democrats did just that -- electing Hatfield in one of the tightest elections of the year.

I need to remember that the next time I witness someone having a meltdown over partisan labels. Maybe we just need to be a little more adult -- like the Marion band -- and not let the labels of church or party interfere with our practical life.

And, once again, Al -- thank you very much. You are a true pal.

social security admits error

Well, the American government once again is doing its best to prove that incompetence is not a monopoly of the Clinton and Trump campaigns.

Earlier this month (breach in the chinese wall), I brought you a bit of bizarre news from the Social Security Administration. The federal government has spent years in trying to wean Americans from using paper. Instead, we are to trust the government and banks with direct deposit checks (a process I have used since the 1970s) and we are to transact our business with the feds over the computer.

That system appeared to be working well. Citizens had easy access to their accounts and information. Unfortunately, Chinese and Russian hackers found the access even easier.

In a ham-fisted attempt to fix the weaknesses in its computer systems (defects the federal government has known since the Clinton administration), Social Security announced at the end of July that access to personal accounts will now require obtaining a code by text-enabled cell phones for each time a person wants to see his own information.

You all saw the weaknesses in that system when I wrote about it. The primary one is that a large portion of people on Social Security do not have text-enabled telephones. And, for many who do, the process of requesting a code and then using it, has baffled many American seniors.

To Social Security's credit, it has now called king's X. Hey, folks, we really did not mean it.

Well, that's my paraphrase. The official announcement is a bit less personal in its tone.

On July 30, 2016, we began requiring you to sign into your my Social Security account using a one-time code sent via text message. We implemented this new layer of security, known as “multifactor authentication,” in compliance with a Presidential executive order to improve the security of consumer financial transactions. SSA implemented the improvements aggressively because we have a fundamental responsibility to protect the public’s personal information. However, multifactor authentication inconvenienced or restricted access to some of our account holders. We’re listening to your concerns and are responding by temporarily rolling back this mandate. As before July 30, you can now access your secure account using only your username and password. We highly recommend the extra security text message option, but it is not required. We’re developing an alternative authentication option, besides text messaging, that we’ll begin implementing within the next six months. We strive to balance security and customer service options, and we want to ensure that our online services are both easy to use and secure. The my Social Security service has always featured a robust verification and authentication process, and it remains safe and secure. We regret any inconvenience you may have experienced.

Who writes like that? If I understand its thrust, the message goes like this.

"The president ordered us to improve our computer security. We were doing only what he told us to do, and we did it very well.

"Unfortunately, you, the people who we were attempting to help, are a bunch of whiny babies who still live in the 19th century. This is the age of Twitter, not of liveried footmen running around delivered perfumed notes. The fact that your eyes roll back in your head reacting to such terms as 'multifactor authentication' and 'consumer financial transactions' proves our point.

"Well, you have complained enough that we are now going to take our jolly good time in protecting your account information. For those few of you who understand how to use a cell phone, you can request a code. And you should.

"Of course, it will not matter because all of your non-connected fellow citizens will be sharing their information directly with Xi and Putin. Yours, too.

"Have a nice day."

But, it gets even better. When I tried to read the announcement on the Social Security web site, I was blocked with this message: "The owner of blog.ssa.gov [Social Security] has configured their website improperly. To protect your information from being stolen, Firefox has not connected to this website."

Now, that hardly instills in me the type of confidence that the bureaublather announcement was targeting. And it puts paid to that reassuring tag line: "The my Social Security service has always featured a robust verification and authentication process, and it remains safe and secure."

I am not surprised at the rollback. This is almost exactly what happened with the initial electronic registration for Obamacare. The program was put together to amaze computer programmers, and forgot that citizens would be using it.

The good news is that those of us who live in Mexico will now be able to deal with Social Security electronically as if the text-message requirement had never reared its head.

That is, until another new requirement rolls out. And it will.

what's the buzz?

"The heat and the bugs -- in that order."

I was having lunch with an acquaintance who had moved from Melaque before I came down in 2009. He was explaining why he had moved up into the mountains half way to Guadalajara.

He knew how uncomfortable summer heat and humidity could be; he had spent most of his life living in one of those midwestern states that begin and end with a vowel. But knowledge is not always a coping skill. He moved away from that weather, and had no desire to spend his retirement years reliving the title of Jorge Amado’s third novel.*

We didn't talk much about the bugs. But my eight years of living here has proven him correct. We have heat and bugs -- year round. The presence of the ocean offsets that for me. Not for him.

I thought of that conversation this past week. When I walk Barco in the morning, I wear my track suit to fend off the flying midges (what northerners call no-see-ums, and what my neighbors call jejenes). If I don't, the bites of those almost invisible flies will leave my legs looking like two yards of Swiss dot.

The midges have never been a problem at my house. I do get the occasional mosquito at night while I am standing in the pool reading. But I have not seen too many of them -- before last week.

Because we were not heading to the sports park last Monday, I decided to forego my track suit. That was a mistake.

I was convinced I had walked into a re-enactment of the fourth plague of Egypt. There were mosquitoes everywhere -- including on me. At one point, I counted eleven of them on my legs. That was far more than I ever experienced living directly on the laguna in Villa Obregón.

Most were marsh mosquitoes -- those pesky runts that remind me of no-see-ums on steroids. But not all. A large portion were Aedes aegypti. I call it the Egyptian mosquito -- simply because I cannot remeber the latin name.
Aedes aegypti is incredibly easy to identify. Just look for those white knees.
They are a nasty piece of work. Not only do they leave large welts behind after their blood feeding, they also carry the virus for some serious diseases. Dengue. Chikungunya. Zika. Yellow Fever.

Yellow fever is not a problem in our area. Nor is Zika -- yet, even though it seems to be working its way up from southern Mexico. Dengue and chikungunya we have aplenty.

For four days, the plague raged. All day long. Most mosquitoes prowl primarily at dawn or dusk -- like the vampires they are. Not these guys. They were willing to fill up on plasma just like a 7-11. 24/7. And they did.

Then, they were gone. Thanks to the marvels of chemistry.

Within two days of the onset, the local spray truck came through the neighborhood. I do not know what cocktail is used for the insecticide, but it works.

The day after he passed through, my courtyard was filled with the carcasses of bees, dragonflies, moths, cockroaches, scorpions, butterflies, beetles, and assorted other insects. Most of my neighbors throw open their doors and windows when the truck passes through to take advantage of the vector control.

Inevitably, the only survivors are the mosquitoes. Or so I thought, until I worked it over in my mind. The spray undoubtedly kills the adult mosquitoes. But, their life cycle is so short, another generation metamorphoses into adults from their watery nurseries as soon as the truck departs.

But the driver, knowing the wily ways of the mosquito, was back in two days to wipe out that lot.

This week, the mosquitoes were gone. At least, around my house. They still hang out in the sports park. The moisture and grass of the fútbol field are a perfect hangout for them. Plus, the spray truck never reaches them.

Some people cannot deal with the flying midges and the (understandable) fear of Aedes aegypti. The insects are a nuisance. Sometimes, a frightening nuisance -- especially if Yellow Fever takes another turn on the world stage as it is doing in Africa.

Fortunately, there are self-defense mechanisms. Mine is Off! When I remember to use it. I am one of those people who dislikes the feel of lotions. Hand creams. Sun screen. Massage lotions. (Well. massages in general.) Insect repellent. They are not my natural thing. But they are effective.

Unlike my acquaintance, neither the heat nor the bugs are going to drive me away from what drew me here in the first place -- the beautiful ocean that daily reminds me there are more adventures just over that horizon.

I think I'll stay a few more years.


* -- Sweat, in case you were wondering.