dine and learn

This is going to be a busy, but productive, weekend.


Last night, I had dinner with Cynthia and Mike, formerly of Guaymas, now of Salem. For three hours, we sat and laughed over their adventures in Mexico.


If you have read their blog, they had quite a few adventures as English instructors in Mexico City and Guaymas. They enjoyed telling, and I was fascinated by, tales I had read, but complemented with additional details -- including, more about the wily Sitka.


I could not believe that we had talked that long, and only skimmed the surface of their lives during the past year. I learned a lot from them -- much of which will have no application to my move south, but all of which will be part of the layers of friendship that is developing between us. 1st Mate and Brenda and Roy know exactly what I mean. These are two very nice people.


You can see a photograph of our soirée on Cynthia and Mike's blog -- posted this morning. [I violated the first rule of blogdom by not taking my camera with me to an event.]


Earlier in the week, I was afraid that I would not be able to get together with Cynthia and Mike this week. And that was my own doing.


In January, I volunteered to deliver this Sunday's sermons. Our pastors are out of town for two weeks. I was extremely pleased that they asked, but my dance card is getting a bit full to slip in another tango.


But, I said yes. And here it is -- Saturday -- and I still have not completed the outline.


That would not be bad if I had not also volunteered to help a former client with another project -- a project that will eat up most of the day. There may be a reason I told friends and relatives to not show up for Sunday's service. I may be inclined to hog the spotlight, but I know when to invite the press to an opening night.


Before anyone says it. Yes. Yes. I know. I am not accomplishing anything for my move to Mexico. But I learned more about Mexico at dinner and I am transitioning away from my Salvation Army duties. So, in a manner of speaking, I am moving steps further to my move.


Besides -- I still have about 10 weeks before I pull up anchor. Plenty of time.

taxing my resources

I am either suffering from the vagaries of old age or I am an extremely consistent in my thoughts. (If I were a betting man, I know where I would put my money.)


I just spent the past hour crafting a post about my income tax return. It went something like this.


We live in a marvelous age of electronics. I talk not of those annoying "error messages" provided by my not-so-beloved Internet Explorer or the joys of having your identity stolen through the negligence of some governmental computer system.


What is marvelous is the ease of filing income tax returns. On 15 January (as I noted in money from my uncle), I filed my income tax return. On 28 January, the feds coughed up my money into my checking account. All of it electronically.


I am old enough that I can recall when W-2s would (illegally) show up late in the middle of February, and a flurry of 1099s would follow. I was lucky to be able to sit down with stacks of forms and receipts in early April. And it would take several evenings to finish the forms -- and then rush to the post office before midnight on 15 April with a packet that looked like a manuscript submission.


Not now. With Quicken, I have every bit of financial information at my finger tips. I simply import everything into TurboTax, and file electronically. The government then puts my money directly into my checking account. It is almost fun -- in a rather pocket-protector geeky way.


So, I finish writing this, and thought: What did I write last year?


There it was in tax and spend -- essentially the same gush over electrons.


And, as last year, the money arrives at a very fortuitous time. I need to get the Escape to the Ford dealer to give the old truck a thorough checkup. I have no desire to lose my fuel pump in Nogales.


I can get some cash swirling through the economy's veins. All without the help of a single ear-marking Congressman.

the stages of professional death

"We can probably complete the review on those contracts by next Thursday."


Palm trees.


"Bill will have the rest of the information in the telephone conference."


Sand.


"How much will we save? Fifty thousand? Sixty?"


Waves.


"Steve? Are you listening?"


It has happened several times this month. I have been deep into a very interesting project, and -- all of a sudden -- I am no longer there.


I am standing on the balcony of a house on the Mexican Pacific coast just as the sun is beginning to set. And I get pulled back to my project.


I know that during the next two months, I am going to experience more and more of these moments. And it bothers me.


My employer is paying me a very good wage to be there all of the time. Maybe this is what it is like to go through the various stages of death. If so, I am still at the bargaining stage.


I will let you know when I get to acceptance. I suspect that stage will occur on the drive to Melaque -- in less than three months.

back in the usa

For those of you who have not yet noticed on their site, Cynthia and Mike are now in Salem -- my little home town on the edge of the Pacific.


I talked with Cynthia on the telephone on Tuesday. The two of them are getting settled in.


I hope to have dinner with them this week -- or soon -- to learn more about their Mexican adventure. And I want to meet that infamous wanderer, Sitka.


Cynthia made a comment that is so evident to me that I seldom comment on it. The people who read this blog are not only full of information, but full of the grace to share it. And glad I am for it.

chicken little meets wolf boy

I hate posting half-baked posts -- especially those on big topics. And this post presents a true dilemma because I am not certain what is really happening in Mexico's drug war.


Whatever it is, something big is either on the horizon -- or it is already here. The problem is trying to find a sense of perspective and proportion.


We have all watched the various parts of the puzzle begin their concentric orbits:

• The first piece arrived cloaked in the iconic incense of a "Pentagon report." The United States Joint Forces Command issued its 2008 Joint Operating Environment -- a fifty-one page report that contained one small paragraphs (three sentences on page 36) identifying Mexico, in a worst-case scenario, as a state weakened by "criminal gangs and drug cartels."


• Then Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff piped up in The New York Times with news that he had ordered additional border security plans to respond to any kidnappings or killings that spilled over the US-Mexico border.


• And then came the ever-pessimistic American drug czar, General Barry McCaffrey, warning that Mexico was on the verge of becoming a "narco-state" in the coming decade.

The political reaction from bloggers was predictable. The less-than-stable left immediately started cranking out conspiracies that the Pentagon was preparing a full-scale invasion of Mexico that would finish off the half-effort of President Polk.


Not to be outdone, the we-should-have-kept-the-canal right answered with hare-brained dares that if we were going to invade Mexico, we might as well take Canada, too. Uncover these stones, and you will guarantee plenty of skittering fauna.


Putting aside the loonies, what do those stories mean?


Probably not much. The infamous Pentagon report recommends no action. To the contrary, it is at best a think tank piece. Chertoff's comments included action only on the American side of the border. For all of his bluff, McCaffrey was proposing an increase in monetary security aid to Mexico -- not a reenactment of Los Niños Heroes de Chapultepec.


The newspapers have really messed up this issue. Instead of offering level-headed analysis, the headlines have screamed disaster -- almost as if Chicken Little, Henny Penny, and The Boy Who Cried Wolf had taken over the editorial boards.


Having said that, most of us who live and wish to live in Mexico have minimized the dangers of the drug wars to our worried families and friends. It is time to at least reassess what all of this means.


After all, the acorn that bopped Chicken Little or Henny Penny (take your choice) on the noggin was real. It wasn't the sky, but it was a danger.


And, of course, the wolf that devoured the tricky little boy was a full-blown threat. I suspect the danger in Mexico is somewhere between the two for most Mexican residents.


President Calderón has challenged the livelihood -- and lives -- of some very powerful and nasty sectors of Mexican society. He has taken steps to root out corruption even in the political layers surrounding him. Such men do not go easily. The President is a heroic figure.


But the American government needs to be far more understanding of its Mexican neighbor. Even hints of American military intervention will be enough to undermine President Calderón's efforts. Money? Yes. Equipment? Yes. Training? Yes. Military forces in any form? Never. The thought of General Scott in Mexico City is not just a vague memory. History hangs like a Capulet carbuncle in the Mexican mind.


And that leaves me in the position of supporting a drug war that I believe will simply be a failure. At best, it will be a tool for the central government to actually take control of areas that have long been warlord fiefdoms. And when I say "long," I mean very long. There are areas in Mexico the center has never controlled.


We also need to remember that President Calderón is a reformer. While he fights the drug lords, he is proposing limited legalization of drugs. It is a policy far more sage than the American-Canadian approach of promoting some drugs (alcohol pops to mind) while criminalizing other drugs. Until that changes, we will continue to undermine President Calderón.


And this is the point where the soft center starts seeping through the post. None of this news changes my mind about moving to Mexico. It merely means, like every other resident of Mexico, I will need to be observant. And, as long as Article 33 is part of the Mexican Constitution, I will hold my peace.

the gravy refrain

Tonight I am Batman.


Well, not really. But I am listening to the score from the most recent Batman movie: The Dark Knight.


I am not a Hans Zimmer fan, but he has put together an extremely good score for this film. For those of us who thought he was a Gladiator one-note (or one phrase) composer, I will offer my apologies. The score is more than program music; it can stand on its own.


I was actually running an experiment. In #11 and #12 -- plates of grace, I lamented the fact that, when I move to Mexico, I will be forced to leave behind my sound system for DVDs and CDs. I feel no better after the experiment.


After listening to the score on my sound system, I played the same music on a lap top. I then tried a sample on a friend's iPod with external speakers. I received several suggestions that any MP3 player with external speakers would sound exactly like a big sound system.


Several years ago, I participated in Weight Watchers -- around Thanksgiving time. The group moderator pointed out that we could avoid falling off of the wagon with several tips. Her first tip was gravy. Her suggestion: make home-made for the family and buy a tin of canned fat-free gravy. Because it tastes exactly like the real thing. I did not hear any of her other tips. And it was my last meeting.


Somewhere along the line, we have lost our ability to discriminate between the good and the adequate. When I listen to scores, I want to hear bow strokes on strings and vibration on brass mouthpieces. The progression from vinyl to CDs to MP3 has resulted in a sound that is, at best, adequate.


I think I know why. My ear was trained to listen to live music --with all of its brilliance and aural warts. But live music is quickly becoming a thing of the past. Even where it should exist. Look in the orchestra pit of any theatrical production. And do not be surprised if there is an electronic keyboard where the strings should be. Some young adults have never heard live music.


But I have. That is what I want to hear when I listen to music. (Yes. Yes. Babs, I know. Sometimes, just listening is good enough.)


Maybe I will just need to accept the fact that if I want to be mobile, I cannot have a sound system that belongs in a theater. Just like Stilton and Cheddar cheese, it will be a fond memory.


But, I tell you, I am not eating any of that blasted canned fat-free gravy.

one last piñata

My never-ending birthday may be drawing to a close. But it has been a fun two weeks.


Saturday afternoon the lawyer, who will be house sitting for me until I can get the house on the market, stopped by with his dog to take a look around -- and to wish me a happy birthday. We spent the afternoon talking about dogs and politics -- especially the embarrassment of our current Portland mayor. Dogs turned out to be a far more interesting topic.


I was then off for my traditional birthday dinner with my boss and Beth of Minto Dog at our favorite Chinese restaurant. Beth has long been an avid conversationalist in the celebration, but a reluctant participant in the cuisine -- until this year. She took a trip to China late last year to visit a good friend. She returned with a far more accepting palette. Travel does change us.


The conversation centered around my move to Mexico and Beth's trip to China. My boss's daughter usually bakes us cinnamon cookies for me, but she was busy with other pursuits during the holidays. But the cookies showed up for a surprise presentation on my birthday.


[The cookies make a star appearance in the photograph at the top of this blog. Fewer now exist. Thanks, Molly.]


The fans accompanying the cookies were a Mexico birthday gift from my mother -- one for my computer, one for me as I work on my computer. As a Scot, she understands the value of practicality. Of course, they were escorted by a packet of appropriate batteries.


And then I received a call from my cousin who lives outside of Seattle. We were born in the same year -- so, he is facing a series of the same grand festivities showered on me by family and friends. He has been retired for the past two years. I have relied on his experience for my job-left-behind move to Mexico.


All in all, a very good day. Good friends. Good food. Good conversation.


Could a day be any better?