mexico courage

Mexico is starting to talk about being part of the solution to the current drug policy car wreck.


On Tuesday, President Calderón announced that he would consider opening a discussion with his government about legalizing drugs in Mexico.


That was an amazingly brave statement for a man who is known for his cautious conservatism. 


He made his statement while announcing that over 28,000 Mexican citizens have died as a result of the program he launched in 2006 to break the back of the Mexican drug cartels. 



Anyone who remembers the body counts of the Vietnam War will recognize the rest of the statistics announced on the same day. 84,000 weapons confiscated.  $411 million (USD) cash seizures.  $330 million (Mx) cash seizures.


The only thing missing was General Westmoreland spotting the light at the end of the long, dark tunnel.


The president made his announcement at the urging of business and civic groups, who are worried that the current drug war will continue to threaten Mexican society with little success of eliminating the cartels. 
 


Mexico is not alone in discussing reformation of drug policies.  Three former presidents — César Gaviria of Colombia, Ernesto Zedillo of Mexico and Fernando Cardoso of Brazil — have promoted the legalization of marijuana in Latin America.  Their goal is the same as we have discussed on this blog several times: to collapse the price of marijuana and undermine a major source of income for cartels.


The Mexican congress discussed a similar idea when it voted to legalize personal use of drugs last year.  A move that was called radical, but merely shifted drug policy to the level of prohibition in the United States during the 1920s. 


Even though that might be a good start, President Calderón is not interested in half measures.  He wants the discussion to be about the legalization of all drugs.  And he wants the public to hear all of the arguments on both sides of the issue.  In other words, to have a logical discussion, not a bumper sticker war.


Kudos to him.  As a conservative, he knows a failed government policy when he sees it.  Mexico is getting tired of spilling blood because of American drug users.


And he is merely talking about a discussion.  He is not proposing anything.  Yet.  But it is a start.


If Mexico legalizes drugs, the cartels will not go away.  The chief business of the cartels is shipping drugs north to the United States and Canada.  And shipping dollars south.  That will not change.  In fact, the drug flow north will increase because the cost of doing business will decrease.


This may be one of those rare moments in history where politicians north of the border have an opportunity to do the right thing -- and stop wasting money on a policy that did not work in the 1920s and will not be successful now.


I am not optimistic it will occur.  But we can always hope that one of these days politicians will act on behalf of sane public policy.

in my shoes

I am walking.


That is not really news.  I have already told you about my forays to the Portland Zoo and the Coos County Fair.


But it is time for me to get some recurring exercise -- before I start doing my Shamu impersonation.


When I bought my house in Salem, I wanted to be close enough to walk to work.  On a good morning, it is a brisk 20-minute walk.  Just about right.


Unfortunately, like most plans, this one did not work out quite as anticipated.  I walked to and from work for about three years.  Then, the blog-famous Professor Jiggs entered my life.


Because he had the bladder control of any puppy, I had to go home each day to let him out.  Obviously, making the walk during my lunch hour would press me for time.  So, I started driving.


That was 1996.  Even after he developed adult toilet habits, and I did not return home for lunch each day, I continued to drive.  Ease trumped health.


Fast forward to 2009.  One of the health benefits of living in Mexico is walking.  In my village, I walk everywhere.  Shopping. Visiting.  Cruising the beach.


Within a couple months, I had dropped 30 pounds.  My blood pressure was normal.  My blood sugar was normal.  My triglycerides were reduced by over 50%.


I felt good.


My brief return to work on crutches in May quickly reversed that process.  With the help of the odd Coney dog and packet of crisps, I started to blossom into the jumbo-sized Steve.


There was an odd shift of weight.  My right thigh and calf starting looking as if they belonged to Twiggy while my waist looked as if Charles Laughton had taking up housekeeping in my mid-section.

 

The friend who has driven me to work each morning for the past three months is on vacation this week.  I decided it was time to get back to my pre-1996 days.  Or, at least, to enjoy one of the perks of Mexico by walking to work.


It took me 30 minutes.  About half again as long as it would normally take me.  When I had a normal right ankle.  But it felt good.  Not only to get the exercise, but to enjoy the scenery along the way.


The photograph at the top of the blog is the Oregon State Capitol, a place where I once wanted to work.  I am now content that it is simply about the half-way point between my house and my job.

 

unpotted roots

When I started thinking about retirement, one of the places high on my list was Powers.  A little place in southern Oregon I have always considered to be my home town.


It is small -- only about 500 residents.  Most of them retirees or Forest service employees.  Almost all of the other industries were linked to logging.  And that died out decades ago in the shadow of the Spotted Owl.


And it is peaceful.  Tucked into the Oregon coast range, it is almost at the end of the road.  With great scenery.  Mountains.  Rivers.  Forests.  Joe Meek and his mountain buddies Wildon have felt at home there.


I eventually struck Powers from the retirement list.  Most of my relatives have moved away or died.  And the town offers very little in services.  No doctor.  No dentist.  No banks.  Limited access to food.


Instead, I decided to head to Mexico where I would have great scenery and a sense of isolation.  The lack of infrastructure in Melaque does not bother me.  Probably, because I expected so little when I thought about moving to Powers.


All of that came back to me on Sunday when I attended a picnic for anyone who has ever lived in Powers.  According to my mother, it was a small gatherings -- about a tenth the usual crowd size.


I had just finished the third grade when we moved away from Powers.  Most of my classmates have found their futures elsewhere.  In fact, I have seen more of them in Salem than I saw at the picnic.


There was the sister of my best friend in the third grade.  A friend of my cousin.  And the older brother of a friend.


That was it.  I had a good time.  But I certainly did not re-live very much of my past.


Some people are people of place.  Their very soul seems to be identified with a patch of ground and its connective community.


I am not one of those people.  I do not feel rooted in any specific place.  I could enjoy myself as much in Greece as I do in being retired in Mexico.  The place does not make a difference.


Well, it does to a degree.  I would not want to live in Sudan or Afghanistan.  That would make me a person on not-some-places, I guess.


But that leaves a big world out there.  If Mexico is not The Place, there are plenty of choices.  Paris.  London.  Los Angeles.


But, for now, it will be Mexico in another three months.

a fair evening

Surprise!  I'm back.


The person most surprised is me.  I was resigned to spending this trip to southern Oregon sans computer.


But my brilliant brother saved the day.  By uninstalling some drivers, I fooled my computer into finding my wireless card.  At least, until the next Windows update.


I drove to southern Oregon with my mother on Saturday afternoon.  Earlier in the week, I tried to make reservations in Myrtle Point -- the nearest town to Powers with a motel.  Like Joseph and Mary, we found there was no room at the inn.  Or anywhere else in town.  It was fair weekend.


That was mixed news.  It meant we would need to find a room about a half hour away in Coos Bay, but I would be able to relive one of The Annual Social Events of my youth -- the Coos County Fair.


The lady at the motel offered to put us on a wait list, but offered little hope.  On the drive down, I called, and she was so impressed with my patience, she gave us a room that had been set aside.


So, we had a room.  Mere blocks from the fairgrounds.


One of the advantages of traveling with your mother (well, at least, my mother) is you get a guided tour of your life -- free of charge.  The fields where I wandered off as a two-year old, and the highway I walked down the middle of.  The restaurant where my aunt worked -- and is now a laundromat.  The site of our arsonist-targeted tire shop.


But that was the past.  We had a live bit of history to attend.  My mother and I are rodeo fans.  And the Coos County Fair has long had one of the state's best rodeos.


When we arrived, we could hear the crowd roaring.  But we also heard loud engines.


It turns out the rodeo was only on one  night -- Friday night.  Tonight was tractor pull night.  Not really our cup of entertainment tea.


So, we wandered the fairway.  Watched the kids on the rides.  Smiled at the teenagers trying to be adults.  Toured the art and photography exhibit.


It was OK.  But, like everything, it never quite lives up to our memories.


What we both noticed, though, was the absence of parental-hovering over children.  These kids -- of all ages -- were on their own.  All having a good time.  Not living in fear of some ill-defined threat to their existence.


It is the same attitude I see amongst Mexican children.  They look out for one another -- with little fear of life.


And both groups are creating some nice memories of their own Social Events of the year.


Tomorrow -- my reunion adventures in Powers.

offline for a few days

Computer problems.

Again.


My network connections have collapsed.  Literally.  All of my network drivers decided to go on strike at the same time.


But my sainted brother is doing what he can to get me back on line.


This weekend I am heading to southern Oregon -- to the fabled Powers.  They have an annual town reunion that I have never attended.  My mother has.  And she has talked me into making the trip south with her.


I had intended to take my lap top and report from the festivities.  But that is not to be.


I will be back on Monday.  With photographs.  I hope.

looking through la ventana

"For now, I will continue to write as an outsider."


That line is from yesterday's blog.  Brenda correctly pointed out that the sentence is replete with meaning.  All we expatriates write as outsiders.  Eternal observers.


At lunch earlier this week, we played a little game.  Which character in a book, film, or play do you most identify with?  Not, who do you want to be.  Who do you identify with.


For me, it was easy.  Since 1970, I have identified with Bobby from Company.  One of Stephen Sondheim's better productions.


The conceit is simple.  Bobby is a single guy unable to commit to any relationships -- except for his deep friendship with his married friends.  Five married couples with unique backgrounds.  The wives want to find him a woman.  The men want to hear about his girlfriends.


Of course, the subtext is layers deep.  On the surface, the plot revolves around the intricacies of marriage.  But it is a masterpiece about the complexity of relationships.  Where we find our worth.

Marry me a little,
Love me just enough.
Cry, but not too often,
Play, but not too rough.
Keep a tender distance
so we'll both be free.
That's the way it ought to be.
I'm ready!

The thing I missed most during the last year in Mexico was the network of friends I have developed over the years.  Ironically, I discovered I had started the foundation of a new network in Melaque when I broke my ankle.  Just as I was leaving for six months.


But the network up here is different.  Probably, because of it vintage.  Some of my friendships go back to grade school.


And most are couples.  But the type of couples you can be away from for a long time, but pick up a conversation as if you had seen them the day before.


They are always there for me.  Whenever I need them. For dinner.  For plays.  For sporting events.


And always concerned that I am somehow handicapped without a wife in my life.  At least, that is what my women friends believe.  The men seem to believe that Sondheim had it correct in answering the question: Are you happy being married?

You're always sorry
You're always grateful
You're always wondering what might have been
Then she walks in

But this is my favorite couplet from the same song:

You always are
What you always were
Which has nothing to do with
All to do with her

So, what does all this have to do with writing as an outsider? 


Relationships fascinate me.  But, just as I am an expatriate observer in Mexico, I am every bit an observer of married life.


And I am starting to wonder if both are immutable categories.

blogging in place

We bloggers appear to be in a navel-gazing mood these days.


Or, perhaps, we are simply being analytically introspective.


Billie and Theresa have recently discussed changes in their blogs and talked about why we blog in the first place.


Felipe has blogged about a comment he received chiding him for the use of the term "yummie."  And it appears to be a topic of great interest.   As I write, there are 26 comments.  26!  Chatting about "yummie."


I started reading Mexico blogs about four years ago.  Back then, I was convinced that I was going to go native and live in a small fishing village on the Pacific, eating fish that I caught that morning.  Chacala would be my new home.

I do not recall how I picked Chacala.  I must have read about it in a tourist book.  Or maybe one of those airline travel magazines where someone has partially (and incorrectly) completed the crossword puzzle.


That is how I met Andee.  She had moved to Chacala in the same way that nuns enter convents -- renouncing the world to seek a simpler life.  (The change was not that drastic, as we were to discover.  Her life had long been based on the essentials.)


She blogged almost daily on My Life in Chacala.  It was the only blog I read, and each entry helped open my eyes to the reality of living in such a small place. 


There was joy.  She loved the village -- but she loved her Mexican neighbors even more.


But it was not paradise.  It was simply life -- in a new location.


I anticipated each of her posts.  Commented on them.  Emailed her.

At some point, perhaps on my trip to La Manzanilla, I realized I was not suited for Gilligan's Island.  After all, I don't even like fish.  So, I started looking at larger towns further south on the coast.


That is when I branched out to reading other blogs about Mexico.  I was surprised at the number -- and the wealth of information available from other expatriates' experiences.


I now read as many Mexico blogs as I can.  Over the years, I have added additional blogs to my daily fare.  The result is apparent from my blog roll in the right column.


This trip north has given me an opportunity to think about this blog.  I finally got around to a new design.  But the title remains unchanged -- for now.


Being separated from daily experiences in Mexico reminds me how much I am dependent on that type of immediacy for blog material.  At the moment, I feel like an outsider looking at my former home town. 


I have context to comment, but it is always based on memories.  Not new experiences.


For now, I will continue to write as an outsider.  Knowing that I will be returning to my home in just a few months.  Three, to be exact.

Until then, I need to find something as interesting as "yummie" to write about.