Grumbles in a Bucket

 

Grumbles in a Bucket

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After all my bragging about all the lovely rain we’ve been having, day after day after day, this past week we’ve been dry as a desiccated bone in the desert.

I’ve been floored with a couple wet exceptions.

Saturday morning I woke up with puddles on my bathroom floor, around the toilet. Easy to figure out where that water was dripping, from tank to tile.

Josue, our resident plumber, electrician, fix-all man, is still in California. Leo looked at the tank and, wisely, said he thought I should call a plumber. “I should” translates to “he calls”.

This part of my story might be hard for you to swallow but half an hour later Angel showed up, tool bucket in hand. Yup. Half an hour. He sent Leo to the hardware store for tank innards and in short time, the problem was fixed. Cost 200 pesos. Plus parts which was close to the same amount. Translate to a total of around $21 USD. Believe it. True story.

This morning I woke to a heavy overcast sky. I looked up and said, defiantly, “Ha! Rains are done. I’m washing clothes no matter what you threaten, dumb sky.”

As I hung a towel, I thought I might rue my defiance. The sky lowered. Darkened. Glowered in earnest.

 Oh, well, it would serve me right, I heard in a voice in my head from my childhood.

By this time I had ramped up my grumbles to full steam. As I took the second batch of laundry out of the machine, I noticed water on the bodega floor. Leak must be coming from hoses or the connections or the bowl of the machine itself.

Leo came. Took inventory of options. Called the washing machine repair man. Leo knows his limitations.

By this time the sky lifted. Sun came out. Perversely, I’d have been happy if my clothes on the line were drenched.

I stomped around harvesting oregano, thyme and basil to dry. I don’t know why I dry my herbs. Three months later, I’ll dry another batch and throw out the old. I pretty much only use fresh herbs in my cooking these days. My mouth kept up a rumbling grumble while I continued my ingrained northern activities, plucking leaves.

Leo was running hose, watering all the gasping thirsty plants that haven’t needed to see the hose water for the past two and a half months. Can you hear my ire?

“Sondrita, you sound angry. Why you angry?”

“The rains are over. I don’t want rain to be over. I want rain through August and into September. I’m not ready for the dry.” I glared.

We each observed a moment of silence. Then both Leo and I burst out laughing at my ridiculous behavior.

The washing machine man is coming this afternoon. Maybe he can fix it. Maybe not.

My laundry is dry and off the line, towels folded, items to be ironed in a pile on a chair, to be done tomorrow. There is not a rain cloud in sight.

Meanwhile I’m living in a slice of Paradise. I’m not suffering 113 degree heat. I’m not coughing up my lungs from forest fire smoke. Pictures of the aftermath of the quake in Haiti make my stomach hurt. I’m aware how fortunate I am to be able to grumble.

I’m one lucky lady. I laugh. I grumble. I laugh. I’m angry the rains have quit. I didn’t say my anger is logical. I have limes on my trees. Picked the last four mangoes. Leo thinks it is safe to plant tomatoes again. Zucchini too.

Yup. One lucky lady living in my own slice of paradise, grumbling and laughing, wet or dry. If I must find a new-used washing machine, I’ll grumble some more, dragging my grumbles along with me, in a big bucket with holes in the bottom.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

August 19, 2021

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Staring at a blank piece of paper

 

Staring at a blank piece of paper

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Here I am again, sitting at my computer, staring at a blank page of paper that’s not real paper, waiting for inspiration to write, to share with you, the latest happenings in my real life.

And one of the most real things that occurs to me is guilt. I feel guilty. Real good ol’ Catholic guilt.

Let’s take the little things first. Every day it rains, here on the high plateau surrounded with mountains in central Mexico. Beginning in June, through July and now into August.

The elders in this area say they haven’t seen rain like this since they were children. We’ve been experiencing extended drought for years. Finally the aquifers are being replenished, though it takes more than one rainy season. In September I’ll be grumbling again about how dry it is. Dry from September until June.

Meanwhile, I’ve been pruning and plucking out plants plagued with curly leaf, black leaf, rust, green mold, black mold and white smut. These are not scientific descriptions but words I use to identify problems induced by too much rain. Much of my bucket garden rotted in the pots. I’ll replant in September.

Where is the guilt in this? Obvious, I would think. I am only too aware that you, my friends up north, cannot breathe through the drought induced dust, the smoke from out-of-control range and forest fires, while watching crops wither on the vine or be decimated by grasshoppers. In the evenings lightning starts more fires than rain can put out. In Glendive, where my daughter lives, today one can wade across the Yellowstone River.  

Guilt is neither reasonable nor unreasonable. It simply is. Olay, that’s one guilt.

Another guilt is generated by our high school class reunion, now officially cancelled, again, due to the pandemic, the smoke and fires, hospitals full up, the dangers of travel. I had already made the decision not to travel this fall, so why the guilt? See above.

My two classmates from Oregon, the planners for our reunion, had to cancel two years in a row. I’m relieved to not have to make excuses for myself for not going had they continued. I would have made the circle, Oregon, through Washington and Montana.

Of course I miss you all. It’s been two and a half years since I’ve been with friends and family. That’s a long, long time.

Next guilt: Yesterday Kathy took Richard to the emergency room. He’d collapsed. We don’t have a definite diagnosis yet but evidently something might be misfiring in his heart. Richard is one of the strongest men I know. He’s probably quite calm through this crisis but Kathy isn’t. Nor are we, his friends.

Later the same day, Lani who has been in Idaho with her daughter, had a stroke, was taken by helicopter to a hospital in Spokane, and had surgery. More than that, we don’t know. Her husband, Ariel, is beside himself and thank goodness we are here to keep him calm, urging him to get more information before making any flight decisions to go where he probably would not be allowed in the hospital to see his wife.

Just as I sat down to my blank paper which is not paper, my phone rang. Another friend is care-taking a friend of his through emotional and physical crises. He just needed an ear. And to know I am okay. But mostly, he needed an ear.

Survivor’s guilt? Not really but perhaps a second cousin once removed to survivor’s guilt.

I sat myself down for a good strong chin wag. Guilt, I figure, is a costly luxury, not a necessity. I pretended I was my Grandma giving me what-for when I was a child over my latest error in judgement. A little grim but that soon set me on a different path.

A word or two of comfort, a little heart-felt care, a little prayer. It doesn’t change the world but it changes me.

I woke up this morning, still breathing, still alive as far as I can tell. I walked outside to greet my dog Lola and the sun, in that order. I took a deep breath of the morning air, fresh with a spicy redolence of wet earth happy with itself.

Today is another blank piece of paper.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

August 12, 2021

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Carz: Part II. The Flim Flam Man

 

Carz: Part II. The Flim Flam Man

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After our mutual agreement last week that Ariel’s car with Four-in-the-Floor and not enough wiggle room would not be a good car for my needs, Ariel went on the search for the “Right” car.

Ariel’s morning routine includes a strong coffee, sweet roll, and Guadalajara newspaper at the Oxxo out on the highway. The Oxxo is a convenience store with the usual. You could walk in the door and feel right at home.

The sweet roll might be a disappointment because Mexican sweet rolls, at least the ones I’ve tasted, aren’t very sweet. But the coffee machine is familiar. You can operate it without hesitation. Unlike most instruction manuals, the newspaper does not come in two languages, so skip the newspaper.

While sipping coffee, seated in the front window at the Oxxo, my neighbor read the paper, front to back. In the classified ads, Ariel found a listing for a car that got his blood running hot. He phoned Leo who happened to be at work in my yard that day.

The listing was for a ten-years-old Nissan Abao with 80,000 kilometers which is almost 50,000 miles. Sweet, eh? And the asking price was only a few thousand pesos more than Ariel’s twenty-years-old VW Bug. Should he make the phone call? He asked.

That was a no-brainer. Of course, make the call. Find out what is wrong with the car, was my first thought, following the logic that if a deal sounds like “to good to be true”, well, you fill in the blanks.

Me, I had no idea what a Nissan Abao looked like. Abao? Never heard of it. I quit looking at cars back in the gasoline crisis of the ‘70s when they all became little white square boxes with no personality, no buzz to them. And nothing since then has gotten me excited. But I do know how to operate Google to find the picture. Mmm, sweet. Almost sporty.

An hour or so later, Ariel came over and we sat in the back yard. Seemed the car was a company car used by a Mabe executive. My stove and refrigerator are made by Mabe. They have a large plant just off the road we take to Guadalajara. The company replaces executive cars every ten years. This one had all the bells and whistles including leather seats and newish tires.

“Sure. Set an appointment for us to go look at the car.” If we had to, there was time; we could even go that afternoon. I’d have to scramble for the money. Shoot, I’d have to borrow from Leo. Guau! (That is “Wow” in Espanol.) We all got excited.

Until Ariel returned with the bad news. The man said, “Send a deposit to hold the car.” Ariel, who didn’t just come plucked out of the turnip patch with mud in his ears, said, “No money until we see the car.” And hung up the phone.

“What a perfect scam,” I said. “What a great story. All the juicy details to create instant rapport. I’ll bet a lot of people send money, depending on their means. A thousand pesos, three thousand, five or eight. Executive car, indeed!” How rich! Flim Flam Scam.

Was I disappointed? Sure. A little bit. I think we all felt a bit let down. It doesn’t take long to be able to imagine myself comfy in the tan leather seats, hands at two and ten on the wheel, heading over the mountains to Puerto Vallarta, wind in my hair, suitcase in the trunk, gas tank topped, making the maiden run.

“What is going on with you, Woman? You’ve happily gone eight years without a car. Why are you looking for one now? (I can talk with myself if I want.) Yes, now! Now, when you, by your own precautions, refuse to travel because of the on-going pandemic. Now you want a car?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? Both the VW and the Nissan slipped through my fingers. (I can answer myself too.) No car. No destination.”

Wonder what tomorrow will bring. The “car seed” has been planted. Maybe the seed will grow. Maybe not. Meanwhile, I’m happily able to reimburse friends, neighbors and public transportation to meet my needs. Needs and wants. Two different things, worlds apart.

But I can dream. Maybe a Hummer. Maybe with a chauffeur?

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

August 5, 2021

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The Little Red VW Bug Fantasy

 

            The Little Red VW Bug Fantasy

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“Mom, are you having a mid-life crisis,” asked my daughter.

“I can’t have a mid-life crisis. I’m too old.”

“Last week a dog. This week a car. What are you thinking?”

It wasn’t really even my own idea. When I first moved to Mexico, I lived in Mazatlan, a large city with excellent public transportation. I soon realized I didn’t need a car. Buses and pulmonias and taxis were easy, cheap to use, and could get me anywhere I wanted to be.

It’s not the same here in Etzatlan, but I still manage, plus I don’t have the care and feeding of an automobile I’d seldom use anyway.

Blame Leo and Ariel. Ariel has enhanced and sold several older vehicles in the few years I’ve been here. He is exacting and persnickety. Anything he fixes is fixed! The little red VW Bug is late ‘90s with new seats, a new engine, and, purrs like the fluttering of a Beetle’s wings. Ariel decided he wants to sell it and Leo, my gardener, decided I should buy it.

“If I buy a car,” I told Leo, “I would have the upkeep, care and feeding of the beast and could not afford the upkeep, care and feeding of the garden.”

“Oh,” said Leo, exiting, stage right.

An idea planted is an idea difficult to ignore.

That night, with my dog Lola in the passenger seat, her head sticking out the window, ears flapping in the breeze, we made a fantasy road trip. With my stack of maps, you know, the old-fashioned paper kind, in my lap, we drove through Mexico, crossed the border at Sonayta into Arizona.

From there we took the roads less traveled, made our way over to California and up the coast to Washington and eventually over the mountains into Montana, all with frequent stops and stays. I don’t remember returning. I think I fell asleep.

In the morning I walked around the corner to talk with Ariel, sat in the car, fiddled with the controls, started the engine, opened the hood and the boot, pretended knowledge I don’t have.

“Maybe,” I said. “Let me talk to my kids.”

I raised Dee Dee and Ben to be more sensible than I am, less likely to make a snap decision. Surprisingly, both said they thought it might be a pretty decent deal for me. They had good suggestions. They both liked the aspect of being more independent. Suggested I make a list of pros and cons. Ben said to make sure the cramped space and using the standard transmission would not make my damaged leg hurt. And he asked, “Have you talked it over with Lola?”

So this afternoon Lola and I took a pretend trip through town. While we don’t have street lights, we have a proliferation of topes. A tope is a speed bump, high and wide. City driving plus speed bumps requires a lot of shifting up, down, back and forth. This is all imagination. I’m simply lifting my foot onto the imaginary clutch, pushing against imaginary pressure. After a few minutes, I felt a huge disappointment and minor pain.

In the morning I’ll go back over to see Ariel. I want to sit in the bug again, and push in the clutch a few times, maybe take it for a drive to Oconahua.

I’m leaning away from the cute little red bug, with a sigh of disappointment, knowing what care has been put into its restoration.

I’m leaning toward something with an automatic transmission. I’m not in a hurry. I don’t think a road trip is too wise for me at this time. Lola said she is willing to wait. She thinks a small pick-up truck might be fine.

Mid-life crisis, indeed!

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

July 29, 2021

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