Mexico 2010, Blog # 1 October
21, 2010
Friends, Haverim, Family, Colegas, y Amigos
Despite all the admirable reasons for
staying put, despite the flutters in the tummy provoked by contemplating
crossing the Mexico-US border, despite the faltering economy and our anthology
of funky ailments, Linda and David are prepping ourselves for departure on All
Saints’ Day morning. Ten days left, and twenty pages of check lists to keep us
on task.
Fortunately, this is not our first (or
tenth) protracted abandonment of hearth and home. We know about winterizing:
storm windows; bringing in the potted plants; turning the compost heap; folding
up the garden; pruning the grapes, apple and cherry trees, trimming the quince
and forsythia, chopping back the canes of the black- and raspberries; defrosting
the fridge and freezer; draping sheets over clothes racks and furniture. We
know how to put together the monthly calendar of upkeep duties for our
neighbor/tenant/friend Vicki. We have updated the encyclopedia of emergency
handymen: carpenter, plu
mber, electrician, and —God forbid— roto-rooter. We
have made extra copies of all the numbers that define us and squirreled them
away in places we hope we will be able to find. We have shifted most of the
bill paying to electronic, arranged a system of banking deposits in case a $10
royalty check comes in, paid ahead on insurance and taxes, and set up an April
10 meet with our tax accountant. We have finished mailing our annual
contributions. David has monitored one last time the Land Trust properties for
which he is steward. Linda will notify the credit card companies of our travel
plans so they don’t cut us off en route, and the car insurance people and the
newspaper that we will be ceasing service for a few months so they won’t keep
billing us. We are making the last tune-up visits to our medical community. We
are negotiating with our suppliers to fill a six-month supply of pills, and
have picked out the suitcase which they in turn will fill. Though if we buy one
more bottle of baby aspirin we may have to find a larger suitcase.
We will travel in a newish car, a Honda
CRV. Newish, because thanks to the grad student who tried to drive through our garage one night in late August (see our blog “”Big Bang”), it has undergone
substantial repair. One nice thing about the CRV is that it is much smaller
than our former Dodge Caravan, which means that we can take only half as much
stuff. Linda would probably not have used the word “nice”. Our difference of
perspective means that there are discussions still to be had. How extensive a
picnic kit should we carry? The portable canvass chairs? Both binoculars plus
the telescope and tripod? How many books for light reading, heavy reading,
gifts? How much research material? How many back-up electronics? How many
packages of American food (puddings, dill, walnuts, matza ball mix) can fit
into the nooks and crannies of the plastic tubs? How many clothes --
bearing in mind that we will be in several different climates (by
latitude and altitude) and social situations (by design and serendipity), not
to mention two weeks in wintry Spanish Galicia in December? Knitting supplies?
Pairs of shoes and boots? Last year, with the Caravan loaded, David recalls
that he brought only one pair of socks that he didn’t end up wearing. As we
said: discussions ongoing, decisions pending.
And the loose ends. The cash flow problem
until the insurance check comes in for the damage to the car and house,
expenses that we had to front out of pocket. And the publicity for The Lost Minyan that UNM Press promised
for July but are now indicating will arrive either the day we depart or shortly
thereafter. Leaving us copies to be mailed. Publicity to be coordinated. Blah
blah blah and so forth.
Wait, Linda says, there’s more, even
more: That David forgot how to say “no” when
approached to teach a double-time course during the first half of the fall
semester. Final papers and exams come next week. That Linda really didn’t have
to move most of our furniture around for the fall redesign of the manse, but it
helped, she says, to put a finer touch on the colonial dwelling. Then the
neo-traditional early Thanksgiving dinner for a dozen and a half folks (this
Friday night) has become an annual event: the RI guests began asking a while
back when they should show up. That said, we couldn’t have the dinner without
also inviting some of our fave out-of-town guests for the weekend.
But, ¿qué
vamos a hacer?, the bottom line is that it is all fun, and each new frantic
flurry of activity raises our level of anticipation and excitement. We are
looking forward to seeing old friends and making new ones. Though we are fond
of New England quiet and reserve, we look forward to the surround-sound
cacophony of Mexico. Gray and white houses are nice, but rainbow streets are
waiting just south of the Río Grande. Flat is tolerable, but
mountains, deserts, jungles . . . And of course, we can’t wait to get back to
street markets and to real Mexican neighborhood restaurant food.
Last year David logged 200 different
species of birds during our wanderings south of the border. This year
. . . ?
When we look out our
study windows we see
lots of things, but 2 primarily jump out. The first is that the absolutely
splendid red, yellow, orange, sienna, and magenta fall leaves are drifting
lazily down to speckle the remaining lawn. What last week was a
stop-the-car-and-gawk moment is now more of a memory. The second is the street
outside our door. Highway 138, leads to Highway 95, which leads anywhere we want
to go.
Which route will it be this year? Maps,
guidebooks, dots on gridded lines of latitude and longitude. Oh yay, says
Linda. Let’s go hit The Road.
So, barring the unexpected, in ten days
we’ll be driving south. We may write from time to time, and when we do we will
post the blogs on this website. Maybe a photo or two as well . . . .
Hasta
pronto,
David & Linda