Back in Canatlan
Saturday, the first full day of
my 77th year. That sounds
scarier than saying it is the day after my 76th birthday. Yes, that sounds better. It is a day of rest, of acclimating. I fill the fridge with vegetables. Aside from
walking around town and climbing the stairs a few times, it is an exercise
neutral day.
I know there is a gym in town, I
have driven past it without actually noting its location. Today I am determined to find it. I walk up and down the streets for nearly an
hour. Heading back home, just two blocks
away, I finally see it. It is
closed. As I pass the locked door I see
two gentlemen sitting in a ‘62 Plymouth .[i] The younger one on the passenger side asks if
I am looking for something. Yes, I
enquire if the gym is still in business.
The senior gentleman in the driver’s seat begins to speak. I lean down and look through the open window. Gray haired and mustachioed, he tells me that
it is indeed open for business daily, except Sunday. He gives me the hours of operation. I ask if any women use the gym. He says that in fact, in the morning I would
find mostly women there.
I go to Jeff’s dress shop to say
hi. Jim is sitting there, and so I get
updated on the local news. Before I left
they had talked about renting a shop on the ground floor in the building where
Jim rents a large apartment, and opening a restaurant. I am curious to see what progress they
made. As it turns out, none. Jim does not own that building. The woman who does wants too much money; then
she rents it to another dress shop.
Neither of them have noticed that I look different.
Jeff’s dog has given birth to nine puppies. I am contemplating taking one. The mother is tall with a fine-bone
frame. The father is black. Jeff knows the father, but I do not. I am hoping there will be a runt in the
litter, although Jeff says they are all big.
We discuss my not having a car, and commuting to my country house. Jim and Jeff all suggest the kind of vehicle
I can buy. Bicycle, ATV, motorbike, bus,
taxi. I say ‘walk,’ but they ignore
me. When they are done, I say again,
‘What’s wrong with walking?’ Jim shake
his head; it will take two hours, he says, ruling it out as impossible.
On Sunday I go to Mass, hoping
to see Edgar. He is a local English
teacher; we usually meet after the 8:00 Mass, but today I do not see him. After breakfast I suit up in spandex, pack my
backpack, and head out to El Pozole.
I have packed water and a packet
of protein shake. I have all the keys
with me. I am out of new books to listen
to, so I start again at the beginning of Artemis. With a few brief stops along the way, to ask
directions, to sip water, to enjoy the scenery, I arrive at the property in 95
minutes. Under two hours!
As I enter the property and
begin down the lane to my house I whistle.
Before long, Dog comes bounding across the field, barely able to contain
her joy. I pick her up, and she begins
in a whining voice telling me how much she has missed me. She keeps it up for some minutes, until I set
her down. She springs up and down and
twists around; she is overwhelmed. I
walk with her to see the cats, but the black kittens and their mother are
gone. Dog takes a drink of water and
then sits. The white and black cat is
there, quite alone; I don’t see her black and white spotted kittens. She tries to rub up against Dog, but dog
turns his head away, slants his eyes towards her, and has the beginning of a
growl in his throat. Before I left, when
the litter was young, I saw her attack Dog.
I see they have not yet reconciled.
The kittens are locked up in Juan’s shed, so I don’t get to see them
today.
I did not bring kibble for them;
I only brought a pouch of Pedigree chicken for Dog. I put it in a dish and she gobbles it
up. Previously, when I had a large mixed
box of pouches both beef and chicken, she would walk away from a full dish of
chicken. Suddenly she is not so picky.
I check out the work that was
done while I was away. I paid 4,000
pesos; what did I get for it? I am
disappointed. The kitchen tile was laid,
the last of the kitchen wall was finished.
He did finish the front door enclosure and fitted the new white
door. He also did the cement finish for
the bedroom door enclosure, now ready for a door. The second bedroom frame was done roughly
without finished edges, and the closet door was not framed at all. The remainder of the bathroom tile was
grouted, but the bare patch above the door was not touched. I had given careful instructions on
completing this patch, and the shower enclosure; they were not followed. There was the shower tile laid and grouted,
but there was a three-inch perimeter of bare concrete. I had told him which tile to use, I showed
him that the shower frame was to set on
top of the tile, but it was not done correctly. I could have saved myself money by having
Juan do it.
I think I should paint the
kitchen and living room myself. Then I
could drag the kitchen cabinets in place, from where they stored are in the
second bedroom. I still do not have the
kitchen sink problem worked out, though.
There is no hurry. I bought
special telavera tiles (depicting yellow girasols on a blue background) for a border between the countertop and wall
cabinets, but I would need more tile than that; I also have only two wall
cabinets. Perhaps I must use these
special tiles as the backsplash sitting directly at the edge of the countertop.
My immediate intention is to
work on the garden, so that from the outside the house looks lived in. The first step is to burn the weeds, brush,
and girasol stalks. I have brought a
lighter.
I want to have water ready in
case the fire needs containment.
However, all the faucets are dry.
I try my outdoor faucet and Michael’s kitchen faucet. I put my key in the lock at Doug’s house, but
that lock is still not working. I then
go back to the source, and turn on the pump switch. I am doing things out of order, because I
have already managed to ignite some weeds, and from where I stand at the pump
house I can see a roaring blaze. The
house exterior is brick, there is nothing that can be damaged by fire except
perhaps the PVC waste exhaust pipe that runs up to the roof. I had pulled the weeds away from it, giving
it a ‘safe’ border of about a foot.
However, the fire was raging high and hot. I stood below the overflow hose at the pump
house, but although I could hear the pump working, the water did not come
out. I left the empty bucket there and
went back to the house. I found that
water is now coming out of the hose at my house. It is too short to reach beyond the back edge
of the house. I do put down a wet
perimeter there. I am burning the empty lot next to the house.
There is a five-foot long stand
of dried girasol stalks which refuse to burn.
I do my best to uproot some and stack them, but they will not burn. I pull some dried grass from the next field
under the stack; that ignites easily, but it is still not hot enough to burn
these tough stalks. I leave it.
I have been bending and pulling
and cutting with shears and gloves. I
stop now, unable to do more. I realize
that my abdomen is uncomfortable from all the doubling over, my back is sore, I
am exhausted. Now what?
Dog has stayed near me, keeping
a safe distance from the fire. Focusing
on that project, I had pretty much ignored her.
Now it was time to go back to town.
My future garden is now mostly charred black; ready for the next step,
plowing. I put on my back pack and start
walking.
Dog is by my side. There is no stopping her, no place to secure
her. I feel my limbs, it is with
difficulty that I cover the distance to the bus stop over rough uneven dirt roads. Dragging myself along, it takes over 35
minutes. Mid way I try to turn her
around, pushing her down an adjacent road.
She is like a paddle ball. I push,
she bounds back. We finally cross the
highway and reach the bus stop. We wait
20 minutes. It is Sunday; I presume the
bus traffic is lighter. Finally I see a
car coming out of the Pozole road, and put my thumb out.
The car stops. I get in; there is a couple in the front, a
young lady in the back and a baby sitting up.
Dog tries to leap into the car. The
door has no handle, it is broken off.
Pushing and kicking her away feels dreadful, and the frantic puzzled
look on her face is painful to see. At
last I get the door closed, and the car drives off leaving her behind.
During the few weeks that she and I lived together in the town apartment,
she was bored. I just sat around a lot,
watching stored movies. She would jump
on my lap squirming and twisting, telling me she wanted us to go out. When I went to the internet café, after a
while she would claw at my crossed ankles urging me to get up and leave. I think she is happier out in the
country. However, without the older
mother cat and kittens, with just the mean young white cat and her newer
kittens, she is lonely. I do not see any
food lying around, either. In the past,
Juan would bring tortillas, rice and beans for the animals. Now that area was all cleaned up; there is
not food visible. Dog has meat on her
bones, she has not been starving, but I do not know what she is eating. Is she getting proper nutrition?
Sunday night I get a good long
sleep, knowing that my body needs recovering.
In the morning I ache all over; this is a day of no exercise. Instead, I will focus on getting my TelCell
bill paid and getting phone service back.
This is a problem, without a bank account. I try using my U.S. bank card, but it is not
accepted. I get help from a very
knowledgeable gal at the internet café around the corner, but for all our
efforts we do not succeed. I finally
find the necessary account number which I take to the bank, and put it into the
ATM that accepts utility payments. I get
a receipt, but I still have no service.
What I really want is my 5G data
allowance, for the internet. I don’t
really have anyone I want to talk with by phone, but the phone must be working
because I am able to call my landlord and leave a message. He calls me back, and we agree to meet. I am hoping he has in storage a kitchen table
and a sofa. We meet; he does not.
The phone did ring once, after I
had successfully paid money at the bank ATM.
It was a Durango number; the woman spoke my name and asked if I was
she. I assented. Then the line went dead. I was hoping that it was a call of
confirmation from the TelCell service center, but I still have no internet access.
At that nearby internet café I
had a long talk with the young lady there.
I am impressed that she is knowledgeable and intelligent. I voice my frustration at not being able to open
a bank account, for lack of proof of domicile.
I learn a lot from her. I set a
course. I have a letter from Jhampa
saying that I had all rights of residence at my Luz de Compasion address. This needs to be notarized. Jhampa said he is coming in from Torreon in a
week. Once that is notarized, I can take
it to the CFE (electric utility) office, and order my electric bill put in my
own name. That should be the proof of
residency that I need. I am filled with
hope, thanks to this young lady’s clear thinking and advice. There seems to be a way towards my goals of
opening a bank account and getting a drivers license.
I had promised my sister and
brother that I would post Part 2 of the Fitness trip; it was ready to be
uploaded. However, the laptop had begun
to update itself. After hours of its
telling me not to turn it off, and finally going black, I thought it was
done. I turned it on at the internet
café, ready to upload the file, but the orange screen came back on telling me
it was still updating and loading the updates.
I left it there while I went to the bank to make that payment at the
ATM, but when I returned it was still not usable. I had to carry it home.
After lunch I walked over to the
hospital. I wanted to know if I could
get physical therapy for my right shoulder, which was painful and had limited
motion. I left with an appoint for
Thursday to see the specialist, at a different location.
Finally, after sorting through
all that, I checked my watch to see if I could make a quick trip out to the
house and back before dark. I went to
the bus station and looked for a taxi.
The driver was well-familiar with El Pozole; he took me there, waited,
and took me home again. The urgency that
prompted that expense of 100 pesos is that I remember not turning off the water
pump! Usually, after the tank is full it
spills over and runs until you turn off the power switch. I had checked periodically, long after it should
have been spilling over, and never saw it spill. Then I forgot about it, as I worked the fire
project. Once home, I remembered that I
had not turned if off.
When we arrived at Luz de
Compasion, the gate was unlocked and Javier’s truck was there near his
shed. He is plowing his land again; the
horses are hitched up to the plow. He
paused and came towards us. His brother
Javier was working there, too. They were
planting peas (chicharones). The taxi
driver hailed them as old friends. On
the drive back, he tells me that he remembers them as children. The driver is a retired elementary school
teacher. When he drops me back at my
apartment, he scribbles on a piece of paper, tears it off and gives it to
me. His name and phone number. Prof. Emilio.
I tell Juan that I forgot to
turn off the water. He looks blank. Apparently, this time it did not spill
over. The tank float must finally be
working correctly, turning off the flow once it is full. He tells me that he does not know where the
black kittens and their mom have gone.
I ask him if, while he has the
horses hitched to the plow, he would please also till my garden. He says yes, probably Tuesday.
This time Dog gets into the car
with me, and we resume our life as apartment dwellers in town. She is beside herself with joy.
Tuesday morning dawns, and I
almost oversleep. It is 7:15
already. I know that Dog needs to
evacuate, so I quickly throw on my spandex pants and a shirt, and we go. She wastes no time, and takes care of business. I pick up her poop with a used Kleenex from
my pocket, and look left and right.
There are no trash cans. I carry
it around the block to the plaza[ii],
where there are always trash bins. Then
we go to the gym, the next block over from the plaza.
Equipment should be the first
thing to share, but I look first to the price.
The old man in the Plymouth had said it was 50 pesos a day, but cheaper
with frequency. At the gym, the kid
there (who is painfully shy and stutters) says it is 15 pesos a day. I see a chart on the table that says it is 60
pesos for a week, other prices, and ultimately 600 pesos for 3 months. I said I wanted to try it first, then decide,
but he would not let me in without turning over some money. So I gave him a 500 peso note, and told him
he could give me change later.
I would guestimate the room to
be 35 ft X 15. The equipment looked
inelegant, a far cry from the smooth stainless steel and black equipment at the
Summit gym in St. George. Here the iron
frames are painted green, some of the black plastic seats cracked. There are no instructions for use, no
diagrams of the muscle groups worked, pasted to the frames. I study the pieces for a while, and finally
figure out how I can get a good workout.
I decide that I should go ahead and commit to three months.
The treadmill is broken and
discarded under cement steps (leading where?
Perhaps a store room). There are
three ‘spinners’, and about five elliptical machines. The women who came while I was there tended
to use those. Because of my still-sore
coccyx, I decide not to try the spinners.
I had tried in Utah, only to find that the seat severely impacted the
coccyx.
I miss the twisting machine that
works the ‘lats’ at the Summit gym, but I manage to do a lot of upper body
work. I spent an hour there, Dog by my
side or in my lap at all times.
[ii]
el zocolo; no one calls it that, but when visiting Nelson in El Paso I heard
that familiar word again. Maybe it is a
south Mexico word
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