August update, transition

 

Passport

Rita just stopped by, Saturday evening, to catch up.  I am preparing to leave her house and move to the ‘poor house’, St. Vincent de Paul Society house, five miles away in Canatlan.  Although I will greatly miss the tranquility and natural beauty of El Pozole, my world will widen with other opportunities.

I should be able to save a few hundred dollars a month.  Then, I will have the car painted in a good shop in Durango, with an oven.  Then I will put it on the market, and try to sell it.  I can invest that money here, and gain 2% interest on it, instead of losing money on low value dollar exchange every month. 

I should be able to take classes at the historical society.  Maybe art?  Maybe music?  I can’t imagine what music classes they teach.  And I hope the art class is not just a chintzy arts and crafts exercise, with popsicle sticks and crepe paper.

I probably will no longer be able to put myself asleep with a toque of weed.  That is a pity.

Chat GPT is helping me line up an ESL teaching job online.  I should be able to earn $10/hr, and with ten hours a week it shouldn’t be a strain.  That’s $400/month!  In six months of this, low rent and an income, my situation should be much rosier.  Instead of trying to cajole and persuade a family member to house me for a few days while I try to get a knee replacement on Medicare’s dime (to whom I have paid $1,200/mo for twenty years with almost no return), I would have the cash to pay for independent housing, for as much as a week to as little as three days, depending on what the doctor will agree to.  Actually, using my medical emergency fund, I could do that right now, but now is not the time.  First, I must see about my ability to work.  For sitting at a computer, the condition of my knee should not be a factor.

Tomorrow, Sunday, I will bring a suitcase of clothing to the St. Vincent de Paul house.  Monday noon I leave for Monterrey.  Junior will stay with Puppichino at Rita’s house, for two days.  By Wednesday, I should have at least a temporary passport.  Unless, of course, they decide once again that I am risky, and issue me an 18 month document until I prove I can hold on to for the full ten years.  This happened to me in 2021, after having two passports stolen.

That still does not help my situation of legal status in Mexico.  I need my birth certificate in order to be able to sign up for senior assistance.  It isn’t much, but every bit helps.  And there are other little perks, too, like holding a SPIN card with OXXO.  Just a handy way to move money around Mexico, like to pay for Mercado Libre orders and such.  I covet one, just because I cannot have one.

Finally got rid of the pup.  A month or so ago, some smart-ass neighbor decided to toss seven puppies into my gated yard under the dark of night.  I threw them out next day, but one little guy hid out, and wound up staying.  Having such a rambunctious three-month old puppy was a bit much for me.  Everything goes in the mouth.  He learned to limit his bodily functions to the white adult diapers I placed on the floor, so that was something.  He still had accidents, though.  Eventually, as he seemed a little older and more independent, he was placed outside to sleep the night.  He really didn’t seem to mind.  He didn’t whine.  As payday rolled around this month, I splurged on a 20 kg bag of dog food for Junior.  I found a cool container on the premises, probably meant to contain ten kilos of kibble.  I filled the other kg containers I used indoors, emptying the bag as much as I could, and then delivered it and the pup to the Casa de Control de Animales. It was still around three kgs, so they accepted the pup and all were content.  I named him ‘lucky’, in French   Bon Chans. At least, I think that is what it means.  Good luck.  Not that it matters, the name ends with me.  (see earlier post for photo)

Actually, it would have been nice to raise him and train him.  He is of a unique local breed.  I would have liked to get to know his traits and qualities. 

 The cat, Samantha, will have to go.  Some neighbors passing by, some months ago, decided I wanted her, and happily handed her to me.  She is a whiny cat, not the sort I would have chosen for myself.  She is vocal, and not at all affectionate.  Far too young, she got raped and pregnant.  Three of the kittens are finally old enough to move around, and eat kibble.  I don't know what to do with her as I leave.  I may just leave them here.  They will fend for themselves.  I would normally want to neuter her.  On top of everything else, I can't deal with this.  It is a stretch too far.

The man who lives in the rubble next door used to have a bunch of cats.  One of those impregnated Sammy.  They all seem to have disappeared, though.  I keep meaning to ask him about that.  Maybe she can meet the same end.