Writing into the electronic ether today from Mexico, having now been here over three weeks, our return to Northern California delayed by the ransoming of all our possessions including Kathleen's hearing-ear dog, by our former maid who was to watch over them and who herself is worth half a million.....
Incomplete sentence fragment above derived from gerund for those watching. Is anybody watching?
Mexico, land of dreams. Our former maid is mainly Indian blood, denoted by her long braid worn down the back; yes, I have thought of cutting it off, but she might become even more imbalanced.
Whatever you leave with Indians becomes theirs, apparently, at least in her mind. Court crawls forward and prosecutors are polite and investigators are thorough but nothing is done, naturally.
For any who wish to read more on the Mexican mindset I've discovered in my years in San Miguel de Allende, may I recommend a terrific essay in Eclectica by yours truly:
My pulp fiction novel is 60,000 words into the second draft; Jim Zola and I are soliciting for the last issue of Melic, as most of you know; and this is my fourth day off cigarettes.
I claim no glory as they were killing me, literally, especially at this altitude of 6000 ft. where diesel fumes choke the streets and dust rises everywhere. God, I hate Mexico! But I can't seem to escape.
Bad joke of the day, original:
Why didn't Jesus have a dog?
Because he wanted to be man's best friend.
My heart goes out to the victims of Katrina but I swear my first wife was worse.
Kathleen had her purse, with passport and hearing aid, stolen, and now it's harder than ever to talk with her. Hearing people really bore her. Why I keep writing? We have a spare and are awaiting a mold and tube from my sister to restore her 5% bass capacity of normal hearing, which though little, seems to make a big difference. But for now conversation seems too much work for all involved. So we point at things. Ga ga, goo goo.
One comment will give me enough courage to go on blogging. Sorry for the long silence, it was unavoidable. Here I am at an internet cafe with my aching back that pays the bills.
All obsecenities you can imagine put here:
(regarding my luck in the last year and a half.)
Thine as ever,
C. E. Chaffin M.D. FAAFP, Hostage