Cat news! Bruce and Muttney have reached detente! Shadow and Bruce have reached detente! Shadow would rather that Muttney cease to exist but occasionally forgets to try to hiss him to death. If this is to be the usual state of affairs, some of us are going to be really unhappy.
Last Friday was Cele's birthday - 28! - and we were unable to host a dinner for her because of compromising events. The cleaning lady comes Tuesdays and Fridays, so the house was sparkling. She taught me how to make mole this time as well as cleaning. Tuesday night the kids came over to celebrate her day: Cele, her husband Fernando, Saint Paul and Miguel. I made a herbed pork roast in my pressure cooker and risotto with shrimp and tomato. Desert was peaches warmed in butter, vanilla and brown sugar and sprinkled with cinnamon and cream. Gary cobbled together a big enough table, draped it and made it all look pretty. Everyone had a good time and ate lots of food and laughed a lot. We are still washing up. I wonder where I was on my 28th birthday...
Speaking of birthdays and dates with which to mark the passage of time ... Gary and I will have been together for 10 years December 4th. Bruce is 14 or 15, Shadow is 12, Muttney is 7. We are in the usual state of health, Gary is fine and my knee is being a pain. We are discussing how and when to go back north to get the truck across the border and have a couple of ideas that seem to make sense. What we actually end up doing is anybody's guess. Muttney has decided that his bed is the bathroom sink, which he fills completely and inconveniently.
We are going to look at hand-made wooden furniture this afternoon. And that is all the excitement we have for this post. It is rather nice to be retired - Tuesday was the most stress we've had in two weeks.
R
20110908
20110902
2011 09 02
We went out for supper the other night with Saint Paul, a new-to-us restaurant near downtown. I'm fine but the G-man has the usual symptoms of food-borne illness. Unlike the cats, boyfriends don't give any warning before they vomit on your feet. Speaking of cats, hissing and spitting are no longer at fever pitch, but detente has not yet been reached.
Now where did I get to ...
Trip Two to the border
Our Intrepid Travellers left the Nogales motel with mostly functioning air-conditioning and in relative calm. They reached the border crossing, and did the routine with American Customs, then paid the toll to drive to and arrive at Mexican Customs. This is actually when the lack of import sticker screwed things up. So, he paid the toll to drive to and arrive at the American border, where he did the routine with the bike and the door and the cat and the door and the bike and the cat (in that order) and then crossed back to the US side. Much conversation with yours truly ensued, and we decided that returning to the scene of the actual crime would maybe possibly in some way be better easier smoother or at least cooler than continuing to muck about in Nogales.
Trip Three to the border at Agua Prieta
After much searching the previous night, G had located a lot of paper proving that the vehicle to which the sticker had been attached was no longer in Mexico, and was in fact no longer his. (California had impounded it for various reasons.) This, to our minds, should smooth the cancellation of the previous sticker and the issuance of the new. Somewhere along the 114 miles from Nogales to Douglas, the pump and or the clutch on the air-conditioning ceased functioning. What else is new? The border crossing did not involve American Customs (I don't know why the same at Nogales did involve the US agents) so he proceeded to Banjercito with his papers to discover that yes, it looks like this will be sufficient to cancel the sticker. So, you need to send it with these forms to Ciudad Mexico and in three months you will get confirmation that the sticker has been cancelled. At no time in this conversation did G get the impression that a little cash under the table would smooth the process. We are intrinsically honest and don't really know enough Spanish to offer a bribe nor to read the signals requesting one in the first place, so this whole Corrupt Mexico thing seems to be mierda del toro to us. Therefore, our Intrepid Traveller gathers his papers, reaches the American border, goes through the routine with unloading the bicycle etc. and re-enters Douglas irritated and not relishing the prospect of spending more time baking in the autumn desert heat spending money we can't really afford on food and motels. More conversations with yours truly and we have a plan.
Precis: I have an appointment in Oakland to see the quack, and will return to Guadalajara on August 26th. Gary can find a place to store the truck, get himself and the cat on a flight to meet me, and then we will bus home together. All, of course, does not go as planned. I get to Guadalajara and discover that G&M will not be flying because the airline doesn't like the carrier. He gets a new carriers, gets on the flight the next day and we catch a ride home with The Doctors, all as previously described. I think. I write this shite and then promptly forget it, so if this is news, let me know and I will tell you alllll about it.
So we are back home. He found a place to keep the truck safe for a small fee each month, so we are not unduly worried about The Bloody Possessions. We are without the things that I have been missing, but we are home safely and in (relatively) good health. The cat thing will sort itself out. The plan for trying the border one more time will come together when it comes together, and we will (or he will) fly/ride/float back to the US and re-attempt the penetration of Mexico. As usual, I think that whatever we have planned will change before we return to Zamora, but hopefully our household goods will return to Zamora with us next time, whatever the changes to the plan may entail.
I'm exhausted just thinking about all this shite.
R
Now where did I get to ...
Trip Two to the border
Our Intrepid Travellers left the Nogales motel with mostly functioning air-conditioning and in relative calm. They reached the border crossing, and did the routine with American Customs, then paid the toll to drive to and arrive at Mexican Customs. This is actually when the lack of import sticker screwed things up. So, he paid the toll to drive to and arrive at the American border, where he did the routine with the bike and the door and the cat and the door and the bike and the cat (in that order) and then crossed back to the US side. Much conversation with yours truly ensued, and we decided that returning to the scene of the actual crime would maybe possibly in some way be better easier smoother or at least cooler than continuing to muck about in Nogales.
Trip Three to the border at Agua Prieta
After much searching the previous night, G had located a lot of paper proving that the vehicle to which the sticker had been attached was no longer in Mexico, and was in fact no longer his. (California had impounded it for various reasons.) This, to our minds, should smooth the cancellation of the previous sticker and the issuance of the new. Somewhere along the 114 miles from Nogales to Douglas, the pump and or the clutch on the air-conditioning ceased functioning. What else is new? The border crossing did not involve American Customs (I don't know why the same at Nogales did involve the US agents) so he proceeded to Banjercito with his papers to discover that yes, it looks like this will be sufficient to cancel the sticker. So, you need to send it with these forms to Ciudad Mexico and in three months you will get confirmation that the sticker has been cancelled. At no time in this conversation did G get the impression that a little cash under the table would smooth the process. We are intrinsically honest and don't really know enough Spanish to offer a bribe nor to read the signals requesting one in the first place, so this whole Corrupt Mexico thing seems to be mierda del toro to us. Therefore, our Intrepid Traveller gathers his papers, reaches the American border, goes through the routine with unloading the bicycle etc. and re-enters Douglas irritated and not relishing the prospect of spending more time baking in the autumn desert heat spending money we can't really afford on food and motels. More conversations with yours truly and we have a plan.
Precis: I have an appointment in Oakland to see the quack, and will return to Guadalajara on August 26th. Gary can find a place to store the truck, get himself and the cat on a flight to meet me, and then we will bus home together. All, of course, does not go as planned. I get to Guadalajara and discover that G&M will not be flying because the airline doesn't like the carrier. He gets a new carriers, gets on the flight the next day and we catch a ride home with The Doctors, all as previously described. I think. I write this shite and then promptly forget it, so if this is news, let me know and I will tell you alllll about it.
So we are back home. He found a place to keep the truck safe for a small fee each month, so we are not unduly worried about The Bloody Possessions. We are without the things that I have been missing, but we are home safely and in (relatively) good health. The cat thing will sort itself out. The plan for trying the border one more time will come together when it comes together, and we will (or he will) fly/ride/float back to the US and re-attempt the penetration of Mexico. As usual, I think that whatever we have planned will change before we return to Zamora, but hopefully our household goods will return to Zamora with us next time, whatever the changes to the plan may entail.
I'm exhausted just thinking about all this shite.
R
20110901
2011 09 01
Does anyone have an opinion on how irritating it would be to have ads on these pages? After some threshold, I would get paid. Real money. It is tempting. Opine away, please.
20110831
2011 08 31
Guarded warfare continues, although Shadow has decided that his Two-legger allies are to be tolerated and that Bruce is his bosom buddy once more. Oh goody, cat hair in the sheets once again. We are hoping that the situation continues to improve and that detente is reached among the herd in short order.
Where were we? Oh right, Las Vegas. Did you know that the name means 'fertile lowland' or 'meadow'?, actually the plural thereof, but you can manage that on your own. Kind of obvious to anyone who has visited Las Vegas that the name is a joke. Anyway, brand-new tyres, 114F, no air-conditioning and our intrepid travellers hit the road. Leaving Las Vegas is always more fun than entering Las Vegas, in my humble opinion. The sense of relief ... The road rapidly takes one to the Hoover Dam, over which one drives. On a two-lane road, with millions of tourists. The fun in that is not immediately apparent. However, the scenery is fun, sand-coloured rock hills surrounding sand-coloured concrete dam with a lot of blue water off to one side and a precipitous fall to the other. The G and the Mutt suffered the heat for many miles until the belt on the fan for the air broke. Changing the belt required a step-tool, padding on the hot radiator and still resulted in a third-degree burn on Gary's arm. Finally reached Phoenix, where G thought they might find somewhere cool to hang out until evening. This proved harder than he had anticipated, but they survived until cooler temps and then got to our friends' place in Tucson. Our chums made them welcome, and happened to know a mechanic who, for a reasonable fee, did what he could to repair the air. Oooo, that rhymes! He also did something else to the truck that I can't recall, and things were looking up for the remainder of the trip. After a few days' rest and recuperation, they were once again on the road, heading for Nogales Arizona/Sonora. At 114F. With the windows open the interior temperature was probably only 130F.
There were a couple of snags that we expected to complicate the crossing, so G was prepared to spend some time sorting some bureaucratic shite in Nogales. The first of these is called 'menaje de casa', which is either required or not required or being phased out. It is a list of everything that is being imported into Mexico, with serial numbers and ages of the articles and maybe cubic size of container but maybe not and is required to be in quadruplicate, translated into Spanish, and approved by the Mexican consulate. This G duly wrote up and translated and printed and copied and submitted. The Consulate added its stamp of approval and a cover letter.
Trip One to the border
Under the current American state of permanent paranoia, American customs agents stopped G at the border, asked all the usual asinine questions and then made him exit the vehicle, remove the bicycle from its rack at the back door, unlock the truck and then wait 'over there'. They opened the door. They gazed in awe at the solid wall of things that greeted them. They conferred briefly with themselves and then waved him away. G closed the door, mounted the bicycle, caught the cat, got in the cab and proceeded into the almost Mexico zone that exists between the two countries. There was a man standing in the middle of the road, leaving G the option of running him down or stopping. He chose to stop, which in retrospect he might change. No uniform, no identification, no proof that the man was what he claimed to be: 'working with' Mexican Customs. He instructed our hot and tired Intrepidness that he would have to drive 12 kilometres along this road, where Unidentified Stranger and his partner would meet him and deal with the rest of the process of entering the country. Twelve kms and 88 pesos toll later, the G pulls up to a parking area and gets out to talk to these guys. At 114F. With no shade. They glanced at the approved menaje. They said: 380.00 US fee, please. They then escorted G to Aduanas, where G continued through the identification process, the wait around and see process, the I don't know what to say process and the maybe this maybe that process. During one of these mysterious goings-on, the Customs agent discovered that the Consulate had used the legislation that applies to Mexicans returning to live in Mexico, not foreigners moving to live in Mexico and refused to accept the menaje without alteration. Meanwhile ...
Problem Two. There are some strict rules about importing a vehicle into Mexico. Drugs, slaves I mean illegal emigrants, guns, bombs, gangsters and prostitutes cross the border with impunity, but if a foreigner manages to leave Mexico without returning the Temporary Vehicle Import sticker, all hell ensues. At 114F. With no shade. Guess who left Mexico without returning his sticker three years before? The Unidentified offered to fix the problem for $600US and three days. Banjercito, the company that actually is responsible for the issuance and control of said stickers said well, no, maybe, sometimes, in the future, or maybe never. How the Unidentified intended to deal with this in three days remains unknown, as by this point, the G-man had decided that this was nuts. He returned to the truck, paid 88 pesos to drive the 12 kms back to American Customs. Usual asinine questions, park over there, remove bicycle, open door, take cat and go wait in there because we are using dogs. At 114F. With no shade. Sniff, stare at wall of things, talk amongst themselves, and wave G back to the truck. Close door, mount bicycle, enter truck and the G is back on the road to a motel on the Arizona side. Next day, visit Consulate, get proper wording on paper. Be really fed-up with treatment at Nogales crossing and decide to drive to Douglas Arizona/Agua Prieta Sonora, where the problem sticker was issued in the first place.
Stay tuned! Coming Soon! Will our Intrepidness really get across the Border? Trip Two next time!
Where were we? Oh right, Las Vegas. Did you know that the name means 'fertile lowland' or 'meadow'?, actually the plural thereof, but you can manage that on your own. Kind of obvious to anyone who has visited Las Vegas that the name is a joke. Anyway, brand-new tyres, 114F, no air-conditioning and our intrepid travellers hit the road. Leaving Las Vegas is always more fun than entering Las Vegas, in my humble opinion. The sense of relief ... The road rapidly takes one to the Hoover Dam, over which one drives. On a two-lane road, with millions of tourists. The fun in that is not immediately apparent. However, the scenery is fun, sand-coloured rock hills surrounding sand-coloured concrete dam with a lot of blue water off to one side and a precipitous fall to the other. The G and the Mutt suffered the heat for many miles until the belt on the fan for the air broke. Changing the belt required a step-tool, padding on the hot radiator and still resulted in a third-degree burn on Gary's arm. Finally reached Phoenix, where G thought they might find somewhere cool to hang out until evening. This proved harder than he had anticipated, but they survived until cooler temps and then got to our friends' place in Tucson. Our chums made them welcome, and happened to know a mechanic who, for a reasonable fee, did what he could to repair the air. Oooo, that rhymes! He also did something else to the truck that I can't recall, and things were looking up for the remainder of the trip. After a few days' rest and recuperation, they were once again on the road, heading for Nogales Arizona/Sonora. At 114F. With the windows open the interior temperature was probably only 130F.
There were a couple of snags that we expected to complicate the crossing, so G was prepared to spend some time sorting some bureaucratic shite in Nogales. The first of these is called 'menaje de casa', which is either required or not required or being phased out. It is a list of everything that is being imported into Mexico, with serial numbers and ages of the articles and maybe cubic size of container but maybe not and is required to be in quadruplicate, translated into Spanish, and approved by the Mexican consulate. This G duly wrote up and translated and printed and copied and submitted. The Consulate added its stamp of approval and a cover letter.
Trip One to the border
Under the current American state of permanent paranoia, American customs agents stopped G at the border, asked all the usual asinine questions and then made him exit the vehicle, remove the bicycle from its rack at the back door, unlock the truck and then wait 'over there'. They opened the door. They gazed in awe at the solid wall of things that greeted them. They conferred briefly with themselves and then waved him away. G closed the door, mounted the bicycle, caught the cat, got in the cab and proceeded into the almost Mexico zone that exists between the two countries. There was a man standing in the middle of the road, leaving G the option of running him down or stopping. He chose to stop, which in retrospect he might change. No uniform, no identification, no proof that the man was what he claimed to be: 'working with' Mexican Customs. He instructed our hot and tired Intrepidness that he would have to drive 12 kilometres along this road, where Unidentified Stranger and his partner would meet him and deal with the rest of the process of entering the country. Twelve kms and 88 pesos toll later, the G pulls up to a parking area and gets out to talk to these guys. At 114F. With no shade. They glanced at the approved menaje. They said: 380.00 US fee, please. They then escorted G to Aduanas, where G continued through the identification process, the wait around and see process, the I don't know what to say process and the maybe this maybe that process. During one of these mysterious goings-on, the Customs agent discovered that the Consulate had used the legislation that applies to Mexicans returning to live in Mexico, not foreigners moving to live in Mexico and refused to accept the menaje without alteration. Meanwhile ...
Problem Two. There are some strict rules about importing a vehicle into Mexico. Drugs, slaves I mean illegal emigrants, guns, bombs, gangsters and prostitutes cross the border with impunity, but if a foreigner manages to leave Mexico without returning the Temporary Vehicle Import sticker, all hell ensues. At 114F. With no shade. Guess who left Mexico without returning his sticker three years before? The Unidentified offered to fix the problem for $600US and three days. Banjercito, the company that actually is responsible for the issuance and control of said stickers said well, no, maybe, sometimes, in the future, or maybe never. How the Unidentified intended to deal with this in three days remains unknown, as by this point, the G-man had decided that this was nuts. He returned to the truck, paid 88 pesos to drive the 12 kms back to American Customs. Usual asinine questions, park over there, remove bicycle, open door, take cat and go wait in there because we are using dogs. At 114F. With no shade. Sniff, stare at wall of things, talk amongst themselves, and wave G back to the truck. Close door, mount bicycle, enter truck and the G is back on the road to a motel on the Arizona side. Next day, visit Consulate, get proper wording on paper. Be really fed-up with treatment at Nogales crossing and decide to drive to Douglas Arizona/Agua Prieta Sonora, where the problem sticker was issued in the first place.
Stay tuned! Coming Soon! Will our Intrepidness really get across the Border? Trip Two next time!
20110830
2011 08 30
So, we got to Zamora the end of May, and suffered through the heat with lousy creeping lung crud, and then actually started to feel human. There was a bit of a deadline in returning to California to move the truck, as the registration was valid only until the end of August. About July 12, we attempted to get the G-man his Michoacan driver's licence, but the bureaucunt in the office insisted that she could do nothing without his birth certificate. Americans hardly ever carry this document, and their bloody passports state that the carrier was born in State, USA. Not sufficient for Bureaucunt. This put us a day late for the flight reservations, but Volaris offers a flexibility option for a small fee, and we had availed ourselves of same. Our Santo Paul drove us to Guadalajara aeroport and we dropped off the G-man in plenty of time to catch his flight. However, the staff didn't understand the flexibility thing and refused to let him on the plane. After much yakking and phone calling and shortening of temper, he was finally on-board a flight to Oakland - arriving three hours later than expected by our friends there. That worked out because our Fox is a bit of a saint herself. G spent some time with her and running around the Bay Area, and then headed north to the truck.
We had hired a neighbour, supposedly well-versed in the maintenance of diesel engines, to get it prepped and ready for the road. We paid the pendejo to change the oil and fix anything that needed fixing and get it to the storage place G had arranged. He assured us that he had done so. Well, he is a liar. And a cheat. And an alcoholic. However, the G-man collected the cat and finally got the truck started and on the road. The first time he turned it off there was someone close to jump it back to life. The second time he turned it off, he had to call the AAA. The third time he turned it off was in the parking lot of Costco, where he bought a new battery. End of that problem. However, the air-conditioning didn't, and I don't remember everything else it couldn't, so the first leg of the journey was a little uncomfortable, but not that bad. The poor old thing (I mean the truck) climbed the 7,000-foot range between California and Nevada very slowly, but the poor old thing (I mean my husband) managed to get it to limp into Nevada. He got a couple days' rest in Carson City for two reasons: the tyres and the heat. As you may realise, as one descends from the heights, the ambient temperature increases - to 104F and higher in this case. In August. In the desert. Without air-conditioning. The G-man thought the cat was going to die, he was so hot he was panting and throwing-up any water he drank. The G-man thought he was going to sweat to death. He finally drove, to grossly misuse the term, into the parking-lot of a casino, encased the cat and hit the cold inside air. Muttney was so grateful to be cool he didn't make a sound.
After recuperating (and losing $2.00), he walked outside to see the truck leaning to one side. Upon inspection, the tyres revealed their true inner selves: if you've ever wondered if steel-belted radials actually have steel in, they do. And it ain't pretty. About $1,200.00 and several hours at 114F later, all six of the tyres were back in fighting form and the passengers were in Las Vegas, TKO'd. More resting in cheap motels ensued because by this time the G-man was not only frustrated, he had a sinus infection. Muttney likes air-conditioned motel rooms. Many calls back and forth to his Medicine Man in California, and the G-man had antibiotics and a better temper.
And here we leave our intrepid travellers to rest and regain their composures. And I can therefore call the next instalment 'leaving las vegas' ha ha ha
R
We had hired a neighbour, supposedly well-versed in the maintenance of diesel engines, to get it prepped and ready for the road. We paid the pendejo to change the oil and fix anything that needed fixing and get it to the storage place G had arranged. He assured us that he had done so. Well, he is a liar. And a cheat. And an alcoholic. However, the G-man collected the cat and finally got the truck started and on the road. The first time he turned it off there was someone close to jump it back to life. The second time he turned it off, he had to call the AAA. The third time he turned it off was in the parking lot of Costco, where he bought a new battery. End of that problem. However, the air-conditioning didn't, and I don't remember everything else it couldn't, so the first leg of the journey was a little uncomfortable, but not that bad. The poor old thing (I mean the truck) climbed the 7,000-foot range between California and Nevada very slowly, but the poor old thing (I mean my husband) managed to get it to limp into Nevada. He got a couple days' rest in Carson City for two reasons: the tyres and the heat. As you may realise, as one descends from the heights, the ambient temperature increases - to 104F and higher in this case. In August. In the desert. Without air-conditioning. The G-man thought the cat was going to die, he was so hot he was panting and throwing-up any water he drank. The G-man thought he was going to sweat to death. He finally drove, to grossly misuse the term, into the parking-lot of a casino, encased the cat and hit the cold inside air. Muttney was so grateful to be cool he didn't make a sound.
After recuperating (and losing $2.00), he walked outside to see the truck leaning to one side. Upon inspection, the tyres revealed their true inner selves: if you've ever wondered if steel-belted radials actually have steel in, they do. And it ain't pretty. About $1,200.00 and several hours at 114F later, all six of the tyres were back in fighting form and the passengers were in Las Vegas, TKO'd. More resting in cheap motels ensued because by this time the G-man was not only frustrated, he had a sinus infection. Muttney likes air-conditioned motel rooms. Many calls back and forth to his Medicine Man in California, and the G-man had antibiotics and a better temper.
And here we leave our intrepid travellers to rest and regain their composures. And I can therefore call the next instalment 'leaving las vegas' ha ha ha
R
20110829
2011 08 29
Well, things have been rather interesting lately. I went to Oakland for a week and saw my (girl)friends and ate sushi and generally did not much. It was great fun and thanks to the Fox for the roof and NP Val and her husband for the fun dinner and lift to the airport. The flight was delayed because the Volaris staff doesn't know how to count. After sitting in the plane for 45 minutes, they called roll - 92 passengers and they couldn't sort whatever their problem was in any other way. Flying Elementary School is now in session. We finally got to Guadalajara at 07:50 without incident - no-one got sent to the Principal's office - and interestingly enough, arrived "on time". I take it that they meant the flight was actually 3 hours 50 minutes as planned, rather than that we got there at 06:50 as scheduled. G was supposed to be on a flight from Hermosillo with the cat, arriving in Gdl at noon of the same day. His aeroport staff didn't like the carrier, so he spent the day trying to find a carrier that they would accept and caught the flight the next day. I spent the night with my friends in Gdl, met him at the aeroport and we caught a ride home with my Doctors, who were in Gdl for classes. We are tired and very glad to finally be here. There will be a return to Arizona in the near future to actually get our shit to Zamora, but some of us need to rest up a bit first.
The cats are another story. They lived together for three years in California, and then apart for three years with Bruce and Shadow here in Zamora. Now that Muttney is in the house, we have spitting and hissing and hurt feelings all 'round, and it is a pain in the ass for the two-leggers in the place. Second day of guarded warfare - I hope they get their shit sorted soon, this pussy-footing around is boring. They slink about the place in a crouch with their hackles up expecting to be ambushed at any second. Shadow has a fabulous growl, though. Unfortunately, he uses it at everyone, regardless of former amiable associations. Felis e mobile, music by Verdi.
That is about it for now, the saga of getting the truck from California to Arizona will wait for another day. Have to go buy food for the hissers now.
R
(Non-opera people: fickle is the cat)
The cats are another story. They lived together for three years in California, and then apart for three years with Bruce and Shadow here in Zamora. Now that Muttney is in the house, we have spitting and hissing and hurt feelings all 'round, and it is a pain in the ass for the two-leggers in the place. Second day of guarded warfare - I hope they get their shit sorted soon, this pussy-footing around is boring. They slink about the place in a crouch with their hackles up expecting to be ambushed at any second. Shadow has a fabulous growl, though. Unfortunately, he uses it at everyone, regardless of former amiable associations. Felis e mobile, music by Verdi.
That is about it for now, the saga of getting the truck from California to Arizona will wait for another day. Have to go buy food for the hissers now.
R
(Non-opera people: fickle is the cat)
20110808
2011 08 08
Hello, we're back up and writing. Or blathering, depending on your opinion of what I write. We have moved to a new house about 4 doors down from the first one. It is three bedrooms, so we have room for visitors as well as a room for the computer/work shop/whatever. They are a little smaller than the two in the other house, but we like the colours of this one much better. I still hate the kitchen, it is a little smaller than the other, or at least feels it because there is a wall between it and the living room. Gary is in Arizona with our truck, getting all arranged to cross the border and drive down here. I am trying to arrange what is already here, and even though I am capable of organisation, it is not all that much fun so I end up doing other stuff, like cooking, instead. I don't have time to share all the gory details right now, I need to get some things done. More pearls of wisdom to follow. I originally typed 'pears' which actually suits me better.
R
R
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