Moving days

Posted on by Felipe Zapata

THIS MORNING, 16 years ago, September 10, 2000, I awoke in my two-story rental downtown in the state capital. I had lived there alone more than three months.

The house was virtually unfurnished. There was a king bed with a side table in the master bedroom. A second bedroom upstairs had a double and side table.

There was a rocking chair in the living room, nothing more. A large table with chairs in the kitchen-dining room, a propane stove-top, no oven whatsoever, and a refrigerator.

That was it on the furniture front.

It was moving day! My second in eight months.

Before moving to that home, I had lived in a room above a garage, just a few blocks away, for four months. So this virtually vacant home was a step up in comfort and grace.

No matter. I was moving again.

But first I had to rent a car to tote the accumulations of the previous eight months. It would be the first time I would drive on the loco streets of Mexico. I was nervous.

Later that day, car lightly loaded, I headed up the mountainside where I had rented a two-story house that was poorly maintained and pathetically furnished.

The first necessity was a new mattress. The house had one, but it wasn’t anything you’d want to lie down on.

I also ordered a dark green love seat and matching chair that would be shipped from Guadalajara. That arrived four long months later. Mexican express.

That sofa and chair now live in the Hacienda’s bedroom.

chairs

I lived in that rental for two and a half years, the last year of which I enjoyed the company of my child bride while we constructed the Hacienda a couple of miles away.

We moved into the Hacienda 14 years back next May. It’s quite a step up from the room over the garage where I slept on a sagging twin bed that was fond of tossing its slats, leaving me sprawled rudely on the floor. Ker-splat!

It’s been quite an adventure, the best of my life. The mountaintop has been good to me, 16 years today.

In many ways, it all seems like yesterday. But gazing ahead, 16 more years looks like another life.

It likely will be. Lucy in the sky with diamonds.

In summertime I often pause before sunrise at the small, eye-level (for me) window in the bathroom and smell the golden datura just inches away. A good way to start the day.

At times in summer it’s raining gently.

My next move will be into an ash urn. And I won’t need to pack a suitcase for the journey.

19 thoughts on “Moving days”

    1. Señor Gill: I pat myself on the back daily, and here on the Moon with frequency. One must bear with me.

      And the Hacienda beats the devil out of that creaky twin bed above the garage. Hoo-boy!

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    2. And next February, I’ll hit 17 years in Mexico and eight years in which I have not set foot in the crumbling United States of America. I weep for what the spoiled-rotten Gringos have done to themselves. It is a sight to behold. Even if Trump does win in November, which he likely will.

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  4. Milestones and memories worth remembering are valued by those who have lived a full life.

    I wish we had met when I lived in your neck of the woods. We could have had some interesting conversations while I sent you on a civilized political course.

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      1. It’s provided me with a pretty good life, so even though I complain about it, Canada is a great place. I just wish that when we beat the US in the war of 1812 we had occupied the southern USA and built a couple of superhighways (even though the automobile hadn’t been invented) so we could get out of the winters.

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        1. Kris: I see you continue in the delusion that you maple-syrup-eating pacifists defeated the U.S. in 1812. Of course, it was the manly Brits who temporarily got the better of us. We never let that happen again, and now the Brits are just more Canucks, a lame shadow of their former selves. I am proud, however, that they kicked the EU pansies back across the channel.

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          1. Again, you are reading the history books that support your position. Obviously, since Canada didn’t exist as a country until 1867, we were all Brits in 1812.

            We are also smart enough to let USanians take the blame for all that is wrong in the world. Trump has all the answers, which he won’t disclose for security reasons, so we will sit and watch the storm that hits the US once he starts his dictatorship. I still want him to build the wall through the Great Lakes.

            Happily, you aren’t there to suffer.

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            1. Kris: But, of course, I read stuff that supports my preconceptions. Doesn’t everyone? As for you Canucks being Brits in 1812, what you were are colonists, just like the Americans before we sent the Brits packing.

              As for Trump’s wall, all nations should have walls, i.e. protect their borders, and the more desirable a nation is the more important it is to guard its borders. Trump’s got the right idea. I just wish he would phrase it a tad more delicately.

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    1. Señor Cotton: I too am a fan of moving, generally. There is something quite fresh about it. It stirs the spirit.

      However, I detect a certain tone of ill will concerning “the dog,” whom you normally refer to by name. Interesting. Disturbing.

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    1. Señor Goodson: Muchas gracias. Sorry for the short delay in passing your comment through the pipeline. I’ve been “away from my desk.” You won’t be moderated in the future.

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