The Mexican mail system is famous for its pokiness, but today takes the cake. I did my biweekly run to the post office this morning to check my box, and there was a letter from Hearst pensions. It was dated back in January. I’ve had mail take a month or two on rare occasion but never six months. Stamped on the envelope was this message:
Missent to Malaysia.
Now that was quite a detour. I wish I could have gone along for the ride. But I don’t think Mexico did it. I think the Gringos were at fault. Mexico, Malaysia, it all looks the same to them.
Luckily, the Hearst envelope contained nothing of significance. But Social Security sends recipients who live outside the United States a yearly letter we must sign and return to prove we’re still alive.
The Social Security letter was not sent last year because of the Kung Flu. I imagine all those civil servants were at home, smiling, while their salaries were direct-deposited to their banks and they were out back grilling burgers on the barbie. So far the letter has not come this year either. It normally arrives in May or June.
Government employees must be loving the Kung Flu hysteria. Endless paid vacations. There’s a reason that governments almost everywhere are promoting Kung Flu. It’s manna from heaven.
If you work for the government.
We’re hard into the rainy season now. The grass is green, and flowers are blooming. This morning, as I raised the curtain in the bedroom, I spotted a black-vented oriole perched on a red-hot poker plant.
And the hummingbirds are happy. This yellow flower comes from a bulb that hides underground most of the year, but it pops up a blooming plant annually about now to greet the rainfall.
Another plus to the daily rains is that it fills the galvanized tub from a rooftop drainpipe, and I just have to dip the watering can in there, easy peasy, as they say. You get your little pleasures where you can.
The watering can delivers drinks to the potted plants that live beneath the roof of the downstairs terraza.
It was drizzling when I drove to the post office around 9 a.m., and I wondered if Abel the Deadpan Yardman would show up today for the weekly mowing. As I write this at almost 11, he’s a no-show, and it’s not drizzling anymore. If he doesn’t come today, he’ll come tomorrow. He’s quite reliable, and he likes money, as we all do.