WISH YOU were here, having a great time.
THE RAINY season changes everything hereabouts. The mood, the grass, the feel, the temperature.
The daily rain was reluctant to start this year, but I think it’s finally worked up some enthusiasm. It rained gently most of last night and, as I write this in late morning, it’s still falling quietly and steadily, the rain. Nice.
Speaking of mood, usually, after our morning bagels or croissants, we step from the dining room into the living room and sit on the sofa, which is nice and soft. I put my feet up.
Sometimes incense and/or music.
We finish our coffee and talk. Okay, truth be told, she talks. And I listen. She is female, after all. And I’m not.
God created them to talk. Us to listen.
That lasts 15-30 minutes till we get up and start chores. There are always chores. We have no maid.
Life’s been pretty slow since we got back from our anniversary trip to Mineral de Pozos about a week ago.
Last weekend we hopped into the Honda and headed around the lake to an eatery I simply call The German Restaurant even though the real name is Campestre Alemán.
The German Restaurant offers grub you won’t find anywhere else in these parts, this world of endless tacos and cheese.
There is Bavarian sausage, for instance, and goulash too. I always order the Bavarian sausage, which comes with sauerkraut, something else you rarely encounter locally.
I took this photo of my Bavarian sausage and sauerkraut. Just beyond is the bunny my wife ate. I consider eating bunny appalling, but she does it anyway.
It’s still raining as I wind this up, which means there will be no morning exercise walk around the neighborhood plaza. I guess I’ll just shave, take a shower and put my jeans on.
It’s almost time for Breakfast #2. Cereal.
THE SUN RISES over yonder, and I get a great view from my upstairs terraza. Just thought I would share.
Switching focus now, we just completed our annual cleaning of the underground cistern. It goes like this: We turn off the incoming municipal water supply. We wait about a week, and the cistern is empty. All used up!
We descend via ladder, sweep and mop, and flip the water supply back on again. It takes about two days to refill, 9,000 liters. We toss in a bottle of bleach to kill cooties.
It now sports a concrete top with an square, entry door just big enough for one person to descend by ladder.
So, we’re set for another year. You still don’t want to drink the tap water in the Hacienda, but it’s likely fresher than you’ll find in most Mexican homes.
And after the labor, I get to do what I prefer doing:
TRANSFER OF WEALTH is the new hot term, popularized by the Left to explain why everyone is not prospering.
But it’s a great-sounding phrase that purports to explain why some people are more successful — sometimes flagrantly so — than others.
Wealthy people are rich because they stole money from the poor, or some pals “transferred” it to them.
First off, this notion is based on the false premise that a set amount of wealth exists, the “zero-sum” concept. If A gets richer, then B obviously grows poorer in the process.
This can be true. If Joe, with a NRA-approved Glock G21, pulls Moe into a dark alley and steals his wallet, then Joe has grown richer by transferring money from Moe.
But this is not how successful people get wealthy most of the time. Usually they do it because they are ambitious, intelligent, shrewd, patient, focused — and often lucky.
Poor people are usually poor because they lack one or more or all of those characteristics. Sometimes they are drunks and drug fiends too, none of which creates a good life.
Plus, do not discount just plain laziness.
(Note: I am referring to the Developed World, the traditional Land of Opportunity and Liberty. Other factors come into play in the Underdeveloped World.)
Okay, so you cannot name an individual or cabal that is doing this “transferring of wealth.” But that leaves one alternative, and it is the biggest wealth redistributor on the planet:
Democratic governments generally transfer wealth from the rich to the poor because there are more poor people, and they can vote. It is self-serving. Think Obama.
Non-democratic governments transfer wealth from the poor to the rich, which is to say the ne’er-do-wells grasping the reins of government. Think Somoza, Duvalier, Stroessner, etc.
People who decry “wealth transfer” these days ironically favor more government. They support guys like the old, wild-haired, irrational, openly socialist Bernie Sanders who wants up to a 90 percent tax rate on successful people.
Taxation is wealth transfer.
Since successful people are major job creators, taxing them into the soil is counterproductive. It slows economies and makes poor people even more poor. It is egregiously stupid.
People who support more government “transfer” of money are usually good-hearted folks. They mean well but are Utopians, out of touch with the reality of our flawed world.
If Americans are struggling financially these days — and many are — it’s due to bad government policies. It is no mysterious individual or group that’s “transferring” wealth.
So the Left actually supports “wealth transfer.” It just wants the transfer done according to its own rules. It wants to rob the successful to prop up the less-successful. It’s just “nice.”
The hard left of communism always fails (see Cuba, the Soviet Union, etc.) and the more moderate left of socialism, a softer touch, (see much of Europe) results in slogging economies.
Government can be good, but it must also be smart.
Wealth transfer belongs in the open marketplace where it’s a positive force. It’s called Capitalism.
Liberty and free markets make the best world, the best life for the most people. Sure, some will remain poor.
There’s no cure for that.
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(Note: The Left uses the term “transfer” because, to them, it is better than voicing the bald truth. Some people are far more successful at earning money than others. But this inequality of outcome doesn’t seem nice or “fair” to them.)
(Tip of the sombrero to Laurie La Gringa , who embraces “the Bern,” inspired this post.)
Routines change. While I once spent time in the hammock on the upstairs terraza, I now have a new routine, one that happened on its own.
The urge builds till about noon. I have previously wiped the glass-top table and web chairs on the yard patio, a morning chore, so all is ready by midday.
Having completed my internet chores, our morning plaza walk for exercise, a nice warm shower, cereal and vitamins at 11, that is when I do it.
I walk out to the yard patio casual-like, as if I have no grand purpose. I tote the Kindle, a little reading time, I tell myself. I sit and I read.
But not for long. Doze is what I mostly do, and it’s easy these October days. The green yard envelops me. The flowers bewitch me. The cool air caresses my aging flesh. I don’t last long. It’s better than a park bench.
There was a moment yesterday that said it all. A good photographer with a fancy camera would have seized that moment and captured it.
Luckily, I was not dozing. My eyes were open, and I told myself: What a great spot to live. How sweet not to have a job.
I am a lazy boy, and I like it.
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(Note: The wall in the photo sits in the yard. The ivy grows thicker and greener by the year. Ask the monkey and the swan.)