A Wednesday rundown

AT 8:30 A.M., I was parked in my post-pajama attire outside a tire outlet on the ring road with the intention of buying four new tires.

I arrived just moments before the joint opened and purchased Goodyears. My previous tires lasted the kilometer equivalent of about 30,000 miles and 2.5 years. I would have preferred more of both those measures. This new set cost the peso equivalent of about $367 U.S.

Having no point of comparison, I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

The new tires mean one thing:  I will be keeping the 2009 Honda indefinitely, not switching it for a new Kia Soul, which I’d been thinking of doing.

The Honda runs fine, so …

* * * *

Perhaps you know that a cabal of social media providers simultaneously threw Alex Jones, the Infowars fellow, into oblivion this week for no reason other than they do not like what comes from his mouth.

This is a very bad thing.

Jones is an objectionable fellow, I’ll grant, but the left-wingers crushed him because they disagree with his opinions. I heard something interesting this morning. It’s that virtually all of the world’s social media comes from within 300 miles of San Francisco.

Chew on that.

Some are calling Jones the canary in the mine.

Though Trump sits in the Oval Office, the Bolsheviks still control most of the important sectors of society in the Western World.

It’s a good time to be old and approaching death.

* * * *

It’s a lovely, cool August day here. After picking up the Honda at 10 a.m. and smooth-riding back to the Hacienda on new rubber, we ate cereal. My child bride cooked pinto beans for lunch this afternoon. We always have roasted chicken and beans on Wednesday.

I showered and dressed, did some plant trimming in the yard, swept the veranda, and now I’m going to the Jesus Patio and put my feet up.

* * * *

The news from yesterday was that I had a gold crown fall off one of my back molars. A few hours later I walked into a dental office on Romero Street, and a pretty young dentist reconnected it lickety-split for about $15 U.S.

 

Remains of the day

Train

THIS DAY DAWNED gray and cold. Upstairs, reading the morning’s ever-grim news from above the Rio Bravo, I shivered, and it was not simply the weather’s chill.

I heard the approaching freight train, so I picked up the Kodak Easyshare and stepped out to the terraza on the second floor and snapped this shot.

After doing exercise on the gym set across the room, the hour of 8 was upon me, so downstairs I went, calling out — as I always do — Let’s eat!   The cry is echoed back to me from the bedroom where my child bride is either still in bed, reading, or making it. The bed, that is.

I serve everything at that hour. The bagels, the cream cheese, the coffee, plus I set the plates and knives out, napkins too. I do it all, not being a real Mexican man who simply waits to be coddled.

After my child bride gets pinto beans boiling, we bundle up a bit, and walk 20 minutes around the nearby plaza. On our return, we sit on the downstairs terraza. I drink fresh orange juice squeezed before we departed, and she peels and eats a grapefruit, unsugared, which is just one step shy of sucking a lemon.

Women can be hard to figure.

Sitting there, we phone the propane company down the highway. Our tank is near empty. We’re told the truck will be here ahorita, which literally means pretty soon, but which actually means someday before you die.

Chores begin. I sweep the upstairs terraza and the service patio off the kitchen. I do some updates on the computer during the sweeps. I take a shower and dress. The propane delivery still has not arrived, but then I have not died yet. No matter. We have enough for many days more.

It’s almost time for Second Breakfast, which arrives at 11 a.m. I am scrubbed and installed in fresh clothes. My hair is combed, and I smell pretty good.

The ninth of April has not arrived at noon, but that’s all you get today. The remains must remain a mystery. I will say this much: Pinto beans and roasted chicken. Espresso on the plaza.

And the sun is now shining.