Musings of Mexico
By Dr. Alexander R. Lees
Yes, we will definitely be getting back to writing articles (next month) on therapeutic case histories, examples initiating various intervention-isms, and related subject matters. However, the overwhelming feedback suggests so many want more stories about our adventures here in Mexico, so here we go. The Gardener The house in which we presently and happily find ourselves includes the services of a gardener. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays he arrives with his son to tend to the grounds. This includes cutting the lawn when needed, the trimming of the various foliage, and general cleanup of the grounds. It also includes watering everything, and this is the heart of the story. We have now entered the rainy season and practically every late afternoon, down it comes, sometimes in torrents. For the most part, it is a welcome relief, as the mountains turn quickly green (something the snowbirds generally miss), the temperature drops a few degrees, and dust on the side roads is washed away. As we sat within the protection of the screened in sun porch, enjoying both a hot cup of tea and the spectacle of the storm outside, the gate opened, and in -- you guessed it -- walked the gardener... and began watering the lawn. Although we are slowly but steadily acclimating to the way things are down here, it is something that requires the occasional recall. However, that inquisitive part of me that is drawn to understanding human nature kicked in, and I found myself outside and opening a dialogue with the usual "Hola." Once this part of the conversation was satisfied, I found myself saying: "Well, that was quite a storm, wasn't it?" Now, although his English is limited, it is far superior to my Spanish, which is still confined to Hola, Buenos Diaz, Buenos Tardes, and the like, so he responded with: "Si, it was." "But you water the lawn..." "Si," he replied, adding a head nod. "But why is this so?" I inquired. "Senor, it is my job," he replied, and did so as if as if the reasoning was obvious. The Mechanic Whist we await the delivery of our newly purchased car, we are driving a rental. A few days ago, I phoned the owner of the business to inform him the battery seemed to not hold a charge, and was beginning to grind a bit on start up. Immediately, a mechanic was dispatched to deal with the problem, and after tinkering under the hood for a few minutes, he explained he would leave me his vehicle in case I needed it, and take ours to the garage for further work. After I gave the beast a quick push to start it for him, he was on his way. Shortly thereafter, I had to go out to purchase a few items at the store. I jumped into his car and after driving a few blocks, the car promptly over-heated. I pulled over to the side of the road to let it cool. Once the temperature had dropped sufficiently, I babied it home and parked it. I guess it just wasn't my day to drive anywhere! The mechanic returned a few hours later (with my car) to announce: "Senor, I find the fluids, they are low in the battery. We fix," he finished enthusiastically. I thanked him very much and mentioned that the car he lent me had over-heated. His response indicated that it was not a concern and he would deal with it later. It was early evening and time for Ty's doggie walk along the waterfront. The car refused to respond to the efforts of the starter -- was this really a message not to drive today, or was it just bad luck? Whichever -- I was now determined to drive somewhere.. anywhere, so after a quick push -- we have a very steep driveway so it was easy for Berit to push the car :-) we were on our way to the waterfront. We parked on a slight incline to facilitate a restart for the trip home. The next morning, we remembered there were several things we just "had" to do, so we spent a very interesting morning, attending to our errands, always making sure we had parked on a slight incline so Berit could push the car and help get it rolling. There was only one slightly tense moment -- the inclinde was not steep enough (where we had parked) so we were having problems getting the car onto the carretara (highway). The car was half on and half off the road, but the bus missed us by a few inches, and we were finally on our way home, breathing a great sigh of relief. Once again, I called the rental agency, mentioning that we still had battery problems, and the "loaner" car had over heated. "Oh yes," was the reply. "The fan mechanism packed it in yesterday and we're waiting for the parts to arrive. Didn't the driver tell you there was no fan?" As the North American part of my brain kicked in and was about to say, "Are you telling me the guy drives a car in this heat without a cooling fan installed and he lends it out to a customer...?" But, luckily, my new Mexican brain in training won out, and I simply said, "It must have slipped his mind. We're home now, so no problem, senor." I'm really beginning to appreciate my newly developing Mexican brain... no smoke has come out of my ears in days. The Crack in the Fender On another day I had phoned the car rental owner to tell him a crack had appeared in the front fender of the vehicle, just above the wheel. In no time at all, the representative arrived to inspect the damage. Quickly, he produced a tube of Super Glue, and after dappling some on the crack, nodded in satisfaction, and left. A short time later, I couldn't help myself; I pressed gently on the crack, only to find it was just as before. Into the house, find my little stash of minimal tools and 'goodies,' and returned to the car with a fresh tube of Super Glue. This time, I used a kitchen knife to gently pry apart the separation, applied the glue to the exposed edges, and maneuvered them back into alignment. A quick check some ten minutes later confirmed they were now bonded together. A few days later, I happened to run into the mechanic on the street. After exchanging some pleasantries, he inquired about his repair. Naturally, I assured him the crack was indeed fixed, and he beamed both with pride and enthusiasm as he strolled away. The moral of this story: I was happy, the mechanic was happy, and always have Super Glue on hand! The Realtor from Hell The main reason we left the previous rental house was the attitude of one sole realtor. Imagine the following: The phone rings, and I answered it to hear a voice saying: "I'm calling to remind you of the appointment to show the house today." A quick check with Berit reveals neither of us know of any arranged appointment, so I conveyed this message to 'the voice' on the phone. "I don't care!" was the reply. "I will show this house with or without you! I will come at at 2:00 pm, whether you are there or not, and I will show that house! If you try to object, you will be thrown out on the street by tonight!" he yelled. It didn't require many of my remaining gray cells to process this fellow was not only breaking the 'rules,' but was not open to negotiating a time acceptable to both sides, so, not knowing the rules and laws regarding tenant rights, etc., I quickly phoned the police. A pickup truck sliding to a halt just outside our gate was a clue that the police had arrived. I unlocked it to find an officer of about 6'2" (Berit asked me to add -- he was gorgeous!) standing there with his partner, and a shotgun in hand. After a quick sketch of the situation, they inspected both the house and the rental contract. It was at this point Berit spoke up. "He really scared me, she proclaimed. "I could hear him yelling at my husband over the phone, and my husband is recovering from some serious medical issues. We need some assistance with this." Officer Very Large swelled up even more, thumped his chest whilst still holding the shotgun in his other hand, and declared: "I your body cop now." Naturally, both Berit and I were left without a program, so after mulling the phrase around in our heads, we suddenly said, "Oh, you mean bodyguard!" "Si, Si!" was the response. This was followed by another chest thump, and a declaration that he was now our bodyguard, and the shotgun waved menacingly around in a half circle. We suppose the realtor in question must have seen the truck outside, and wisely decided to avoid entering the premises. After an hour or so, the officer belatedly explained they would have to go, but that if the realtor showed up, they wanted to know about it, ASAP. Telling the story to a friend over lunch a few days later, he commented it was smart on the realtor's part to simply stay away. "And why is that," I queried, still wanting as much insight as possible into the how things run down here. "Oh, they would have handcuffed him, thrown him into the back of the truck -- and believe me -- they aren't gentle about it, and carted him off to jail," he advised. "Really?" was all I could think of to say. "Oh yes." said my friend. "You don't threaten people down here, especially women, and especially a gringo woman," he said. "It may be considered a macho society, but they do have their rules, and they do enforce them." Anyway, the rental agent became involved, and animatedly explained we didn't have to put up with this kind of behavior, and although we didn't have to move, she had talked to the owner, and he had been persuaded to let us out of the contract, including the return of our damage deposit. We were about to ask why we should move when she added: "Senor, this realtor represents the attitude of the owner. Neither is a nice man. I will not be representing him any longer. If you leave, the house will be empty, and he will not receive any more money." So, a subtle 'revenge' strategy exists even here, we quickly realized, but certainly isn't stated. Those we've met are far more subtle than that, reserving it for specific occasions, and delivering it in such a way they seem merely to be complying with the wishes of the other party. Now, I was going to use the above experiences to wax poetic about the need to accept, rather than insist upon change -- as if one could -- the cultural and other differences one encounters along life's path. Now as it happened, Susan's article arrived whilst I was writing this one, and I read both hers and Berit's in sequence. After reading them both, I quickly realized they had captured the query or essence of adaption so much better than I. I hope you take the time to read them. Next month, as per Susan's request to us in an email, I'll tackle the question of what, exactly, one does to do so -- that is, introduce you to some tried and true 'coping' techniques. Thanks, Susan.:-) Meanwhile, Tom's article just graced my computer screen, which once again is indeed well written. I for one am certainly looking forward to his follow up articles, which will explain the techniques he used to improve his sight. I'd like to get rid of my reading glasses too!
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During our walks in one of the neighbourhoods along the lakefront, I observed some interesting street lights. 
And, my favourite is across from our house... 
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Contributing Columnist Susan Stone is a licensed acupuncturist, certified in Eden Energy Medicine and Eden Energy Medicine for Women. In addition she is a Registered Bach Flower practitioner, an Acutonics practitioner, with a BS degree in Nutrition and Dietetics, and has been in private practice since 1977. Susan's other interests include a passion for dressage, mountain climbing, and life. Contact Susan at her clinic in the Boston, MA area. 
