So This Was My Birthday

Rain
It started with a view of rains as I woke up, this day of celebrating 64 years of my life.
But the rains gave way and I did what I had promised myself to do, to go town to buy stuff for a nice dinner ( and look for Canola oil ) and the makings of a cake.
And all went well, I even found the oil and I bought myself a birthday present, a $ 2.99 blue t-shirt.
And I fixed the dinner and sat down and ate it and was about ready to do the dishes and make the coffee and relax with some mindless stuff on the TV when
KABOOM
something made a very large bang and the lights went out.
It is remarkable how much we rely on electricity. Without it there is no TV, no radio, no computer and in my case, no telephone. Nor can one just sit and read a book, as candles, let me tell you, leave a lot to be desired for reading. Strangely enough I am presently reading Trollope, whose tomes take place in the later years of Victoria with candles and gas light. May hap they printed a larger font then.
So there I was. My birthday, all by myself, and no electricity.
Never before since I stopped smoking had I wanted a cigarette as much as I did then.
But I just walked and walked around the house and waited, hoping that things would magically get better.
They didn't and by ten I realized that this was it and went to bed.
So this was my birthday.
As a PS, they came and fixed the problem to-day about 5. We did not quite make the 24 hour line, but darn close.
Viva Mexico.

On shopping for oil

This I had decided. I was to stop and check my p.o.box, and if the telephone bill was there, then I would jump on a public conveyance and go to Commercial Mexicana, the supermarket where one can pay one's phone bill and shop for food all in one place. If no bill, then I would get a few things at Ley, the very Mexican market in the center of town.
No bill, so Ley it was.
One thing I needed was a bottle of cooking oil. The last I bought was Canola, and I really liked it so I was searching the narrow and cramped aisle for oils and such like, not finding the one I was looking for. But AHA, thought I, a young person is busy stocking the shelves; I shall ask him.
It went something like this:
me...excuse me, young man. Do you have Canola Oil ?
him...Canola?
me...yes, Canola, Canola Oil
him...Oil? Canola?
me...yes, like this oil, this is soy oil. I want Canola.
him...Soy ? Oil ?
me...it says right here on the label...SOY! but I want canola, do you have any ?
him...Ah, this is soy oil
me...I know, I would like Canola, please.
him...One moment. I will ask boss man.
Boss man arrives. He looks around importantly and I start again
me...Excuse me , do you have Canola Oil
Boss man...Uh, we have oil, uh, corn and.......soy and
me, exasperated...I know, but do you have Canola Oil ?
Boss man, busy studying the shelves, looks at me and asks....Oil?
me..Thanks you for your time, thank you
and depart sans oil of any kind.
But tomorrow is another day, and another try.

A joke

Most houses here in Vallarta have names, and it is even more important when your street address is, like in my case, totally incomprehensible to Mexicans ( try to explain who Ava Gardner is/was.. and then try to spell it ) .
I decided for a joke to name my house The Dog House
Only in Danish
and only to add to the confusion.
Dogs bark the same in all countries, what do they care.

On Blogging

When I first started my blog, I thought it was just going to be my thoughts shared by me with my family and a few close friends.
And this is not quite the way it works; The more one blogs, the greater the need to know that somewhere someone is reading your ramblings and, hopefully, liking them.
But the only way you will ever, ever know, is if that someone sitting somewhere reading your blog, posts a comment.
Admittedly it is not always easy to share a comment. Some blogs are darn difficult to enter. I once spent hours getting legitimized so I could post a comment on a blog. I never went back. But it is always a thrill when you suddenly see that someone has posted a comment.
This is my way of saying thanks to the people who not only read my blog, but who take the time to comment.

A new Career

It happened again.
I had finished a blog and did the obligatory spell-check, as my typing sucks and my spelling is not far behind.
And no yellow highlights.
No way, thought I, no way are there no mistakes, so I tried again and
POOOF
the post disappeared, and the more I tried to get it back, the more frustrated I became.
It was gone.
I took ten deep breaths, and one more for good measure and said to myself:
Self, there's got to be something positive in this.
And then I had my epiphany.
If George Bush can be "The Decider", then I, who can make posts disappear, will be "The Disappearer".
I can lease my services to CIA and FBI and Karl Rove and Alberto Gonzales
and the silliness about nothing is ever truly lost from a computer
HA
they haven't met "The Disappearer" yet. With the "Madsen Magic Touch" I can rule the world of lost posts and emails.
The only problem is to advertise my services, because sure as manure the ad will follow all the lost posts.
Ah Well, it was a nice thought.

The Saga of the Tree With Yellow Flowers

In spring when driving to town, Chuck and I always loved to watch a tree by Garza Blanca which was covered in yellow flowers. One year we stopped after the flowering and picked up a seed pod, a strange longish sausage thing. From that we grew two trees and we were eagerly waiting for the trees to mature and produce flowers.
Well, Chuck died before they got that big, and their first time they had but a few flowers, and something must have alerted all the leaf-and-flowers eating insects and what-nots in the neighborhood to come and enjoy this new treat. The trees were stripped down to bare branches.
But this year we managed to produce the flowers, and what a wonderment; luscious grape shaped clusters of yellow flowers, right here, right in my own back yard.
If only Chuck could have seen it.

Eating Out

I don't much care for eating out, but " The Dames Who Rescue dogs " and I have lately gotten together for a couple of lunches.
Lunches, because we are all of an age, and having lunch leaves you with time for the real important stuff, such as feeding your animals and watching the news.
Rita, the other half of the rescue dames, has seven dogs in her house. ( she has a very big house ) .
So we have gathered at Inge's for lunches in the sun. The only problem is that Guadalupe, Inge's maid/cook has a very limited cooking vocabulary, consisting mostly of lots of oil and high heat, so even the most delicate pieces of fish fillets come out as contenders for shoe leather. How she does it is a mystery to me.
But I feel tremendously safe eating her food. No wayward bacteria or germ will survive her frying.
Maybe I should be grateful for that.
So we eat and gossip and compliment Lupe on her cooking and feel really good that we are so civilized.
And start planning for the next lunch.