C. Michaels's Blog, page 5
April 29, 2013
Papers, Please…
After weeks of hearing the horrors of nationalizing my car, I decided to quit complaining and just do it. Hmm, that was easy. Note to self, don’t listen to rumors in the future, they always make this kind of thing seem impossible.
I had friends to caravan with, all of us with the same goal of turning our USA car into a Mexican chariot (with four wheels, of course). We started out from Mazatlán just before the sun made her presence over the eastern skyline of mother earth. There were four cars. Well, four cars, and a cargo trailer. Yes, that would be my car that had this cute little silver bullet hitched to her back end. I tell you, I can’t count the number of times I looked in my mirror, and frowned at the guy tailing me. “Ha,” I’d remember, “I forgot about the trailer tailing me.”
After the first 100 miles, two of the cars decided to head for the border, leaving us remaining drivers to fend for ourselves. “Was it something I said?” I just couldn’t stop being the little engine that could when it came to the hills, so we gave the faster vehicles our blessing. After all, it seemed appropriate to have them zoom ahead. It reminded me of the scout in the early television series, Wagon Train. Yes, this seemed like a very good idea. If there were problems ahead, we two remaining slow pokes (Well, I was the slow one) would hear our cell phones ring with a warning.
Happy to say, we never got that call.
We drove and drove and drove. After 10 hours, we decided to call it quits. We had reached the town of Hermosillo, a city about four hours from our target… THE BORDER.
Ready to have a meal, wine, and sleep, we anxiously drove the main drag looking for the place we would soon call home for the night. Oh, I forgot to mention, we each had our dog with us, making it a tad more difficult to find this grand hotel.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the street was lined with horses and proud cowboys smiling as they pranced through the boulevard. It made no sense, what was this? There must have been thousands of them! Then I saw the mobile music stages, all lined up on the side of the road, the musicians setting up to launch their delightful notes into the air for the festive evening. There was the queen or maybe princess, she was dressed in jeans, cowboy hat and boots, and a checkered shirt. She was wearing a pageant ribbon across her chest that identified her as the special lady for the parade.
Parade, funny thought… I felt as though I was the parade while slowly making my way down the street. Cowboys waved, smiled, they must have appreciated my rig and my dog. I laughed and became lost in the fantasy that I was the queen. I began waving the way the pretty ladies do on the parade floats. The reaction was stupendous, the cowboys went crazy, they yelped as cowboys evidently do. My tired mind was revitalized!
Then came the realization that it might be difficult to find our bed for the night. My partners in the caravan swiftly took the lead and turned onto a small side street. It took us up into the Sierra Madre hills, (there were more wonderful cowboys up there too) then back down to the old part of town. The sun was beginning to set when I noticed the ladies standing on the street corners. These women were clearly not in town to watch the parade, they were working. I thought, “What part of town have we wandered into?!”
One block away from the working ladies, we found what we were looking for. It wasn’t the Hyatt, but it did have a nice lobby and a welcome mat for our dogs; it was our home for the next 10 or so hours. My room was missing a bar of soap and a coffee pot, but who was I to complain? It had a bed.
We enjoyed our wine, (gave up on dinner) and retired for the night.
The next morning, we were ready to get to the border. It didn’t take long for us to reach the place where we would finally get papers for our vehicles.
Here is the important part of this story if any of you readers are planning this excursion.
DO NOT TRY THIS ALONE!
Enter our angel, his name is OSCAR. Oscar is a broker who will do all your paper work; he guided us through the process, the steps one must go through to nationalize a car. Without Oscar, we might still be at the border, and we’ve been home now for five days.
Oscar is a wonderful, bright man with a gorgeous smile. Now, you might ask, why have I mentioned his smile? My answer to this question is very clear. His smile and direct instructions took the fear out of this unknown experience. He stayed with us as we drove up the highway to drive through an inspection booth, (I got the red light) he had our paperwork ready to process, (all in Spanish) he held our hands until we were finished. This man is a pro at what he does. A lady who works for him, Juany is her name, rode with me, she kept me relaxed while we waited for my car to be inspected. Instead of smiling throughout the day, I might have been crying if Oscar and Juany hadn’t been there.
We were finished by 3 pm, our cars and trailer proudly taking on the Mexican heritage. We headed south. Oddly enough, we reached Hermosillo without enough hours of sun to get us to the next town. We smiled, and headed for the neighborhood where the ladies work on the street corners. We reached our hotel and were greeted by our friends from the previous evening. We were home. After dropping our things off in our rooms, we headed to the pool area where we drank a bottle of wine, and then went to our rooms for some much needed sleep.
The next day was bitter sweet when we said goodbye to the hotel workers, but, by golly… it was time to get home.
Did I learn anything from this trip? Of course I did. I am here on this earth to get the word out about Oscar. He will take the fear and anxiety out of this monumental thing they call NATIONALIZING YOUR CAR.
Oscar can be reached at ancomercial@hotmail.com. Tell him that I said hi, please. You won’t regret your decision. After all, you must see this man’s smile, it will warm your insides.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
I had friends to caravan with, all of us with the same goal of turning our USA car into a Mexican chariot (with four wheels, of course). We started out from Mazatlán just before the sun made her presence over the eastern skyline of mother earth. There were four cars. Well, four cars, and a cargo trailer. Yes, that would be my car that had this cute little silver bullet hitched to her back end. I tell you, I can’t count the number of times I looked in my mirror, and frowned at the guy tailing me. “Ha,” I’d remember, “I forgot about the trailer tailing me.”
After the first 100 miles, two of the cars decided to head for the border, leaving us remaining drivers to fend for ourselves. “Was it something I said?” I just couldn’t stop being the little engine that could when it came to the hills, so we gave the faster vehicles our blessing. After all, it seemed appropriate to have them zoom ahead. It reminded me of the scout in the early television series, Wagon Train. Yes, this seemed like a very good idea. If there were problems ahead, we two remaining slow pokes (Well, I was the slow one) would hear our cell phones ring with a warning.
Happy to say, we never got that call.
We drove and drove and drove. After 10 hours, we decided to call it quits. We had reached the town of Hermosillo, a city about four hours from our target… THE BORDER.
Ready to have a meal, wine, and sleep, we anxiously drove the main drag looking for the place we would soon call home for the night. Oh, I forgot to mention, we each had our dog with us, making it a tad more difficult to find this grand hotel.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the street was lined with horses and proud cowboys smiling as they pranced through the boulevard. It made no sense, what was this? There must have been thousands of them! Then I saw the mobile music stages, all lined up on the side of the road, the musicians setting up to launch their delightful notes into the air for the festive evening. There was the queen or maybe princess, she was dressed in jeans, cowboy hat and boots, and a checkered shirt. She was wearing a pageant ribbon across her chest that identified her as the special lady for the parade.
Parade, funny thought… I felt as though I was the parade while slowly making my way down the street. Cowboys waved, smiled, they must have appreciated my rig and my dog. I laughed and became lost in the fantasy that I was the queen. I began waving the way the pretty ladies do on the parade floats. The reaction was stupendous, the cowboys went crazy, they yelped as cowboys evidently do. My tired mind was revitalized!
Then came the realization that it might be difficult to find our bed for the night. My partners in the caravan swiftly took the lead and turned onto a small side street. It took us up into the Sierra Madre hills, (there were more wonderful cowboys up there too) then back down to the old part of town. The sun was beginning to set when I noticed the ladies standing on the street corners. These women were clearly not in town to watch the parade, they were working. I thought, “What part of town have we wandered into?!”
One block away from the working ladies, we found what we were looking for. It wasn’t the Hyatt, but it did have a nice lobby and a welcome mat for our dogs; it was our home for the next 10 or so hours. My room was missing a bar of soap and a coffee pot, but who was I to complain? It had a bed.
We enjoyed our wine, (gave up on dinner) and retired for the night.
The next morning, we were ready to get to the border. It didn’t take long for us to reach the place where we would finally get papers for our vehicles.
Here is the important part of this story if any of you readers are planning this excursion.
DO NOT TRY THIS ALONE!
Enter our angel, his name is OSCAR. Oscar is a broker who will do all your paper work; he guided us through the process, the steps one must go through to nationalize a car. Without Oscar, we might still be at the border, and we’ve been home now for five days.
Oscar is a wonderful, bright man with a gorgeous smile. Now, you might ask, why have I mentioned his smile? My answer to this question is very clear. His smile and direct instructions took the fear out of this unknown experience. He stayed with us as we drove up the highway to drive through an inspection booth, (I got the red light) he had our paperwork ready to process, (all in Spanish) he held our hands until we were finished. This man is a pro at what he does. A lady who works for him, Juany is her name, rode with me, she kept me relaxed while we waited for my car to be inspected. Instead of smiling throughout the day, I might have been crying if Oscar and Juany hadn’t been there.
We were finished by 3 pm, our cars and trailer proudly taking on the Mexican heritage. We headed south. Oddly enough, we reached Hermosillo without enough hours of sun to get us to the next town. We smiled, and headed for the neighborhood where the ladies work on the street corners. We reached our hotel and were greeted by our friends from the previous evening. We were home. After dropping our things off in our rooms, we headed to the pool area where we drank a bottle of wine, and then went to our rooms for some much needed sleep.
The next day was bitter sweet when we said goodbye to the hotel workers, but, by golly… it was time to get home.
Did I learn anything from this trip? Of course I did. I am here on this earth to get the word out about Oscar. He will take the fear and anxiety out of this monumental thing they call NATIONALIZING YOUR CAR.
Oscar can be reached at ancomercial@hotmail.com. Tell him that I said hi, please. You won’t regret your decision. After all, you must see this man’s smile, it will warm your insides.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
April 17, 2013
What Is It About Those Cookies?
Cookies, they do make most of us smile, and perhaps make our mouths water with anticipation. Maybe it is a fond memory of a childhood experience, or maybe it’s simpler than that… we just plain like them.
Here in Mazatlán, I have seen folks use these cute little devils to bribe people behind counters in government buildings to expedite their business. Yes, this is when I first discovered the value of the cookies.
I had spent hours at the Immigration office to renew my visa, when my number was finally called. I was excited as you would expect. But, something happened that day that widened my horizons. The nice man behind the counter was helping me when I saw his eyes drift off to a woman walking through the door.
“Senora Jones”, he said with a big smile.
At first, I thought she was his friend; yes, he was just being cordial to a friend. Other thoughts entered my mind as I soon became aware that my first place standing had suddenly been downgraded to second. Perhaps she was a famous person, a movie star or political figure. That would be easy to understand.
I politely put up with his indignant behavior, my quick-witted mind realizing that I could be rejected all day if I wasn’t careful. The frozen smile on my face was beginning to make my jaws ache by the time he finished with Mrs. Jones and gave me his attention once again.
The man completed my papers and told me to go to the bank to pay the money due for this precious card. “Come back after you are done at the bank so I can finish this process.” He smiled at me and called the next number.
I got to the bank in record time, I was so ready for this ordeal to be over. The doors to the bank weren’t open yet so I stood with a small crowd of folks looking at the door, hoping it would move (my dog does that when she wants to go for a walk). I looked to my side and there was Mrs. Jones!
“Well, hello. I saw you at the Immigration office,” I said graciously. “It looked like you and the man behind the counter are good friends.” Kind of sneaky, I know.
Mrs. Jones looked at me with a smirk and replied, “No, but I brought him cookies this morning. It works every time.”
You know that feeling when a notion just smacks your brain, “Wow! I could have had a V-8!” It was a powerful lesson, one of those times when I had been given a key that would unlock future waits for the people behind the counters.
I have some dear friends here in town, a married couple. They love to listen to music, dance to tunes of all the great offerings of Mazatlán’s night life. They take cookies to the bands. Now, of course this is not bribery on their part; nothing but pure kindness, but it goes a long way in making the music members happy. Before I even met this couple, my band friends told me about them, and how much they looked forward to their treats. Did I mention that this couple has a reserved table right in front of the band?
Cookies, it may have been the best lesson I learned this winter. I’d better go, the smell of the cookies in my oven is telling me they are ready for packaging. What is it about those cookies?
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
Here in Mazatlán, I have seen folks use these cute little devils to bribe people behind counters in government buildings to expedite their business. Yes, this is when I first discovered the value of the cookies.
I had spent hours at the Immigration office to renew my visa, when my number was finally called. I was excited as you would expect. But, something happened that day that widened my horizons. The nice man behind the counter was helping me when I saw his eyes drift off to a woman walking through the door.
“Senora Jones”, he said with a big smile.
At first, I thought she was his friend; yes, he was just being cordial to a friend. Other thoughts entered my mind as I soon became aware that my first place standing had suddenly been downgraded to second. Perhaps she was a famous person, a movie star or political figure. That would be easy to understand.
I politely put up with his indignant behavior, my quick-witted mind realizing that I could be rejected all day if I wasn’t careful. The frozen smile on my face was beginning to make my jaws ache by the time he finished with Mrs. Jones and gave me his attention once again.
The man completed my papers and told me to go to the bank to pay the money due for this precious card. “Come back after you are done at the bank so I can finish this process.” He smiled at me and called the next number.
I got to the bank in record time, I was so ready for this ordeal to be over. The doors to the bank weren’t open yet so I stood with a small crowd of folks looking at the door, hoping it would move (my dog does that when she wants to go for a walk). I looked to my side and there was Mrs. Jones!
“Well, hello. I saw you at the Immigration office,” I said graciously. “It looked like you and the man behind the counter are good friends.” Kind of sneaky, I know.
Mrs. Jones looked at me with a smirk and replied, “No, but I brought him cookies this morning. It works every time.”
You know that feeling when a notion just smacks your brain, “Wow! I could have had a V-8!” It was a powerful lesson, one of those times when I had been given a key that would unlock future waits for the people behind the counters.
I have some dear friends here in town, a married couple. They love to listen to music, dance to tunes of all the great offerings of Mazatlán’s night life. They take cookies to the bands. Now, of course this is not bribery on their part; nothing but pure kindness, but it goes a long way in making the music members happy. Before I even met this couple, my band friends told me about them, and how much they looked forward to their treats. Did I mention that this couple has a reserved table right in front of the band?
Cookies, it may have been the best lesson I learned this winter. I’d better go, the smell of the cookies in my oven is telling me they are ready for packaging. What is it about those cookies?
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
April 10, 2013
Writing In Mazatlán
It’s three in the morning, and I just finished a seductive scene in my new novel. Hmmm, that could be the end of this blog. but I'll go on.
I seem to gravitate to the night shift when I write. I can hear the waves from my window (is that like seeing Russia from ones doorstep?), the stars are bright, I can see lights from the distant buildings. It is so peaceful. The night air is comfortable, much more so than the hot stuff that makes my face drippy during the day shift. This is nice, really nice.
Perhaps the serenity is enhanced by the fact that Moto Week has just ended. I lived in South Dakota many years ago, went to college there for a few years. I lived in a little town called Spearfish, about 12 miles from Sturgis. You can imagine how surprised I was to learn that Mazatlán is another Sturgis for the biker lovers.
Hot weather, loud bikers in town, sweaty face… yes, it does make sense that my internal clock would scream at my mind to wake up at 2 am to work. If only I could figure out a way to not sleep at all. The days here are magnificent in April, always feels like a vacation. The beach walks, the events going on in town. I love it all, and when I go to bed, I know that I will have the fun of waking at a magical hour so I can spend time with my new friends, the ones that are alive, and well in my Word document.
I am now writing the third and last installment in a series. The best part of this is that my characters are already developed and energetic. These guys are real people... folks that have their own thoughts, their own desires; it never ceases to amaze me. I do have a few new characters, like Josie. Poor Josie. She is smitten with a man who could be dangerous. But, who wouldn’t be drawn to him? This man is beautiful, charming, charismatic, and intelligent. Did I mention that he’s also insane, a vicious murderer? From Cross Roads to NO FEAR! and now to Dead Days of Mickey, these guys are fun to spend my nights with.
Rico, he is a scary one. But I have to admit, if I met him, I would be taken with the man just as Josie has been. I guess no one is perfect. If only I could find a man with all his traits. Well, not the murdering part, or the insane madness. But all the rest would be grand. Poor Josie.
What about Mickey? He’s back in town, he has a feeling that something bad is going to happen. He gets this way, and he hasn’t been wrong yet. Now, he would be a fun one to meet. After all, he's well over 100 years old, he died 42 years ago, but some kind of anomaly happened the night he was murdered. He didn’t seem to die. With that said, he hasn’t aged a day in all the years since his murder. What a sweet man he is. I would like to talk with him.
All these folks are staying at Templetons de México, a plush hotel on the north beach of Mazatlán. Gloria Templeton is interesting, so beautiful and full of appeal. By golly, I want to know her too, her and her lovely assistant, Emma.
I remember an episode from the Twilight Zone when I was a kid. There were folks living in a town, a town where the train went in circles, the trees were not real, the houses only facades. There was no way out of the parameters set for this settlement, like there was nothingness beyond this little place. At the end of the show, a huge shadow is seen, slowly coming from the sky. As the viewer soon discovers, it’s a huge hand that picks up one of the little people in this town. We learn that the hand belongs to the little girl who is playing with her doll house. Boy, I sure hope my characters aren’t afraid of me, I do want them to like me and not think of me as the little girl who is playing with them. That would be a shame if they didn’t like me, for we have a lot of nights ahead of us. We’d all better get along so I can get this novel in the hands of readers.
Maybe I’d better stick to pounding on my keyboard, and forget about being their friend. After all, I know too much about them; their secrets, their sexual lives, their nasty habits such as killing people. Yes, it’s best to let them alone and do their thing. I wouldn’t want to scare them, they might start hiding things from me, and then where would the story go?
Oh my, the sun will be rising soon. Looks like I’d better try and get some sleep so I can act like I’m on holiday in a few hours. Mazatlán, what an interesting place to do my writing.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
I seem to gravitate to the night shift when I write. I can hear the waves from my window (is that like seeing Russia from ones doorstep?), the stars are bright, I can see lights from the distant buildings. It is so peaceful. The night air is comfortable, much more so than the hot stuff that makes my face drippy during the day shift. This is nice, really nice.
Perhaps the serenity is enhanced by the fact that Moto Week has just ended. I lived in South Dakota many years ago, went to college there for a few years. I lived in a little town called Spearfish, about 12 miles from Sturgis. You can imagine how surprised I was to learn that Mazatlán is another Sturgis for the biker lovers.
Hot weather, loud bikers in town, sweaty face… yes, it does make sense that my internal clock would scream at my mind to wake up at 2 am to work. If only I could figure out a way to not sleep at all. The days here are magnificent in April, always feels like a vacation. The beach walks, the events going on in town. I love it all, and when I go to bed, I know that I will have the fun of waking at a magical hour so I can spend time with my new friends, the ones that are alive, and well in my Word document.
I am now writing the third and last installment in a series. The best part of this is that my characters are already developed and energetic. These guys are real people... folks that have their own thoughts, their own desires; it never ceases to amaze me. I do have a few new characters, like Josie. Poor Josie. She is smitten with a man who could be dangerous. But, who wouldn’t be drawn to him? This man is beautiful, charming, charismatic, and intelligent. Did I mention that he’s also insane, a vicious murderer? From Cross Roads to NO FEAR! and now to Dead Days of Mickey, these guys are fun to spend my nights with.
Rico, he is a scary one. But I have to admit, if I met him, I would be taken with the man just as Josie has been. I guess no one is perfect. If only I could find a man with all his traits. Well, not the murdering part, or the insane madness. But all the rest would be grand. Poor Josie.
What about Mickey? He’s back in town, he has a feeling that something bad is going to happen. He gets this way, and he hasn’t been wrong yet. Now, he would be a fun one to meet. After all, he's well over 100 years old, he died 42 years ago, but some kind of anomaly happened the night he was murdered. He didn’t seem to die. With that said, he hasn’t aged a day in all the years since his murder. What a sweet man he is. I would like to talk with him.
All these folks are staying at Templetons de México, a plush hotel on the north beach of Mazatlán. Gloria Templeton is interesting, so beautiful and full of appeal. By golly, I want to know her too, her and her lovely assistant, Emma.
I remember an episode from the Twilight Zone when I was a kid. There were folks living in a town, a town where the train went in circles, the trees were not real, the houses only facades. There was no way out of the parameters set for this settlement, like there was nothingness beyond this little place. At the end of the show, a huge shadow is seen, slowly coming from the sky. As the viewer soon discovers, it’s a huge hand that picks up one of the little people in this town. We learn that the hand belongs to the little girl who is playing with her doll house. Boy, I sure hope my characters aren’t afraid of me, I do want them to like me and not think of me as the little girl who is playing with them. That would be a shame if they didn’t like me, for we have a lot of nights ahead of us. We’d all better get along so I can get this novel in the hands of readers.
Maybe I’d better stick to pounding on my keyboard, and forget about being their friend. After all, I know too much about them; their secrets, their sexual lives, their nasty habits such as killing people. Yes, it’s best to let them alone and do their thing. I wouldn’t want to scare them, they might start hiding things from me, and then where would the story go?
Oh my, the sun will be rising soon. Looks like I’d better try and get some sleep so I can act like I’m on holiday in a few hours. Mazatlán, what an interesting place to do my writing.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
April 3, 2013
Things Happen For A Reason
The other day, I thought I was losing my mind. This phenomenon rarely happens to me… therefore, it was a real whopper.
I am now the proud owner of a card, it looks a bit like a driver’s license or credit card. On it is an announcement that I am RESIDENTE PERMANENTE of the great country of Estados Unidos Mexicanos. Wow! I really made it, so much work to get this card, I no longer have to go to Immigration each year to renew my visa. Well, unless the future president changes the rules. But for now, I am extremely content to enjoy this new status.
Then the government lowered the boom (I think that is the expression).
Those of us RESIDENTE PERMANENTE folks who have a car down here must now nationalize our precious commodity, and get ourselves a Mexican driver’s license. Hmmm, what the heck does it mean to nationalize my car?! Simple, register it and get a Sinaloa license plate. No problem, I thought. “I live here; it seems only right for me to dress my car in this new plate.” I then proceeded to ask how I should go about this. The following is what I learned.
First, the car registration… if you talk to five individuals, you will hear five different scenarios, these people are the ones who work behind a counter in an office that is supposed to know the information. The latest scoop is that I have five days to drive my car and empty trailer to the border, a two day drive on a toll road. This, of course, entails a hotel room, and higher tolls (remember the trailer), gas, and the registration fee. Oh, and yes, I need to make the trek back to my home after the process is complete.
My friend and I were able to get a letter of extension for 30 days. It took two days to have the documents compiled and put in order by a nice man. When we delivered our packages to the office, we were told that we must carry the officially stamped letter in our cars, but that if the rules change, the letter would be void. Huh? The rules are changing weekly!
It appears that this new ruling to nationalize the car was decided, but the officials forgot to settle on a plan for how to get it done. The results? The RUMOR MILL, CHAOS. Agh!
“Ok,” I told myself, “I will pretend the letter is good for 30 days to ensure my sanity.” I looked at the man and asked, “Anything else you want me to do?” I heard the response, and I stared at the official for a bit. “Ok,” I said slowly, “so where do I take this test for my new Mexican driver’s license?” My friend already had his license, but showed me where to go.
We jumped back into our cars, and headed for this other building. Once there, a nice man explained that I needed to come back at 9:30 am, and that there was no pamphlet for me to study. “No, Seῆora, just come. We give you a course before handing you the test.”
I showed up the next morning to take this class, take the test… only to discover that I needed documents. “Fine,” I told the man. I raced home to find a Mexican National, I needed a letter saying that I am a good, upstanding citizen.
My neighbor wrote me the letter, and I copied the other documents they wanted. I then raced back to the office to learn that I also needed an official document showing my blood type. Arg! I wasn’t able to take the driver’s test that day, and of course, Semana Santa meant that the office would be closed for the next nine days!
I took a deep breath, and went home to cry. After drying my tears, I managed to settle down. “No problem, I will go find a clinic for this important blood test.”
The next morning, I ventured out in my car (is it even legal anymore). I found a sign shouting at me… it said, LABORATORIO. Walking up the steps of this old concrete, dilapidated building, I found myself wondering if I was in a war zone. Had this poor building been targeted at some point or was it years of extreme climate eating away at the walls? At the top of these stairs, I turned the corner, and smiled at what I saw, smiled for the first time in several days. I was slowly becoming conscious of something wonderful.
Things happen for a reason.
At the top of the stairs, I saw him, the man behind the counter with his winning smile, the doctor who opened this lab just one year ago after spending a few decades working for a big commercial lab. We began a conversation.
He’s from Peru, but speaks a little English. He’s sweet, gentle, accommodating. He desperately wants his new business to succeed.
After my blood was drawn, he told me to come back in an hour. I gave him his 70 pesos (what?!) and started to leave. At that point, he said, “Wait, if you like, I can have it ready for you in 15 minutes…” WHAT?!
After about ten minutes, he brought me the envelope with my precious test results. He then gave me his warm smile, and handed me two discount cards for future lab tests, 30% off! WHAT?!
I told him I would tell all my friends about him, and left with a smile. My stress had literally melted away; I was thrilled to be awake, alive in such a fabulous world.
I still don’t have my car nationalized. I still do not have my Mexican driver’s license. But what a difference a change in my frame of mind has made. Yes, things happen for a reason. This doctor was supposed to come into my life to remind me not to take frustrating experiences so seriously. Really, does stressing help? Really?! I will go out on a limb here to suggest that it is a smile that is the healthiest medicine for daily stress. You want to challenge my theory? REALLY?
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
I am now the proud owner of a card, it looks a bit like a driver’s license or credit card. On it is an announcement that I am RESIDENTE PERMANENTE of the great country of Estados Unidos Mexicanos. Wow! I really made it, so much work to get this card, I no longer have to go to Immigration each year to renew my visa. Well, unless the future president changes the rules. But for now, I am extremely content to enjoy this new status.
Then the government lowered the boom (I think that is the expression).
Those of us RESIDENTE PERMANENTE folks who have a car down here must now nationalize our precious commodity, and get ourselves a Mexican driver’s license. Hmmm, what the heck does it mean to nationalize my car?! Simple, register it and get a Sinaloa license plate. No problem, I thought. “I live here; it seems only right for me to dress my car in this new plate.” I then proceeded to ask how I should go about this. The following is what I learned.
First, the car registration… if you talk to five individuals, you will hear five different scenarios, these people are the ones who work behind a counter in an office that is supposed to know the information. The latest scoop is that I have five days to drive my car and empty trailer to the border, a two day drive on a toll road. This, of course, entails a hotel room, and higher tolls (remember the trailer), gas, and the registration fee. Oh, and yes, I need to make the trek back to my home after the process is complete.
My friend and I were able to get a letter of extension for 30 days. It took two days to have the documents compiled and put in order by a nice man. When we delivered our packages to the office, we were told that we must carry the officially stamped letter in our cars, but that if the rules change, the letter would be void. Huh? The rules are changing weekly!
It appears that this new ruling to nationalize the car was decided, but the officials forgot to settle on a plan for how to get it done. The results? The RUMOR MILL, CHAOS. Agh!
“Ok,” I told myself, “I will pretend the letter is good for 30 days to ensure my sanity.” I looked at the man and asked, “Anything else you want me to do?” I heard the response, and I stared at the official for a bit. “Ok,” I said slowly, “so where do I take this test for my new Mexican driver’s license?” My friend already had his license, but showed me where to go.
We jumped back into our cars, and headed for this other building. Once there, a nice man explained that I needed to come back at 9:30 am, and that there was no pamphlet for me to study. “No, Seῆora, just come. We give you a course before handing you the test.”
I showed up the next morning to take this class, take the test… only to discover that I needed documents. “Fine,” I told the man. I raced home to find a Mexican National, I needed a letter saying that I am a good, upstanding citizen.
My neighbor wrote me the letter, and I copied the other documents they wanted. I then raced back to the office to learn that I also needed an official document showing my blood type. Arg! I wasn’t able to take the driver’s test that day, and of course, Semana Santa meant that the office would be closed for the next nine days!
I took a deep breath, and went home to cry. After drying my tears, I managed to settle down. “No problem, I will go find a clinic for this important blood test.”
The next morning, I ventured out in my car (is it even legal anymore). I found a sign shouting at me… it said, LABORATORIO. Walking up the steps of this old concrete, dilapidated building, I found myself wondering if I was in a war zone. Had this poor building been targeted at some point or was it years of extreme climate eating away at the walls? At the top of these stairs, I turned the corner, and smiled at what I saw, smiled for the first time in several days. I was slowly becoming conscious of something wonderful.
Things happen for a reason.
At the top of the stairs, I saw him, the man behind the counter with his winning smile, the doctor who opened this lab just one year ago after spending a few decades working for a big commercial lab. We began a conversation.
He’s from Peru, but speaks a little English. He’s sweet, gentle, accommodating. He desperately wants his new business to succeed.
After my blood was drawn, he told me to come back in an hour. I gave him his 70 pesos (what?!) and started to leave. At that point, he said, “Wait, if you like, I can have it ready for you in 15 minutes…” WHAT?!
After about ten minutes, he brought me the envelope with my precious test results. He then gave me his warm smile, and handed me two discount cards for future lab tests, 30% off! WHAT?!
I told him I would tell all my friends about him, and left with a smile. My stress had literally melted away; I was thrilled to be awake, alive in such a fabulous world.
I still don’t have my car nationalized. I still do not have my Mexican driver’s license. But what a difference a change in my frame of mind has made. Yes, things happen for a reason. This doctor was supposed to come into my life to remind me not to take frustrating experiences so seriously. Really, does stressing help? Really?! I will go out on a limb here to suggest that it is a smile that is the healthiest medicine for daily stress. You want to challenge my theory? REALLY?
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Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
March 27, 2013
The Sound of Music
Music has been blasting throughout this little city of Mazatlán the last few weeks. We’ve had wonderful choices each night of the week during the winter months, but us lucky music lovers have been showered with delightful concerts beyond our wildest dreams during the end of this season.
First there was a gala event at the convention center a little over a week ago. Boy was that an enjoyable evening, packed with great bands playing their hearts out for six hours or so. It included a no-host bar, and a wonderful buffet dinner featuring fabulous Mexican dishes. The dance floor was set up to accommodate a multitude of happy dancers.
Then, last Friday the bands did themselves proud. The final blast of the season was held on prime real estate overlooking the Sea of Cortez. This parcel has no outbuildings, but does have lavish walk ways, extending two levels, with a sea wall protecting the beautiful pool from high waves outside the confines of this little paradise.
The bands took turns on the upper level, and played from noon until sundown, each patiently waiting their turn to dazzle the guests. Other than the absence of the delightful sound of the banjo (unfortunately, the banjo musician had left town), this lady’s ears were pleased. Boy, were there a lot of happy customers. Ten peso beers, 40 peso meals, and all the music to please the crowd… what a day. Dancers took their place near the band, children enjoyed the exotic pool, chitter chatter took place at all the tables. Did I mention the weather? My oh my… deep blue sky, mid 70 degree air, and as I mentioned before, high waves ripping against the white sand. This gala affair was visited by a multicultural group, folks from at least four countries, the foremost one, of course, being Mexico. This was a very special occasion for the city, an obvious success. My hopes are that it will continue as a yearly (maybe bi-yearly) event. I have spoken to many folks since that didn’t realize it was going on. Please little city, keep it up so more folks can indulge in the future.
I don’t want to stop here. Yes, the two big events have passed, but there are still places that will show off talented bands for a few more weeks. After that, the music scene will dwindle but the diehards will still be able to experience great tunes throughout the year, from blues to rock and roll.
It is a pleasure, a real gift to live in a city that proudly hails the arts. From music to art walks to theater entertainment. I know I have left lots out. Thank you, Mazatlán for bringing the Sound of Music to our ears in such great fashion, and thank you for the music and arts that are about to follow. Wow, do I love living in this town. The talent just never ceases to amaze me.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
First there was a gala event at the convention center a little over a week ago. Boy was that an enjoyable evening, packed with great bands playing their hearts out for six hours or so. It included a no-host bar, and a wonderful buffet dinner featuring fabulous Mexican dishes. The dance floor was set up to accommodate a multitude of happy dancers.
Then, last Friday the bands did themselves proud. The final blast of the season was held on prime real estate overlooking the Sea of Cortez. This parcel has no outbuildings, but does have lavish walk ways, extending two levels, with a sea wall protecting the beautiful pool from high waves outside the confines of this little paradise.
The bands took turns on the upper level, and played from noon until sundown, each patiently waiting their turn to dazzle the guests. Other than the absence of the delightful sound of the banjo (unfortunately, the banjo musician had left town), this lady’s ears were pleased. Boy, were there a lot of happy customers. Ten peso beers, 40 peso meals, and all the music to please the crowd… what a day. Dancers took their place near the band, children enjoyed the exotic pool, chitter chatter took place at all the tables. Did I mention the weather? My oh my… deep blue sky, mid 70 degree air, and as I mentioned before, high waves ripping against the white sand. This gala affair was visited by a multicultural group, folks from at least four countries, the foremost one, of course, being Mexico. This was a very special occasion for the city, an obvious success. My hopes are that it will continue as a yearly (maybe bi-yearly) event. I have spoken to many folks since that didn’t realize it was going on. Please little city, keep it up so more folks can indulge in the future.
I don’t want to stop here. Yes, the two big events have passed, but there are still places that will show off talented bands for a few more weeks. After that, the music scene will dwindle but the diehards will still be able to experience great tunes throughout the year, from blues to rock and roll.
It is a pleasure, a real gift to live in a city that proudly hails the arts. From music to art walks to theater entertainment. I know I have left lots out. Thank you, Mazatlán for bringing the Sound of Music to our ears in such great fashion, and thank you for the music and arts that are about to follow. Wow, do I love living in this town. The talent just never ceases to amaze me.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
March 20, 2013
My Dinner Party
Last weekend I prepared my home for an intimate dinner party. My house was clean, the food prepared, my dog groomed. Everything was in perfect order.
Then it happened.
I took a shower, only to discover that the water had a funny smell to it. Well, not so funny… it was a serious sign that I needed to have my water tanks cleaned… all three of them. With company coming, I knew I had to take care of the problem pronto, but also knew I had plenty of time… it was late morning the day before they would arrive. No worries.
I left my house to walk the streets of my neighborhood in search of a young man to hire for the job. Two of my tanks are up on the tower of my villa, positioned in an inappropriate elevation for a person who fears heights. Yes, I am guilty of the same problem Jimmy Stewart had in Hitchcock’s classic, Vertigo.
I found the perfect worker, the price was negotiated, all was going well.
My neighbor lent me his ladder, and the young man came over with all the mops and Clorox he needed to do the job. But the ladder, as it turned out, became a puzzle, a real mind teaser. “How does this thing open?” Its owner had gone into town, leaving the worker, my niece, and myself to unlock this mystery. Remember the old joke about, “How many folks does it take to screw in a light bulb?” After several attempts, perhaps 20 minutes, we figured it out. All seemed to be good again. The worker made his way up to the tower where two of my tanks live, and spent the next several hours cleaning them after pulling the plugs to drain their contents.
I drained the tank on the ground, and proceeded to work on getting its yucky stuff removed. Things were moving along, and the party was still a full day away. The worker finished above… I paid him, he left with a smile. I joined him with a smile, relieved that we were back to normal. We were all so happy.
Only one thing left to do. Fill the tanks with that precious water.
My niece and I sat on the patio to enjoy an afternoon cocktail, knowing that we were completely ready to receive family and friends in less than 24 hours. She was in the process of telling me a story when I heard a sound. I did the “Shush” thing to quiet her, and the two of us walked around the house in search of this lovely noise. It reminded me of the gentle beauty of a waterfall echoing in my ears.
“The plugs!” I cried. “He forgot to replace the plugs!”
The worker had gone home with no one around to help. The next day was Sunday, our sacred day of the week, a day when there are no workers to be seen… no toilets, no tap water. How does one have company in this environment?! It seemed hopeless, ugly. Enter the neighbor who lent us the ladder.
The next morning, this good man went up to the top of the house where the draining tanks refused to embrace the prized liquid. He spent a few hours up there after discovering the plugs were damaged from our beautiful tropical weather. This man saved the day, restoring our valuable toilets, tap water… the ability to graciously entertain our company.
A simple cleaning of the tanks became a nightmare with a happy ending. I do love good endings so. What a lovely dinner party we had that night, what a nice neighbor I have. Once again, my insides felt warm and toasty about life in the south… the trials and tribulations of dealing with a climate that is tough on EVERYTHING did not prevail, the knowledge of working through debacles with a smile on my face felt satisfying.
Is there a lesson here? Sure. After all, there always is. First, it never ceases to amaze me, as I have learned over the years, “Everything always works out.” And second, it is Wednesday today. I don’t know why but there is a freshness in the air (perhaps it is my clean water tanks). My head is spinning with excitement. A newness of some sort is bursting throughout this little city. It’s just a feeling I have, but going with the flow (what, of water?) in this part of the world seems to be a good thing to do. This Wednesday feeling is maybe symbolic of my water experience. The significance here is that we need to appreciate the things around us, relish each moment, for you never know when your tanks will empty that precious commodity, leaving you without the things we tend to take for granted. Ah, Wednesday. So glad you are here, I have a good feeling about this day.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
Then it happened.
I took a shower, only to discover that the water had a funny smell to it. Well, not so funny… it was a serious sign that I needed to have my water tanks cleaned… all three of them. With company coming, I knew I had to take care of the problem pronto, but also knew I had plenty of time… it was late morning the day before they would arrive. No worries.
I left my house to walk the streets of my neighborhood in search of a young man to hire for the job. Two of my tanks are up on the tower of my villa, positioned in an inappropriate elevation for a person who fears heights. Yes, I am guilty of the same problem Jimmy Stewart had in Hitchcock’s classic, Vertigo.
I found the perfect worker, the price was negotiated, all was going well.
My neighbor lent me his ladder, and the young man came over with all the mops and Clorox he needed to do the job. But the ladder, as it turned out, became a puzzle, a real mind teaser. “How does this thing open?” Its owner had gone into town, leaving the worker, my niece, and myself to unlock this mystery. Remember the old joke about, “How many folks does it take to screw in a light bulb?” After several attempts, perhaps 20 minutes, we figured it out. All seemed to be good again. The worker made his way up to the tower where two of my tanks live, and spent the next several hours cleaning them after pulling the plugs to drain their contents.
I drained the tank on the ground, and proceeded to work on getting its yucky stuff removed. Things were moving along, and the party was still a full day away. The worker finished above… I paid him, he left with a smile. I joined him with a smile, relieved that we were back to normal. We were all so happy.
Only one thing left to do. Fill the tanks with that precious water.
My niece and I sat on the patio to enjoy an afternoon cocktail, knowing that we were completely ready to receive family and friends in less than 24 hours. She was in the process of telling me a story when I heard a sound. I did the “Shush” thing to quiet her, and the two of us walked around the house in search of this lovely noise. It reminded me of the gentle beauty of a waterfall echoing in my ears.
“The plugs!” I cried. “He forgot to replace the plugs!”
The worker had gone home with no one around to help. The next day was Sunday, our sacred day of the week, a day when there are no workers to be seen… no toilets, no tap water. How does one have company in this environment?! It seemed hopeless, ugly. Enter the neighbor who lent us the ladder.
The next morning, this good man went up to the top of the house where the draining tanks refused to embrace the prized liquid. He spent a few hours up there after discovering the plugs were damaged from our beautiful tropical weather. This man saved the day, restoring our valuable toilets, tap water… the ability to graciously entertain our company.
A simple cleaning of the tanks became a nightmare with a happy ending. I do love good endings so. What a lovely dinner party we had that night, what a nice neighbor I have. Once again, my insides felt warm and toasty about life in the south… the trials and tribulations of dealing with a climate that is tough on EVERYTHING did not prevail, the knowledge of working through debacles with a smile on my face felt satisfying.
Is there a lesson here? Sure. After all, there always is. First, it never ceases to amaze me, as I have learned over the years, “Everything always works out.” And second, it is Wednesday today. I don’t know why but there is a freshness in the air (perhaps it is my clean water tanks). My head is spinning with excitement. A newness of some sort is bursting throughout this little city. It’s just a feeling I have, but going with the flow (what, of water?) in this part of the world seems to be a good thing to do. This Wednesday feeling is maybe symbolic of my water experience. The significance here is that we need to appreciate the things around us, relish each moment, for you never know when your tanks will empty that precious commodity, leaving you without the things we tend to take for granted. Ah, Wednesday. So glad you are here, I have a good feeling about this day.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
March 6, 2013
Seasonal Changes
Mazatlán reminds me of the calendar, a city full of anticipation, my favorite word. It’s like a department store, always planning for the next event to attract customers; the holiday times, the fabricated celebrations. Ah, yes… this is the seasonal city.
We look forward to the spring when the colorful birds grace us with their visits, and the summer storms come bearing down over our heads, bringing us lush green terrain within 48 hours. Oh, I just love the storms. Mind you, my body does this weird thing referred by some as becoming a sweaty, wet mess. But still, I love it here. Those exotic birds come, but at the same time, our northern humanic friends leave us. It is a bitter sweet time for those of us who remain in this unique land.
What is that song? “Hello, I love you… won’t you blah blah… blah blah.” At the same time as “Breaking up is hard to do…” The first song is for the exciting feathery creatures that have reservations to stay here during our hot times, the second is for our new and old friends who are beginning to make their exodus to the north.
It is much easier to write a novel during this time, yea. I will get some work done! But, with that said, I will miss the obstacles that have made this difficult. Lucky for me, I have the same attitude as my city. Welcome each new event that the calendar dictates me to look forward to. Does this kind of thinking make me the customer that the department store is trying to attract? Hmmm, that’s an interesting thought. “I am a robot, moving with the flow of the seasonal changes.”
For those of you that are sad that your visit has come to an end, I say to you. “Have a lovely time in the north this summer, every moment of your life counts as a possible memory you will want to hold on to. When you return in the fall, my city will have her arms out to embrace your return. I will have a new novel for you to enjoy on the beach, and the events of the city will begin once again.”
Such a wonderful cycle this is. I realize this type of existence is anywhere, everywhere, but somehow, here in Mazatlán, it seems more prominent.
Like that department store, the anticipation of the holidays, then Carnaval, Semana Santa (Holy Week ~ Easter)… we will do this again. Life is grand, but to me, it is also full of rich moments either with the colorful birds or the people who spend their winter months down here. Each season gives us something different to enjoy, new memories.
I am giving up live humans in exchange for characters in my books for the next few months. It doesn’t take long for my characters to become as real as touchable folks though, so I look forward to spending time with them. Everyone wins here.
In closing, my city looks forward to the return of you migrating snow birds, but also embraces the season that is beginning to show a glimpse of herself, and give us a different type of anticipation. Boy oh boy, can life get any better? I don’t believe so.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
We look forward to the spring when the colorful birds grace us with their visits, and the summer storms come bearing down over our heads, bringing us lush green terrain within 48 hours. Oh, I just love the storms. Mind you, my body does this weird thing referred by some as becoming a sweaty, wet mess. But still, I love it here. Those exotic birds come, but at the same time, our northern humanic friends leave us. It is a bitter sweet time for those of us who remain in this unique land.
What is that song? “Hello, I love you… won’t you blah blah… blah blah.” At the same time as “Breaking up is hard to do…” The first song is for the exciting feathery creatures that have reservations to stay here during our hot times, the second is for our new and old friends who are beginning to make their exodus to the north.
It is much easier to write a novel during this time, yea. I will get some work done! But, with that said, I will miss the obstacles that have made this difficult. Lucky for me, I have the same attitude as my city. Welcome each new event that the calendar dictates me to look forward to. Does this kind of thinking make me the customer that the department store is trying to attract? Hmmm, that’s an interesting thought. “I am a robot, moving with the flow of the seasonal changes.”
For those of you that are sad that your visit has come to an end, I say to you. “Have a lovely time in the north this summer, every moment of your life counts as a possible memory you will want to hold on to. When you return in the fall, my city will have her arms out to embrace your return. I will have a new novel for you to enjoy on the beach, and the events of the city will begin once again.”
Such a wonderful cycle this is. I realize this type of existence is anywhere, everywhere, but somehow, here in Mazatlán, it seems more prominent.
Like that department store, the anticipation of the holidays, then Carnaval, Semana Santa (Holy Week ~ Easter)… we will do this again. Life is grand, but to me, it is also full of rich moments either with the colorful birds or the people who spend their winter months down here. Each season gives us something different to enjoy, new memories.
I am giving up live humans in exchange for characters in my books for the next few months. It doesn’t take long for my characters to become as real as touchable folks though, so I look forward to spending time with them. Everyone wins here.
In closing, my city looks forward to the return of you migrating snow birds, but also embraces the season that is beginning to show a glimpse of herself, and give us a different type of anticipation. Boy oh boy, can life get any better? I don’t believe so.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
February 27, 2013
Accidental Lovers
Why do people love me so? I don’t mean that they like me, but rather, they really don’t want to leave my side once they meet me. I hear them talking, “What is it about her? She makes me smile, makes me feel good. I accidently met her years ago, and now she has my heart. I find myself yearning to be with her as much as humanly possible.”
Some folks search me out, it must be the reputation I have for making them feel warm and cozy, but what surprises me most are those who accidently meet me, and decide to change their lives in order to remain by my side.
Many of my lovers are artists… painters, musicians, writers. You name it, if they have an inkling of talent, they are drawn to me.
I love this, they surround me with their magic. Maybe this is what is meant by both parties giving all they can. The other day, a group of musicians got together for a jam session. Every one of these folks could be famous if they wanted to pursue money and notoriety. But they won’t leave me, they stay and their sounds permeate the airwaves around me. I realize that I give them what they need for happiness, but in return, I receive such love.
I know some writers, both successful and hungry to succeed. Again, some of them won’t leave me now that they know me. Painters, actors, dancers… the story is the same for all.
I know of a sailor who came here years ago, his boat needed repairs after battling a storm in the sea. His boat was fixed, but during the time he spent preparing himself to head back out into the elements, he met me. Instead of sailing away, he docked his boat, and has remained by my side since.
I came face to face with a couple the other night. Since then, I have seen them maybe four times. They are happy, maybe more so than they’ve been in years. But there’s also a sadness inside them, for they haven’t figured out a way to stay with me.
At the risk of sounding unpleasant, I am quite aware of my beauty, my ability to lure folks my way. Ok, I said it. I know how great I am, and I enjoy all my accidental lovers.
I realize that it isn’t just me. As more folks decide to stay, they enrich me, they even make me look better. I do appreciate them so. Each one of them is willing to share me, knowing that they are just one of my many lovers. How nice for me.
My name is Mazatlán. I am a little port city on the shores of the Sea of Cortez, and seem to have an effect on those around me. Do know that if you ever find the chance to meet me face to face, chances are high that you will fall in love with me, you will move mountains to stay with me, and live out the remaining days of your life with smile wrinkles announcing to all that you are a person in love. If true love frightens you, please stay away from me, for I will ruin the life you know. I will ravage your heart, leaving you helpless and needy for me.
Yes, I do seem to have that effect on those around me.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
Some folks search me out, it must be the reputation I have for making them feel warm and cozy, but what surprises me most are those who accidently meet me, and decide to change their lives in order to remain by my side.
Many of my lovers are artists… painters, musicians, writers. You name it, if they have an inkling of talent, they are drawn to me.
I love this, they surround me with their magic. Maybe this is what is meant by both parties giving all they can. The other day, a group of musicians got together for a jam session. Every one of these folks could be famous if they wanted to pursue money and notoriety. But they won’t leave me, they stay and their sounds permeate the airwaves around me. I realize that I give them what they need for happiness, but in return, I receive such love.
I know some writers, both successful and hungry to succeed. Again, some of them won’t leave me now that they know me. Painters, actors, dancers… the story is the same for all.
I know of a sailor who came here years ago, his boat needed repairs after battling a storm in the sea. His boat was fixed, but during the time he spent preparing himself to head back out into the elements, he met me. Instead of sailing away, he docked his boat, and has remained by my side since.
I came face to face with a couple the other night. Since then, I have seen them maybe four times. They are happy, maybe more so than they’ve been in years. But there’s also a sadness inside them, for they haven’t figured out a way to stay with me.
At the risk of sounding unpleasant, I am quite aware of my beauty, my ability to lure folks my way. Ok, I said it. I know how great I am, and I enjoy all my accidental lovers.
I realize that it isn’t just me. As more folks decide to stay, they enrich me, they even make me look better. I do appreciate them so. Each one of them is willing to share me, knowing that they are just one of my many lovers. How nice for me.
My name is Mazatlán. I am a little port city on the shores of the Sea of Cortez, and seem to have an effect on those around me. Do know that if you ever find the chance to meet me face to face, chances are high that you will fall in love with me, you will move mountains to stay with me, and live out the remaining days of your life with smile wrinkles announcing to all that you are a person in love. If true love frightens you, please stay away from me, for I will ruin the life you know. I will ravage your heart, leaving you helpless and needy for me.
Yes, I do seem to have that effect on those around me.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
February 20, 2013
Lonely Mailbox
I had a conversation with my daughter the other day about an important document that was mailed to her. Yes, I use her address up north for the one or two pieces of mail I get during the year. I asked her to send it to me here in Mazatlán, knowing that it would take roughly six weeks to arrive. No problem… evidently, I have become a laid back maῆana-type semi Mexican. When she seemed surprised over the issue of time involved for this envelope to take on such an epic journey, I had to laugh.
Quite frankly, there may be a bestselling novel out there. A thriller, perhaps. If only we could be the envelope for those six weeks. Think of the adventures it must be going through, those tense moments in the dark post office late at night where the foreign surroundings might cause the letter to fear if it will ever reach its destiny. Ok, I just put that on my list of future possible books.
Two years ago, a young man rang my bell, it was shortly before Christmas. He said he was my mailman, and was on my doorstep asking for his holiday tip. I remember being confused, and thinking, “I didn’t realize I had a mailman, I never get mail.” I then smiled and gave him 50 pesos.
Do I have a mailbox? Of course I do! When I moved here, I was shocked that there were no mailboxes in my neighborhood, couldn’t understand it. Well, I took care of that, and raced to Home Depot to purchase a cute little box that I proudly hung on the side of my villa next my front door. “Ah, now that feels better,” I thought. “I am now ready to receive my mail.”
That was six years ago, I have received exactly three pieces of mail since.
I was excited though, I knew my water and electric bills now had a safe haven to rest until I retrieved them. But that didn’t go exactly as planned. I still found them sitting on my porch, or on a windy day, in the neighbor’s garden. Oh well, I was ready to get real mail. Last year, my northern bank sent me a new debit card. Scary. It took over six weeks to arrive. I went to the downtown post office at about six weeks, and waited in the lobby while a nice man disappeared into the back room. A few minutes later, a young man came out, it was my mailman! He smiled, having remembered my 50 peso tip, even remembered my name! “I’m on it,” he said. I left with a smile on my face, my confidence lifted, knowing that I would soon have this important card in my possession. About a week later, I found a letter from my bank taped to my front door, with a note on it from my mailman. Call me so I know you got this~ 669.111.22.22 . I was disappointed that he had chosen not to use my mailbox, but at the same time, elated that my card had arrived safely. Then I thought about this young mailman.
Suddenly, I found myself weighing two parts of this scenario. “It took over six weeks to arrive!” With, “I do not believe I have ever seen such a personal touch in the delivery of my mail.”
Lesson? Of course, it is always nice to be generous with Christmas tips, but the real lesson here is this. Go ahead, get a mailbox while living in Mazatlán, but just know this. It’s like attaching a painting to your living room wall, a piece of art to appreciate. And lucky me, my lonely mailbox is a real beauty.
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Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
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Quite frankly, there may be a bestselling novel out there. A thriller, perhaps. If only we could be the envelope for those six weeks. Think of the adventures it must be going through, those tense moments in the dark post office late at night where the foreign surroundings might cause the letter to fear if it will ever reach its destiny. Ok, I just put that on my list of future possible books.
Two years ago, a young man rang my bell, it was shortly before Christmas. He said he was my mailman, and was on my doorstep asking for his holiday tip. I remember being confused, and thinking, “I didn’t realize I had a mailman, I never get mail.” I then smiled and gave him 50 pesos.
Do I have a mailbox? Of course I do! When I moved here, I was shocked that there were no mailboxes in my neighborhood, couldn’t understand it. Well, I took care of that, and raced to Home Depot to purchase a cute little box that I proudly hung on the side of my villa next my front door. “Ah, now that feels better,” I thought. “I am now ready to receive my mail.”
That was six years ago, I have received exactly three pieces of mail since.
I was excited though, I knew my water and electric bills now had a safe haven to rest until I retrieved them. But that didn’t go exactly as planned. I still found them sitting on my porch, or on a windy day, in the neighbor’s garden. Oh well, I was ready to get real mail. Last year, my northern bank sent me a new debit card. Scary. It took over six weeks to arrive. I went to the downtown post office at about six weeks, and waited in the lobby while a nice man disappeared into the back room. A few minutes later, a young man came out, it was my mailman! He smiled, having remembered my 50 peso tip, even remembered my name! “I’m on it,” he said. I left with a smile on my face, my confidence lifted, knowing that I would soon have this important card in my possession. About a week later, I found a letter from my bank taped to my front door, with a note on it from my mailman. Call me so I know you got this~ 669.111.22.22 . I was disappointed that he had chosen not to use my mailbox, but at the same time, elated that my card had arrived safely. Then I thought about this young mailman.
Suddenly, I found myself weighing two parts of this scenario. “It took over six weeks to arrive!” With, “I do not believe I have ever seen such a personal touch in the delivery of my mail.”
Lesson? Of course, it is always nice to be generous with Christmas tips, but the real lesson here is this. Go ahead, get a mailbox while living in Mazatlán, but just know this. It’s like attaching a painting to your living room wall, a piece of art to appreciate. And lucky me, my lonely mailbox is a real beauty.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
February 11, 2013
Mystical City
I usually write about humor in my city, but not today. Instead of smiling at all the wonderful quirky things I observe each waking moment, I am sitting here with sparkles in my eyes. Really, I can feel the pulse of twinkles behind them. I’m feeling romantic, dreamy over this beautiful little town they call Mazatlán.
It is Carnival week, and this town does it just fine. Actually fine is an understatement. The other night, I went to the fireworks with a friend who had not yet seen this delightful display. That in itself excited me, a chance for me to witness a virgin watch the most incredible sky show I have ever seen. I took him to the perfect place to stand, a magical spot in the street where one can get the full energy burst within, a mystical experience. I want to take you through the evening, share as best I can.
The Carnival fireworks re-enact a naval battle that took place in 1864 when the French attempted to invade Mazatlán, but of course failed. In this simulation, there’s a Mexican naval frigate floating off shore that shoots fireworks off toward the land. From there, the attack is answered with fireworks in retaliation. This show is not sparse in lighting up the sky. At times the battle becomes intense with both sides firing at each other. To enhance the show, it is choreographed perfectly with beautiful music that can be heard a mile away. They enhance it with a laser show.
You must understand, Mexico does not have the same regulations as the US, or other countries, for that matter. You are allowed to stand right under the bright explosions. Every year, I see sparks land on someone, but have never seen anyone actually get hurt. I see the fiery balls hit the buildings, but have never heard of any damage. The point here is that you get to be there, actually in the battle!
Standing in our selected real estate, we were in it! Just above our heads was the mid-point of the battle where the fire met. My friend turned to me, his expression cannot be explained, when he cried, “We are in the battle, I feel like we’re in it!”
He was right, my heartbeat was racing, my insides elated. The thousands of people around me were going through the same emotions. This went on for over 30 minutes without a moment to catch my breath.
This year, like all the others, did not disappoint any of us. Mexico won the battle again, we all felt a national patriotism, while we began to walk down the street in search of our cars. Warning, the rest of this story is not so exhilarating…
To get home, you must first walk down through a mob of folks, a thick grouping of humans pushing you along, it is like a mosh crowd. Forgive me if I didn’t get that expression correct. The key is to have patience. Take it slow, try to stay at the edge of the street, and when you get to your car, drive down to the malecón (at the edge of the sea) and stay on this road until you arrive at your home. You follow my instructions, and all will be well for you to tell your grandchildren this wonderful story of the night you were part of the 1864 battle of wits when Mexico beat the French off.
I hope you were able to visualize this experience. I highly recommend it for anyone’s bucket list. In closing, I realize there are many wonders of the world, but am thrilled that I have one in my back yard. I will do it again next year and the year after that. Sometimes, you put up with a hassle to .experience a mind blowing event. This is one of those times.
It is Carnival week, and this town does it just fine. Actually fine is an understatement. The other night, I went to the fireworks with a friend who had not yet seen this delightful display. That in itself excited me, a chance for me to witness a virgin watch the most incredible sky show I have ever seen. I took him to the perfect place to stand, a magical spot in the street where one can get the full energy burst within, a mystical experience. I want to take you through the evening, share as best I can.
The Carnival fireworks re-enact a naval battle that took place in 1864 when the French attempted to invade Mazatlán, but of course failed. In this simulation, there’s a Mexican naval frigate floating off shore that shoots fireworks off toward the land. From there, the attack is answered with fireworks in retaliation. This show is not sparse in lighting up the sky. At times the battle becomes intense with both sides firing at each other. To enhance the show, it is choreographed perfectly with beautiful music that can be heard a mile away. They enhance it with a laser show.
You must understand, Mexico does not have the same regulations as the US, or other countries, for that matter. You are allowed to stand right under the bright explosions. Every year, I see sparks land on someone, but have never seen anyone actually get hurt. I see the fiery balls hit the buildings, but have never heard of any damage. The point here is that you get to be there, actually in the battle!
Standing in our selected real estate, we were in it! Just above our heads was the mid-point of the battle where the fire met. My friend turned to me, his expression cannot be explained, when he cried, “We are in the battle, I feel like we’re in it!”
He was right, my heartbeat was racing, my insides elated. The thousands of people around me were going through the same emotions. This went on for over 30 minutes without a moment to catch my breath.
This year, like all the others, did not disappoint any of us. Mexico won the battle again, we all felt a national patriotism, while we began to walk down the street in search of our cars. Warning, the rest of this story is not so exhilarating…
To get home, you must first walk down through a mob of folks, a thick grouping of humans pushing you along, it is like a mosh crowd. Forgive me if I didn’t get that expression correct. The key is to have patience. Take it slow, try to stay at the edge of the street, and when you get to your car, drive down to the malecón (at the edge of the sea) and stay on this road until you arrive at your home. You follow my instructions, and all will be well for you to tell your grandchildren this wonderful story of the night you were part of the 1864 battle of wits when Mexico beat the French off.
I hope you were able to visualize this experience. I highly recommend it for anyone’s bucket list. In closing, I realize there are many wonders of the world, but am thrilled that I have one in my back yard. I will do it again next year and the year after that. Sometimes, you put up with a hassle to .experience a mind blowing event. This is one of those times.
