Dear Blog, Hello! How are you today? The vagaries of life near the border are varied and manifest and find me often in places of strange and doubtful repute. Yesterday brought us face to face with a couple of them. The money exchange house is the place where hard-working immigrants send their hard-earned dollars back home to Mexico. The attendant doesn't speak English from behind the bullet-proof glass and the pantheon of posters plastered over almost every square inch of available flat surface in the improbable, small and decrepit building advertise herbal medicine, bras and candles for the saints - makes you realize there are places in America that are nothing like Kansas. Now, I must say that not only do we frequent places like this but we are actually connoisseurs of them. By long and hard-won experience we know where to go to get the best deal on sending stuff into the hinterlands of ol' Mexico. There are a handful of these money houses that charge a lower percentage than the Western Union and Money Gram sites scattered throughout Tucson. This particular one is sandwiched between thrift stores and pawn shops. I took advantage of the occasion to check out the 8 track cassettes for sale in the shop one door to the south and was freshly reminded of CCR, Art Garfunkel, Neil Diamond (he had the most) and the Kinks. Richie and I attended their (the Kinks) concert back when. He drove his dad's 1970 Olds 98. It was the "fully loaded" LS 4 door version and in immaculate condition. This is a car from the era when they made electric windows that could/would cut your fingers off if you weren't careful. Non of that "protect the children" stuff went into the engineering of this boat. It had at least 20 conveniently placed ashtrays throughout the interior along with an assortment of vanity mirrors, Kleenex dispensers and lights. I think it had to weigh about eight thousand pounds and the 455 Rocket V-8 with it's four barrel carb actually made audible sucking sounds as it went careening down the highway consuming 58 cent-a-gallon gas at an unbelievable rate. We could actually see the gauge move every time the pedal was pushed to the metal, as they say. There's nothing like floating across town to see one of your favorite bands in a blue 4 ton ocean liner. And there's nothing quite like fumbling around the pile of eight-tracks looking for Don McLean's American Pie as you head into Deadman's Curve on West River Road overlooking the mighty Mississippi. Well, back to the thrift store. I did end up buying a $2 video tape of the sort one of our younger kids would like...don't even know if we have a VCR anymore. Aren't they a thing of the past? It was a cramped, hot and humid jungle of empty holsters, used coloring books, stale cigarette smoke and an older looking Black man wearing a grey fedora was busy arranging the myriad articles (of junk) in a mystifying order of chaos... water dripped from the ceiling as I shouldered past head-high stacks of National Geographic magazines, old typewriters and small, used appliances. He was kind and said he wasn't the owner when I asked, said he's " jus watchin' the place ...trying to fix it up a bit". When we didn't have anything but a one dollar bill and a ten to pay the two bucks for the video he just gave it to me for $1. Great, I was able to recoup some of the interest fee charged at the Dolex money exchange next door....and see some 8 tracks that brought back good memories. When was the last time you listened to an 8 track cassette?
