Today I thought I’d give you a look behind the scenes at some of my time in Mexico this winter.
Paying property taxes in a foreign country is an interesting experience. When my inadequate language skills are thrown into the mix, it becomes even more of a challenge.
For the past three or four years my apartment has been confused with the one next to me on the tax roll. Since the amount payable is based on the price paid for the property, the one that had changed ownership recently was appraised at a higher value.
Brian had disputed our bill successfully in the past. The same was true for neighbours who took care of this for us when we couldn’t be here last year. Now it was my turn to pay the property taxes.
A canopy tent was set up outside of the payment office at City Hall. Rows of chairs were under the shelter. I took my seat in the next available chair. As the people from the front row were called inside, everyone else moved up a row. After 45 minutes, it was my turn to go inside and wait my turn. I handed over my last year’s bill and it was entered into the system. The amount I was asked for was three and a half times more than was paid last year. I said, “No correcta.”
The paper was returned and I was directed to another part of the building. I waited in the wrong line before I figured out I had to bypass this one and go around the corner to another area. In about fifteen minutes I was directed to a woman who didn’t speak English or understand my meagre Spanish.
She went to another desk and returned with Felipe, who spoke to me in English. I explained my situation and he told me the rates had gone up this year and I’d have to pay the higher amount. “My neighbours in the same building didn’t have an increase,” I said. He told me that was a mistake, their file must not have been updated. I didn’t give up easily.
After more discussion, I was given two options. Either I could pay the amount due or go to the Finance Department and ask if it was possible to get a discount. I chose the second option.
Felipe kindly took me through the building, up the stairs and found the Finance Office. He then went inside with me and translated. The manager, who had the authority to grant a discount, was out of the office but due to return shortly. Did I want to wait? Yes, I did.
Because it would be difficult to converse with this person, Felipe waited outside of the office with me. After about twenty minutes he got a text saying he was needed downstairs. He told me what was happening and then went back inside to give them his cell number, saying he’d come right back if needed to translate. What incredible service!
The kindness of this young man made all the difference to my stress level. Eventually I was called back inside and asked for my paperwork. The same woman we’d spoken to previously made a phone call and took my papers into her office. A few minutes later she returned with a lower amount written in pencil on the bill. It had been reduced by 25%. After my, “Gracias, muchas gracias.” I returned to the first area to pay.
Did I still pay more than last year? Absolutely. But, I paid less than if I’d just accepted the amount asked for.
As I walked away from the building I congratulated myself for navigating a difficult situation on my own. I learned that with perseverance and the kindness of strangers, I am capable of more than I realized!
We loved this place. Brian and I were refreshed by the sight and sound of the sea. 
A strong north wind had been blowing for several days. My son and I had been waiting for more favourable conditions so we could scatter some of Brian’s ashes along the beach that meant so much to him.
The morning matched my disposition. I was feeling “off”. There was no sunshine and weather conditions were a little stormy. Still, I felt drawn to go for a walk on the beach.
Three weeks can either feel like the blink of an eye or a lifetime. Sometimes both at the same time.
from my paper and placed them in my vessel. Perfect! Grief only exists because it was preceded by great love. Precious memories placed in my grief vessel are reminders of the love that will always live on in my heart.
I stood at my window and watched in awe as the dark sky became infused with colours.
After several overcast days, this morning the sun was shining brightly through my window. I walked into the kitchen and was surprised to see small crumbs scattered across my kitchen counter.
Have you ever had an idea or inspiration that seemed to take on a life of its own and flourished beyond your wildest expectations?
Flowers of Remembrance is a collection containing the memories evoked by certain flowers. The writers range from 15 to 85 and their stories (and mine) will encourage you to stop and reflect on memories surrounding special flowers in your life. 