Phone Call from Mexico

Pete's been calling for the past several days. The voice mail would say, "Mike, this is Pete. I want to talk," the beep would give day and time of the call. Each message was the same. There was no call back number as he was using a calling card from the mountains of central Mexico so I'd just have to wait until he tried again and I happened to answer. I've known Pete and his wife Tricia for a quarter of a century now. He's done everything from shark fishing, being a dish washer at The Breakfast Club, a garbage collector, worked for the Tybee Island Department of Public Works, the U.S. Foreign Embassy and the maintenance department of Union Mission. He manages to pull off looking like a serial killer while having a kind heart. He has a wicked sense of humor where there are absolutely no boundary lines and he doesn't care who's around when he says something ... regardless of how he says it. He is a very loyal friend, a Vietnam Vet, and can do most anything. His wife is an artist, is demure, kind, and had a very successful career in higher education until she quit. I met her around this time as I listened to two guys wearing three piece suits offer her a job at a major Art School in New York City. She declined by explaining, "That would mean I would have to wear panty hose again and I'm not doing that." It's hard not to love Tricia. They were the first people I've met who decided what they would do for a living based on where they wanted to live. Normally its the other way around as most people follow the money. Pete and Tricia have lived where they've wanted ... New York, Tybee Island, Afghanistan (where Pete was hired to tear down computers so the enemy couldn't read classified information so he threw them all out of the third floor window figuring that would do it), Russia and now in a remote Mid-evil village in central Mexico. Tricia paints. Pete takes long walks in the mountains and gardens. We keep in touch through Face Book though its several years since we've seen one another. The phone flashed "Unknown Caller" last night and I knew it was him so I answered. "Hey Mike," he said in a surprisingly understated manner. "Hey Pete." "You have three little girls," he asked? "I do." "What's that like?" "It's great," I explained. "I love them when I don't want to kill them. They're funny and they teach me a lot. Sarah and I have changed everything since you were last at the house. We've connected the upstairs and the downstairs. Two of the girls live down and one upstairs with us." "Do all of the girls have their own bathroom," he quickly interjected. "Yes," I replied, "well, the two downstairs share one." "That's good that the girls have their own bathroom," he told me. "The secret to raising girls is for them to have their own bathroom." I've never been able to argue with Pete. His logic is on a plain that is different from mine. Who could possibly argue with what he was saying? He went on to explain his life now, the cobblestone village they call home, his Witch Doctor and his daily walks in the mountains. He asked Tricia if she wanted to talk but she was painting so that was out of the question. Pete then lobbied for Sarah and I to come visit. We can bring the girls as they have plenty of room. He asked about Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea. Then he told me they were welcome too and we could all come anytime we want. And that was that! I hold Pete and Tricia deep in my heart. When I was going through a divorce they were the first to invite me to dinner, grilling salmon steaks on their dock and toasting the occasion. They taught my kids how to shark fish, appreciate art and challenge the boundary lines of humor. They define expatriate.They helped me move, more than once. We've shared lots of laughter, life's anguish on occasion, and long, deep conversations that friends sometimes have. "We'll never be back," Pete said at one point. "That just means we have to come see you," I answered. So ... there's one more thing on the list of things to do. I wonder if there is shark fishing in the mountains of Central Mexico?