Since we’re here for a while we figured we’d go ahead and finally get our Mexico Permanent Residency. Because our kids were born here it’s a simple process—in theory. The first time I went up to the INM office, which, fortunately, is right up the street, I waited about three hours just to talk to a lady about the forms I would need. I asked the security guard what time they opened. Nine. I asked him what time I’d have to get there in order to get in at nine. Seven.

Ali and I printed off what we thought we needed and went back up there a few days later. Not at seven. It was around eleven, and we managed to get the last two tickets they would issue for the day. Ali went home and I hung out at the coffee shop for a couple hours, then back at the office for another hour. I messaged Ali when we got close and after four hours we were in. Of course, we managed to miss one of the papers we needed, and the copy of the kids’ birth certificates were too small. We’ll try again next week.

Kind of makes me laugh that up in the States everyone is so worried about Mexicans coming in. Meanwhile, every day the gringos are lining up beyond capacity in this one Immigration office asking for temporary or permanent residency from Mexico. Fingers crossed we’ll soon be Permanent Residents of Mexico and, who knows, maybe we’ll actually have health coverage for the first time in over twenty years.

More beach nights.

Our nightly routine was briefly broken by a trip to see Grammy in Arizona. It’s funny that while everyone else headed to Arizona at this time of year is going for warmer weather, we were happy to be going there to cool off for a while. Eighty-five degrees of dry Arizona heat feels like a real cold snap after a summer in Puerto Vallarta.

Fired up on the first turn, as always. I still need new tires. One of these trips I’ll find the time.

Just up the road from Grammy’s is the Titan Missile Museum. She has been a few times when others came for a visit, and had always recommended it to us, but somehow we’d never been. Turns out she was right. It was a pretty cool tour.

Our visits to Grammy’s house are pretty chill these days. The highlight of each day is dinner. We always plan a good meal, sit around together, and then the kids have us go around the table telling what our favorite part of the day was. It’s funny how each day, no matter how mundane it may have seemed at the time, always has a few high points to talk and laugh about. After dinner we’d take the dog for a walk and enjoy the sunset. The week passed quickly, and it was only later that I realized Grammy hadn’t made her way into a photo.

Unfortunately, a couple of days after getting to Arizona, Hurricane Roslyn popped up. Our second hurricane in about three weeks, both with virtually identical tracks, though this one was supposed to be an almost direct hit on Puerto Vallarta. The track looked terrible, but the wave and wind forecasts for inside Banderas Bay remained totally manageable. I briefly considered flying home to do what I could do, but when we found out I couldn’t change my flight, we gave up on that and left it in the hands of the weather gods. Our friend on a neighboring boat dug out all our extra dock lines and secured the boat just like I would have. Beyond that there really wasn’t much to do.

On this visit we decided to make the effort to get up to the Grand Canyon, so we said goodbye to Grammy and set off on the eight-hour drive (because we can never just jump on the Interstate and do anything quickly). We got out the map, found about the longest possible route we could find, though most scenic, and settled in for a day in the car.

The next night, far away at the Grand Canyon, we watched as Roslyn came screaming by Puerto Vallarta. It looks horrible on radar, but all around Puerto Vallarta are the Sierra Madre mountains, climbing right up to the southwestern point of Banderas Bay. The mountains, combined with the counterclockwise pattern of hurricanes, combine to keep Puerto Vallarta safe. Seas inside the Bay only reached a few feet and the highest gust anyone saw in the marina was 46 knots. Everybody’s boat was just fine. We really do hope that Roslyn was the last one for the season, though.