Mexican Drug Run

October 18-19, 2025

We bought our plane tickets home for Thanksgiving! We are looking forward to two glorious weeks of long, hot showers, free laundry, and—best of all—using as much toilet paper as I want. IYKYK (I've always wanted to use that acronym).

This morning we pointed the car toward Yuma, Arizona to visit our friends, Gordon and Angela Jacobson. Angela was our kids’ piano teacher for years—bless her patient, saintly soul for enduring Alan's endless creative renditions of The Wild Horseman. 

Also, sidenote: I can talk about my kids as much as I want here because none of them actually read this blog. Not one. I even wrote an entire book about them—Cheaper by the Half Dozen, Plus One—and only two of them read it. Two! So yes, this is my safe space. I can spill all the tea, tell all the stories, and they’ll be none the wiser.

The drive to Yuma was stunning. The Colorado River carved through towering canyons, and we passed endless saguaro cactus landscapes straight out of a western movie. We met the Jacobsons for dinner at a local Yuma favorite, where we talked nonstop like no time had passed at all (even though it had been six years).

The next morning, we went to church with them. Here’s something I didn’t know: their stake has two “winter branches” that pop up every year at the end of October. Each has about 350 members, all seasoned church veterans—former bishops, mission presidents, stake presidents, Relief Society presidents, probably a few translated prophets thrown in for good measure. The stake leadership basically gets to kick back and let the retirees run the show.

I’ve always known about snowbirds, but I was still unprepared for the sheer volume of RVs. They were everywhere. And apparently, this was just the beginning of snowbird season. Once they all arrive, the population and traffic doubles and the town transforms into a geriatric mecca. 

Since Mexico is conveniently west of Yuma (yep, west, not south—my brain short-circuited a little there), we decided to walk over the border into Los Algodones. After checking with our friends to make sure it was totally safe, of course.

It was fascinating. Imagine a maze of interconnected decrepit buildings crammed with pharmacies, dentists, opticians, and Botox clinics—all competing for your attention with salesmen offering you deals from the street. In between were little stalls selling sunglasses, belts, hats, and questionable jewelry.

Snowbirds love the place because you can buy medication without a prescription, and it’s generally cheaper. George bought his blood pressure meds there—mostly just to say we did it. It wasn’t dramatically cheaper, but at least he didn’t have to see his doctor again for a refill, which saved us several hundred dollars since we don't have traditional insurance. 

Walking through the border crossing was slightly intimidating with rolls of barbed wire and the infamous Trump wall looming overhead. I did not want to get stuck on the wrong side of that wall. We made a quick lap through town and then high-tailed it back to the U.S., with my heart racing and George's pockets full of legal blood pressure pills.

It was 91 degrees that day in Yuma, the kind of heat that makes you question every fabric choice you’ve ever made. That evening, we cooled off at the Jacobsons’ house, enjoyed another great dinner, and soaked up their company before heading back to our RV—where the showers are short and the toilet paper rationed.

Every story has a soundtrack. This song is in honor of our trip to Mexico: