tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62475053729712736342024-03-13T04:58:22.908-06:00Galileo In MexicoGailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-83373507298149863402016-05-28T00:36:00.002-05:002016-05-28T00:36:21.981-05:00WE'RE BACK, AND BETTER THAN EVER<div>
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This is a recent, untouched iPhone photo taken in the early morning near our wheat fields here in Central Mexico! The early bird catches the - photo?<br />
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Hello! We just want to let our friends know that now we've got a fair-to-middling internet signal, and that we've moved this blog, and hope you'll check out the new address, even if the old posts look a little weird. Some of the photos didn't make the air trip very well, but the management is trying to fix that. This is an exciting move for us, and we're proud to own the name Galileo In Mexico! We hope you'll sign up to follow the blog. We'll be doing our very best to keep up and let you know what's going on in our corner of the world!<br />
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New address: galileoinmexico.com<br />
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See you over there!Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-46442412431713942172014-12-23T16:00:00.001-06:002014-12-23T16:00:57.199-06:00GALILEO IN CALIFORNIA - POSADAS 2014I see my one (ONE!) lonely post from last year and I think "I know, I'll write about my Internet connection in Mexico!" But try as I might, I can't make it funny or interesting. So just know this, Dear Reader, that I have a bad one. I swear it got much worse this year, although it didn't seem possible. Like - No Uploading, Ever bad.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first time I put on my headpiece each year it just seems too BIG!</td></tr>
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Galileo is in SoCal for our annual Posadas Dinner Party gig at La Golondrina in the old, historic part of Los Angeles, and instead of writing about farming in Mexico or other exciting details of our busy life (you think I'm kidding, don't you?), I'm going to give you a glimpse into the life of us two professional musicians.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the sculpture at the Tijuana border. I think it's imposing but ugly.</td></tr>
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I am seated at a desk in a hotel room - the same hotel we have stayed in for several years now. It's not glamorous. Many of you would not choose to stay here. But it's clean (enough) and safe (enough), has internet (see above - this is why some of my friends and family only hear from me in December!) and we're used to it. Enough about the hotel. We're notorious penny-pinchers. We travel a full day to get here each year, leaving Central Mexico and the central time zone early in the morning, arriving at the border still in the morning in a new time zone, getting across said border, renting a car in San Diego and driving to the Los Angeles area and haggling over the price of the hotel. (Bet most of you didn't realize you could do that). We usually have one or two days to get acclimated.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got to see my friend Chris. Flannel twins.</td></tr>
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Practice: maybe you thought that practicing is for beginners. Practice is for all musicians, all the time.<br />
All through the year we practice, learn, and rehearse. For us that involves setting up equipment, as we don't usually practice with acoustic instruments. Since Chon is a composer, we learn new songs throughout the year, to archive them, or to prepare them (arrange and organize) for live performances. Some weeks we have to put our farming schedule first, and put off practicing, but we always return to it as soon as we can.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Impromptu studio - programming drum machine using headphones from a pawn shop.</td></tr>
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And Chon is thinking throughout the year about our December gig. We do two to four gigs during the year, and they include my birthday party (June) and Chon's birthday party (December), New Year's Eve, and other dates, like Valentine's Day and Mothers' Day. These gigs often include repertoire we plan to use at the Posadas parties.<br />
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The Posadas dinner parties are held in a restaurant that can accommodate several hundred people. We have played nearly every night of each December 16-24 since 1987. Really. The show is pretty much the same each season. In fact, the manager prints us out the very same show order every year. This year they wrote in an extra group of dances by the folkloric dancers, which might not seem really important, but it turned out to be. And it was a different dance group than the one that we've seen every year for many years.<br />
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Many of the families that attend have made this a family tradition for longer than we've been hosting the show. Really! So we see children and grandchildren of those families one night of the year every year. And after so many years, you get a feeling of what to expect each night. Since it is a family-oriented show, you may not have a realistic picture of how the evenings might go. Although there are many small families with charming, wide-eyed children, there are often large families and some pretty wild behavior. Take last night for example. <br />
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While we were setting up, an ex-student arrived to chat with us. Thanks for coming, Jose!! Planning to stay, he and his friends instead had to leave, there being no room in the inn, ha ha (posadas joke). It was sold out.<br />
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When I saw the thin blonde woman walk in, with her extremely high heels and faux leather pants, I knew how it would be. The year before, her large family group had brought confetti-filled egg shells, and throughout the evening had thrown the eggs and hard candies around, one even denting the finish of a guitar onstage. They tend to drink a lot of Margaritas. Who knows - maybe this is their one night of the year to really cut loose! And so they did. There were 25 kids, seated at long tables facing each other on the dance floor, (right in front of us) leaving little room for the marionette show and the dancers. The kids threw confetti eggs at each other, and playfully ground confetti into each others' hair. Their parents could be seen and heard admonishing the kids, to little avail, although the kids really seemed playful and excited, and not hurtful.<br />
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We began the evening on time, with some jazzy Christmas carols on the piano. While I played, Chon was fixing the sound to be even better. After the jazzy carols we played and sang Christmas carols in English and Spanish, and then the dancers came to the now-tiny dance floor, a few minutes late. The leader/organizer of the dancers had asked us to let him know when there were two carols left before they began. We told him, but they weren't quite ready. Christmas carols are not long! They are certainly not as long as a three-minute pop song. We sang two more, and then the dancers entered the crowded dance area and presented some short Aztec dances. They have beautiful costumes and headdresses, rattles, and fire! in a fire pot.<br />
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Then we played two dance numbers for the audience, one in Spanish and one in English. The kids continued bombarding each other with confetti. Confetti on a polished wood floor seems to make it more slippery but no waiter or waitress bearing large trays of food fell.<br />
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Then the Bob Baker marionettes show was presented by the talented puppet master, Eric. I love the show, and have not tired of it in all these years. There are clowns, a skating bear, a couple in Mexican folkwear, a tall couple in ballroom dance wear, a tall pink cat with maribou and high heels, little boys, a big yellow chicken that lays an egg on stage. I find it delightful. The kids edged closer and closer to the center, making it difficult for Eric to navigate.<br />
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The music used for the marionettes is "classic" humorous songs all adults recognize, a Spike Jones number, and even light classical music like Leroy Anderson. Eric has the music on his iPod/iPhone and it's easy to hook it up to our sound system, but difficult to equalize so that it sounds good through the big speakers. Chon does that well. Recently Eric and Chon have discussed making new recordings of the music so it doesn't take so much adjusting.<br />
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After the marionette show we did a Posadas Procession, a shortened version of the Mexican tradition of singing groups of people visiting neighboring houses before Christmas. The kids "help" with this, processing around the restaurant, with the dancers carrying a large Nativity scene. Joseph and Mary seek shelter and the story ends happily. We play live music for this. With so many kids it was difficult to walk around.<br />
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We followed the procession with more dance music, and then played very brief music for each kid to swing at the piñata (there were two of them, as there were so many kids - the twenty-five seated on the dance floor were joined by others who magically showed up when we announced the piñata.<br />
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Throughout the evening the dance floor was occasionally taken over by men wearing Mexican gabanes holding glasses - of - beer? It looked like that. They are the ones who like it when we play rock music. And we do. See how eclectic it is?<br />
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The dancers returned for a dance from the Mexican state of Michoacan, the above-mentioned change in our tried-and-true order of events, and at this point we began to get complaints. They came to me, and not to the manager, so it was a little weird. No, it was odd, and I wasn't sure what to say.<br />
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One woman, loudly, said into my ear as I was singing, "The Baldwins are leaving! We were waiting for the Mothers and Sons dance, but we have to go!" As soon as I could, I told her that would be the very next thing. The Michoacan dance dragged on. Aside: the dance from Michoacan is a famous one called Los Viejitos, The Little Old Men, and it's comical. Or it's supposed to be. Dancers with masks depicting old men with long pink faces, dance like young men, and fall down, and get up and dance some more, and generally make a nuisance of themselves. To be really good it must have physical humor. It seems mystifying to most of us gringos, however, as it was last night to the audience. I must be missing something. The blonde woman also came to the stage to comment about the Mothers and Sons Dance, and I told her that the program was the same, and it WAS, it really WAS, except for that one little insertion of the Old Men Dance. The blonde woman hissed at me, "NO, it's NOT". They know the order of the show!<br />
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Anyway, it ground to an end, and we were relieved to announce the Mothers and Sons dance. We have often thought about changing the music we play for this, but perhaps we should put that idea out of our heads. Then the Fathers and Daughters danced, and we followed this with the Hokey Pokey, (yes, we really play the Hokey Pokey), La Macarena, and then a melange of mostly original holiday rock music, which has really great energy, and many kids and parents were dancing, including the blonde woman, who at one point put one high-heeled foot up on a table so that her pants slid down in the back and we got a really clear view of a body part usually covered up, and later made some dance moves not usually made on family restaurants.<br />
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Aside about the Hokey Pokey and La Macarena: these are musical numbers that we have considered changing over the years, usually at the request of the dancers who are sick of it - not much challenge there for a dancer, you must admit. But we will probably NEVER change them, because you now see what happens when you Change Things. And the other night when we began La Macarena, a thirty-something woman who used to be a teenager at the show said to her sister, with a lit-up face, "Oh, this is my favorite!"<br />
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And then it was over. We tore down equipment, packed it up and stowed it, and headed to the Valley. We sat and watched an episode of Anger Management and went to sleep.<br />
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Our schedule every day of the show - you may think that a three-hour show is just that - three hours. But now you know - there's practice and planning all year. There is instrument repair and wires repair. There is tuning. We leave to go to the three-hour gig at 4 p.m. We set up for 45 minutes to an hour. We eat. That's a lucky part, because the food at La Golondrina is really good, and it's better every year. We play the show. We tear down, and we get back to our non-luxurious hotel aound 11 p.m. When you have that sort of wire-tired feeling you can't go right to sleep, so you sleep late. Then there is usually enough time to get breakfast or lunch and get ready to go again. It's great work if you can get it.<br />
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<br />Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-49525391493685349202014-05-01T21:46:00.000-05:002014-05-01T21:47:10.685-05:00Harvest 2013<br />
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">There are plenty of notes and
photos about our Siembra 2013.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">We planted our fields May
28 and June 6, having purchased fertilizer granules to go with the seed. Many
fertilizers, pesticides and herbicides come to Mexico from the US, and receive
a lot of suspicious attention from the farmers that purchase them, including
fears that Monsanto and other companies might be selling “plaga” of all sorts
right along with their seeds to get the farmers to buy something to control
them with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g4Opkq9w-tY/U2J1k6hN3II/AAAAAAAAAZU/XZpUgW80rD0/s1600/IMG_0206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g4Opkq9w-tY/U2J1k6hN3II/AAAAAAAAAZU/XZpUgW80rD0/s1600/IMG_0206.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">We received irrigation water
right away, so everything got off to a good start. I’m not sure whether it was
conscious or not, but this planting season was one of little machinery use, and
lots of hands-on work. We almost can say we had a peon de planta, a full-time worker, because Mechin
started working for us with the irrigation, and worked all through the summer
and fall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">Mechin brought other workers
when there was too much fertilizing/weed spraying for one person, and that
worked very well. He and another worker both decided that they would not drink
until the local fiesta, and as far as we could tell, they stuck to their
decision, thus saving themselves a lot of money and the foolishness that often
accompanies drunkenness. (Sorry – I’m not on a soapbox here, just stating the observable facts.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">The seeds sprouted and the
plants appeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">They grew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">So did the insect
predators. See the holes near the roots of these young sorghum plants? Those
are deadly attacks from, I think, gallina ciega (“blind chicken” – eeuuww), the
hideous underground herbivorous predator.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proud farmer.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even prouder farmer,</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">We worried, as dry-land
farmers do, about having enough rain. But looking back in memory and through my notes, the
worry wasn’t necessary in 2013 (OK, perhaps it’s debatable whether worry is
necessary or not). At any rate, we got gentle rain often, with few really heavy storms. But
there was plenty of thunder and lightning, usually in the evening and night,
and rains all the way to harvest time. </span><span style="font-size: 18pt;">It was difficult for some local farmers
to get into the fields, and it took quite a while for the maize and corn to dry
sufficiently for harvesting.</span></div>
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Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-32549028233183977902014-01-12T10:31:00.000-06:002014-01-12T10:31:51.236-06:00Starting Over (well, sort of)I recently (yesterday!) regained access to this blog. Thank you google forum! That's a pretty good excuse not to have written anything for a long time, I'd say.<br />
The first thing I did was to moderate some comments (I got some comments!) and to peruse some of the old entries. I had thought after not seeing it for a while that I just might not like it. But I do. I still do.<br />
So I have some catching up to do, and this is a start.<br />
Reasons I didn't blog:<br />
1. I really did not notice that I didn't have access to the blog. Because????<br />
2. There was really nothing going on for a while; no practicing/performing. No farming. Lots of reading (I guess I could blog about reading, but - nah.)<br />
3. We got really busy with farming, and I was waaay too busy to write about it. Really. Busy every single day.<br />
4. We got busy with music, with hours and days of practicing.<br />
5. We were taking care of la señora, who got a horrible infection.<br />
And that's the year, condensed.<br />
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So, my dear readers, guess what I'll be writing about very soon!!<br />
La Siembra, practicing, performing, caring for an old, old lady, losing and re-evaluating having a blog.<br />
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Can you see where this is going? I hope it won't be boring.Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-4428335992856209792013-01-09T15:57:00.000-06:002013-01-09T16:13:21.038-06:00Navidad – Going To Mexico<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZsA4JV-7ukY/UO3orXz6-nI/AAAAAAAAAXk/UDJ3s7COwOw/s1600/IMG_0708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZsA4JV-7ukY/UO3orXz6-nI/AAAAAAAAAXk/UDJ3s7COwOw/s320/IMG_0708.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Papyrus;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Papyrus;">Our recent annual Posadas
Parties gig in downtown Los Angeles ended quietly on December 24</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Papyrus;"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Papyrus;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Papyrus;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Papyrus;">As we were setting up several employees
asked if the evening would end earlier than the other nights, and Yes, we said.
We used less equipment and smaller speakers, and shortened the times between
events, so that we ended about 9:15 instead of at 10 p.m.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of our equipment, waiting to be stored - up two flights of stairs - the life of a musician!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">We trudged up and down
stairs and put away our equipment in the storage room. We said our goodbyes to
the dancers, the puppeteer and the employees, and drove to our motel for our
last night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">In the morning we packed
up our equipment and clothing, and went to a local pawn shop to purchase a drum
machine we had spotted similar to the one we like to use for recording. We then
drove to a cousin’s house near Covina where we enjoyed a wonderful meal with
ham as a main dish (thank you, Sylvia!. In spite of all the excellent meats
available in Mexico, ham and turkey are two things that just are not of the
same quality. I am not embarrassed to say that I had <s>several </s>many servings
of ham. I had an extremely enjoyable conversation with Sylvia and her lovely
daughter while the daughter made guacamole as Christmas gifts for her friends.
They were so attentive I probably talked <i>way</i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;"> too much. I do miss having women friends to talk
to, and I probably totally dominated the table talk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">As the afternoon wore on I
began to cast glances at the clock and fret a little about leaving on time. Our
car was due back at the rental agency in San Diego at 9 p.m., and I hazarded a
guess that it would be perhaps a three-hour drive. We left about 6:45 after our
goodbyes. While I kept driving at a steady pace for about three hours, Chon
napped off and on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">We were on an unfamiliar
freeway, and it just didn’t feel like exactly the right direction. When I began
seeing signs for San Diego, but not for the airport, I called my sister, who
was on the receiving end of a snow-and-ice storm in Arkansas. She speedily
looked for directions to the airport (she is <i>really, really good at using
the computer</i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;">), and told me if I
saw highway 163 I should take it. As her words came through the phone we were
just arriving at the off-ramp, and we zoomed onto it. Her directions were
perfect and in a short time we were near the airport; we gassed up the car,
checked it in and re-packed our things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">I may not have mentioned
that one part of our luggage was a large box (<i>The Box</i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;">) with digital recording equipment we had purchased
in Los Angeles. Chon packed it with clothing for additional protection. It had
carrying handles, but it was quite heavy and rather awkward. In addition I was
carrying a bag we bought at a thrift shop because it had wheels for ease of
movement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">Although we had taken the
Volaris shuttle from the Tijuana airport to the San Diego airport, we weren’t exactly
sure how to catch it back to the Tijuana airport. Although I was fairly sure of
the location, I hadn’t really thought about the lateness of our return, and
wondered if it would come. An extremely rude taxi driver tried to convince us
that my directions were wrong. We showed up, though, at the Amtrak station, and
I got directions for the shuttle stop right outside the door. It would arrive,
the attendant told us, at 11 p.m. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 1:10
a.m., and we were beginning to feel pinched for time. That is to say, this is
when<i> both</i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;"> of us were feeling
that pinch; I had felt concerned since, say, about 5 p.m. There was one other
person besides us at the shuttle stop, a young man who told us HIS flight was
leaving at 11:45. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our luggage under street lights, outside the Metro Station in San Diego, CA. See The Box?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">We looked at each other
wordlessly. IF the shuttle arrived at the scheduled time, and IF it took zero
minutes to officially cross the border, it still would just not be possible for
him to make his flight because of the 20-or-so-minute drive to the border. He
suspected it, and we knew it. He asked if we would like to share a taxi. There
was one parked a half-block away, and before Chon went to ask if it was
available, I asked him to make sure the driver wasn’t a complete A. He wasn’t,
and it was available. He wanted $50 to drive us to the border, and the other
passenger offered to pay half.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That made OUR taxi ride cheaper than taking the shuttle! We got a strong
young guy to help carry The Box, and HE got at least a chance to make his
flight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">We raced to the border,
the cab driver probably in a hurry to harvest more work on this busy Christmas
night. The cabbie had lied, however, when he told us that it wasn’t far for us
to walk to cross the border; “less than a block”, he said. We tumbled out of
the cab and unloaded our gear and began to walk on the new pedestrian path
across the border. My bag, the one with wheels, would begin to rock wildly if I
walked speedily or held the handle too high, so I brought up the rear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">We sweated our way along
the well-lit, smooth sidewalk that led to a small brilliantly lit room where a
sleepy-eyed female border agent asked us where we were coming from, and going
to. Chon told her that the three of us were a band, and we were making a
regular border crossing to play at a party. She waved us past her with a bored
smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">And then we walked, and
walked. And walked some more. The sidewalk became a bridge. With many
switchbacks. Chon and the young guy made several changes of sides of The Box
because their hands hurt. Several times we passed a middle-aged gringo (and he
passed us), and one of those times he asked us, panting, if we wanted to share
a taxi. Yes, we did. As we finally arrived, panting, at the taxi parking area,
we beckoned to him to hurry so he could ride with us. The taxi driver quoted a
$20 price (yes, $5 apiece) and amazingly, loaded The Box and some other luggage
into the truck and tied the trunk lid down. The four of us piled in, and passed
around our smaller bags so that we could fit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">We started off for the
airport, and every time we drove across a pot-hole the trunk lid would bang and
the gringo with us would mutter “bad shocks”. We made it to the airport in
record time, and the young guy and Chon picked up The Box again and carried it
to the luggage scanner. We made it through that first hurdle and I had my visa
checked. The young guy began to slink away, and Chon called him back to haul
The Box to our check-in line, where he promptly and efficiently disappeared.
Who could blame him? He DID make his flight, though. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">And WE pushed The Box
through the lines to the check-in, where we paid for the extra weight. Then we
headed with our backpacks to the security check, where we were told that we
could not carry our (brand-new, extra-heavy-duty, <i>expensive</i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;">) instrument cords in our carry-on luggage.
(What???? No electrical cables in carry-on? That is not something I have seen
listed as being prohibited by the airlines.) I waited while Chon ran back to
the check-in counter where the airline workers told him to<i> leave</i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;"> <i>his backpack with them. </i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
this was simply not an option (great NEW backpack designed for computer, with a
fine drum machine inside), he talked them into leaving only the cables with
them, and returned <i>cum</i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;"> backpack
to the security check-in, and then, finally, we were through, and the rest was
easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">The Volaris flight took
off and arrived on time (congratulations, Volaris!), and when we arrived I had
my first opportunity (??) to help carry The Box. After only a few seconds I was
so relieved that I hadn’t been the one drafted to lug it all the way across the
immigration trails!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">A friend picked us up at
the airport, and as we headed for the highway to take us home, there were
hundreds and hundreds of <i>urracas, </i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;">boat-tailed
grackles, in enormous <i>parvadas </i></span><span style="font-family: Papyrus;">,
flocks, flying overhead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;">We got home about 40
minutes later, unloaded our things and went to sleep for four hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-42483277066668625192012-12-18T14:55:00.000-06:002012-12-18T14:55:00.486-06:00YES, WE ARE WORKING MUSICIANS<br />
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The other day we were in a large music store that sells instruments and music equipment, and the clerk politely listened to Chon describing how we had just arrived from Mexico, and then listened more while he described what we would be doing a few hours later, until the clerk’s eyes suddenly lit up in comprehension, and he exclaimed in astonishment, “Oh - then you are actually Working Musicians!”</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AfEOV51g714/UNDSVpBA2AI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/r4XGLjB__A0/s1600/IMG_4322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AfEOV51g714/UNDSVpBA2AI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/r4XGLjB__A0/s320/IMG_4322.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Yes, we are. And last night, the third night of a ten-night gig, was one of those nights when things went right for us against the odds, with some magical moments from the other elements of the show, and some surprisingly cursed performances from others.</div>
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“We are Galileo, and we will be your musical hosts for the evening.”</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Audience participation can be stunning!</td></tr>
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This gig is a dinner show, and sometimes the results depend on the audience. Well, OK, the audience ALWAYS plays a big part. Aloof teenagers, timorous children, angry adults with obvious issues - that’s just a fragment of the population, and the holiday season seems to aggravate the best and the worst in each person. Last night the audience numbered eighteen, instead of an average of three hundred. So we made adjustments to our schedule and started late on purpose, since we didn’t have many people to handle. We played dance numbers, and sung seasonal songs for about a half hour, all the while noticing that not a single member of the dance troupe, normally numbering ten or twelve, had stopped by to wave hello. However, as our last “cue” song was happening, I could see the great feathered headdresses of the dancers approaching. </div>
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We are the MC's for the show, and I introduced the dancers with a great deal of energy, and they headed to the stage, which in this case is the dance floor, at a slightly lower level than the stage where we are situated. Chon busied himself with the audio equipment, enigineering changes to the sound as I watched three dancers prepare to dance. Normally there are six to eight dancers. </div>
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The first set of dances is “Aztec Ceremonial Dances”, and of the FOUR dancers present, one played (blew) the conch shell. He was not in costume, and remained out of sight. One dancer, arguably the best, had been elected to play a very large (bigger and taller than a child) drum. The two other dancers were the couple who is the moving force of the dance troupe, an experienced middle-aged couple. Are you counting? Two dancers instead of six or eight. The woman is charming and talented. Her husband is rather tongue-tied and shy, and, well, just not a "born" dancer. That is to say, he dances. In a professional dance troupe. With a lesser sense of rhythm, the movements and steps of the Mexican dances are extremely challenging and intricate. But our dancer bravely rose to the challenge</div>
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I was watching, amused, to see what would come of this extremely diminished dance group, when Chon glanced up from what he was doing, and with a dreadful scowl, his eyebrows shot up in shock as he saw the dancers. The woman encouraged her partner through the steps of the various dances, until the final presentation, the Fire Dance, when a single dancer (and not usually THIS man!) dances around a burning flame in a stone mortar, at times bringing his feet and legs extremely close to the flame, and for the finale, holding the burning flames high above his head, moving them from hand to hand, then returning the flames to the mortar, and eventually extinguishing them with a bare foot. This he did, valiantly struggling along, until he dropped the flame on the floor, quickly recovered it and returned it to the mortar, and then it just, sort of, went out. And that was the finale of the dance. The beautiful, lithe, slender dancer who was beating the rhythm on the drum, also just - stopped. What else?</div>
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We quickly began to applaud, and the audience joined us entusiastically. Yay!</div>
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Later in the show, the dance group, scheduled to present a group of regional dances from Mexico, returned, this time with the conch player (to us, the New Guy). So there were the four of them on the dance floor. For some technical reason they chose to use a slower, training recording of one of the extremely fast whirling polkas from northern Mexico, and the “new guy” to us, the one who had blown the conch shell, just danced the polka at the speed he was accustomed to - that is, at a much faster speed. His partner did not - she valiantly attempted to dance to the tempo of the recording, and to assist her partner to hold back, as well. The steps were right. They just couldn’t really dance it <i>together</i>...</div>
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And as for US, well, one of our speakers was blown, and we could not replace it. So Chon used a monitor (a speaker that performers use to hear themselves in the all the amplified sound swirling about),in place of the broken speaker, which made the bass sound normal. I play a bass part for all the songs we perform, with my left hand, on a keyboard. The sound is a “real” bass sound, that I normally like. The night before, it came out of the speaker as a cross between an extremely loud belch and a rattle. At first, hesitant to produce such a sound, I played rather gingerly, but as the night wore on, I became more accustomed to it, and realizing that the audience probably really wasn’t noticing, gave it more energy and volume. Using the monitor was a relief because the sound was good - normal, but accompanied by the worry of the possibility of blowing another speaker.</div>
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The world-famous Bob Baker Marionettes are part of the show, as well, and do a twenty-minute set. They are charming, OLD puppets, with fading feathers, maribou, felt hats, and chiffon, and the puppet-master is young and very, very good. He can make a marionette look like it’s tap-dancing. Or doing a provocative (not TOO provocative - it’s a family show!) Santa Baby routine. Or juggle. Or fly. </div>
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Normally, there are twenty or thirty children sitting on the dance floor to see the puppets. Last night? There was one. He was about eight years old. His little sister, maybe five years old, was terrified, and spent most of the presentation tearfully huddled in her father’s arms at a nearby table. Soooo, I went to sit with the boy to get a great view of the routine. Then several other adults decided to join us, too, so there were six of us. Having been charmed by Bob Baker's marionettes as a spell-bound child seeing Hansel and Gretel, I am a serious FAN of the marionette show, and the set was wonderful. All of us were laughing and nudging each other at clever details. I hadn’t known that the big pink cat does funny things with her handkerchief! My face was aching from smiling so much. The lone boy was a perfect audience member as well, and was charmed and thrilled by the up-close-and-personal marionettes. </div>
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And later on, when we had a traditional-styled posadas procession around the area, the adults took part, as well, in the part of the show usually done by youngsters. And the piñata, you ask? Waiters and waitresses joined in, as well as the paying audience. </div>
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I had a wonderful time. And as I chatted with the audience after the show, I could tell they did, too.</div>
Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-86388703955879546132012-10-30T16:37:00.001-06:002012-10-30T16:37:09.869-06:00ATOTONILCO EL ALTO<br />
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We went on a pleasant drive to Atotonilco, a very old Mexican town we have visited before. It’s a drive of about an hour an a half, across the treacherous strip of road where we got our flat tire a couple of weeks ago.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TvcqykzZHV8/UJBD6utyADI/AAAAAAAAAUs/ajm34v8KCnA/s1600/IMG00023-20121029-1155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TvcqykzZHV8/UJBD6utyADI/AAAAAAAAAUs/ajm34v8KCnA/s320/IMG00023-20121029-1155.jpg" width="320" /></a>Nearby Jalpa’s patronal fiesta was held over the last weekend. Before we left, we drove to there to buy some bread from one of the vendors before they pulled up stakes and left for another fiesta. There were lots of candy vendors, with marzipan and a variety of candies made from squashes and yams. There were several vendors of kitchen items, and plastic buckets and pans of all sizes.The children’s games were still there, too. The bread vendors carry their ovens around with them, and one had large beautiful bread coming right out of the oven. Chon bought one to take with us to Juana, his sister.</div>
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Atotonilco is a commercial center located in the “heights” of Jalisco, and was built in a bowl: to enter the town the drive circles down from the flatter lands of agave and orchards. Its known history began in 1528 (yes, 1528), and the conquistadors arrived in 1530. Known for oranges and lemons, it is also a center for tequila distilleries. AND, there are hot springs there!</div>
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The drive to Atotonilco was uneventful, and we saw some workers filling the enormous potholes that had tormented us on an earlier drive, and we arrived after noon. We parked a couple of blocks from the very large templo, and walked to the town square.</div>
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The temple of San Miguel Arcangel was built in the mid-1700’s, and appears to occupy most of a city block. The style is very similar to the famous temple in our neighboring town Jalpa De Canovas, described as renaissance and plateresco (florid), with a bell-shaped top. It towers above the city, and is easily seen from the mountains above. It is built of quarried stone. Corinthian columns inside draw the eye up to the light-filled dome. When we entered, a woman was mopping the large area surrounding the altar, and singing. The sound of her voice hung in the air, with a long decay time.</div>
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We walked around, found ourselves by the old mercado, and remembered the hotel across the street. We went in and the woman at the front desk answered many questions about the area. Rooms are 300 pesos per night. That's less than $30. Right outside the hotel was a place advertising lunch of chilaquiles and beans for 13 pesos. We bit. It was very good, and we felt fortified for more walking. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AFv5UqJ1K8s/UJBFRB07XSI/AAAAAAAAAVM/E4M9z2UPwRM/s1600/IMG00044-20121029-1418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AFv5UqJ1K8s/UJBFRB07XSI/AAAAAAAAAVM/E4M9z2UPwRM/s320/IMG00044-20121029-1418.jpg" width="320" /></a>In the mercado Chon made a deal for a pair of huaraches for 90 pesos, and we stopped in at a couple of "cibers" to try to purchase a USB extension cord. It began to rain, harder and harder. We wanted to get to Juana's house before it got late, so we headed back to the car, and back towards Arandas, the famous tequila town. We stopped at our favorite "private label" merchant (in this case, private label means no label at all), and bought a garrafon to take home. We headed past the very old church with its very old, very heavy bell still hanging in its temporary spot, and drove toward Juana's house. </div>
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Out in the open spaces, dotted with agave fields and cattle pasture, we headed down a hill only to see a line of many stopped cars, and a barricade made of a truck that had slipped off the road, and was completely blocking passage. We waited with the other travelers until two large tow trucks manages to pull the truck backwards and onto the roadway again. When we passed the truck, we saw the shaken driver, several transit police cars, and the two tow trucks.</div>
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Traveling on, we arrived at Juana's house in cold Josefino. She efficiently prepared us tacos of tasty chicken breasts, with beans and some spaghetti with a terrific cream sauce with rajas. We contributed our beautiful fiesta bread, and left after a short visit. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Papyrus; font-size: 14px;">We wound down the mountain road, passed through Doblado, and arrived home after 8 p.m.</span><br />
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Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-55989199123149526882012-10-28T10:03:00.004-06:002012-10-28T10:03:38.797-06:00QUICK TRIP TO PUERTO VALLARTA<br />
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FAST TRIP TO VALLARTA</div>
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We were recently invited to Puerto Vallarta for a brief visit, and it was action-packed.</div>
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Daughter Laurel and her family went to Vallarta for two weeks, and ended up cutting the stay short because baby Keely had a bad cold with respiratory problems. </div>
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We left on a Thursday morning and headed for Vallarta, having just repaired a little bulge on a rear tire. We followed Mapquest directions, which proved just fine, and the route we had guessed. We went north, through Guadalajara, and headed toward Tepic on a familiar toll road. As you exit the toll road the road falls steeply down and down. We had a lunch and continued through Chapalilla and some other small towns, at times stuck behind slow traffic. The hilly area is at times open, with pasture or crops, and other times is heavily wooded and shady. That portion of the trip is lengthy. When at last we reached the ocean it was almost a suprise, because we had been waiting so long to see it.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v9DLBWHRfDk/UIxW0MrGmxI/AAAAAAAAATw/eQyYvjx30FU/s1600/IMG_0082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v9DLBWHRfDk/UIxW0MrGmxI/AAAAAAAAATw/eQyYvjx30FU/s1600/IMG_0082.JPG" width="240" /></a>We followed the coastline south to Puerto Vallarta and searched for the Marriott, and overshot it by quite a ways, so we got an idea of the town. Although there are luxurious hotels and many tourist attrations, the town is old and rather charming. Drivers: Vallarta is one of those places where to turn left, you must get onto the right parallel road, called a lateral. Then you may turn left, across the traffic on the main part of the road, on a light. After locating the motel and finding our way to the check-in desk through a light drizzle, we arrived at our room, adjoining our hosts who were in a large suite. They needed the space because of all the things they had brought - crib, stroller, sports equipment. There was a refrigerator and a balcony overlooking the beach, and sea turtle release program. In the afternoons you can attend a release of baby sea turtles on the beach. Breilyn and I went for a stroll on the beach, hoping to see that.</div>
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The Marriott is sumptuous, especially for folks accustomed to life in a tiny town. There are many shops and many eating choices, and of course, a pool. Dion and Laurel took us out to a wonderful Japanese dinner, with fancy spatula tossing, and a meal prepared in front of us on a large grill. The fried rice prepared by our chef was very good. Normally fried rice is probably not something one would mention, but really, it was wonderful. We had Mahi Mahi, the “catch of the day”. </div>
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The only negative thing about our overnight stay I could mention is the lack of a good internet connection. I was hoping to update some things on my computer that I usually can’t do at home (I have broad band which is limited in megabytes as well as service). The signal there was not good, so that task was frustrating.I couldn’t add anything to my Facebook page either. But hey, it was a vacation and that was a miniscule disappointment. </div>
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We slept well, and breakfast the next morning was impressive. It was buffet style, with just about anything a person could desire. There was a large variety of fresh juices and aguas, coffee and tea. There was sushi. There were fried potatoes cooked with a dark chile. There were fresh breads, bacon and ham. There were little empandas. There was a woman chef preparing eggs to order in front of your eyes.There were fresh tortillas and cooked meats and guisados. I would have sampled everything if I could have!</div>
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Much too soon it was time to get ready to leave - Laurel’s family had afternoon flight reservations. We all said goodbye as they were whisked off to the airport in a large hotel Suburban.</div>
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We had decided to try a different route to Guadalajara, and we headed north a ways on the coast. After stopping at a music store and a couple of places that made rustic furniture we found the road we wanted, to Guadalajara by way of a town called Mascota. </div>
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This road went UP. The summit was over 6,500 feet elevation. There were many topes to slow the traffic, and several small towns. The road was not good, and there were plenty of large and deep potholes. But is was a gorgeous drive, and I believe it might have been a shorter, more direct drive.</div>
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At the highest elevations we began to see signs advertising products of the region: honey, pottery, and something called “raizilla”, which turned out to be a distilled tequila-like drink; very potent, at 40% alcohol. Like tequila, it is made from agave, but the agave plants are called “lechuguilla” as they have lettuce-like, wider, curvier leavves. It was made illgally for many, many years, but now is being marketed. The bottle we purchased was labelled “Raizilla Ilegal”. The area reminded me of the Sonora/Tuolumne area in northen California, that I have always liked. We felt right at home there, but we had to move on.</div>
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As we went down after the summit I was curious about the town of Mascota. I mean, who wouldn’t be? A “mascota” is a pet! But no, the place wasn’t all about pets - the name comes from the tongue-twisting “Teco Amaxacotlan Mazacotla (not Spanish!!) which translated to Spanish means a place where there are deer and snakes. The conquistadores named it Valley of Deer. Another name was Emerald of the Sierras, and it really looks like a jewel when you see it from the twisting road above the valley. </div>
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Once in town, you notice very clean, rock roads, and closed-off houses. The people were friendly, some girls telling us that the daily wage there is 100 pesos (less than ten dollars). That, combined with the high prices for necessities, makes for a difficult life. (Men are sometimes paid 150 pesos/day for labor, according to the same source.) This is another thing, I might venture, that the area has in common with the Sonora area of California.</div>
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As we continued toward Guadalajara and home we stopped at a view point high above Mascota for a couple of photos. At the same spot was a pickup with the hood up, and a family watching the daddy peering into the engine cavity. Chon asked what the problem was, and the man told him that suddenly there had been “oil” spraying all over, and it had soaked the right front tire. After some conversation and thoughtful analysis of our own past experience, Chon decided that it likely was the transmission fluid. And it was. The guy handed us 500 pesos (displaying an unusual amount of trust) and we went back down to the nearest gas station and purchased two bottles of transmission fluid, returned, and added it to the car. When he switched it on again, the fluid again began to spew. Closer examination revealed a hose with a big cracked place, luckily near the place it was fastened. The man handily cut of the damaged part and replaced the clamp. During the time we were there, we all made friends. There were two little boys with their mom, and we all shared pretzel chips (thank you, Laurel) and chatted. When we took off again, it was with the phone number of the man, who lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, and a standing invitation to a big steak dinner whenever we might be passing through.</div>
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We follwed a pickup full of happy (obviously drunk) workers down the mountain until they stopped at a bar, then continued along a wider portion of highway, dotted with topes and other traffic-slowing devices until we reached Guadalajara. </div>
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Now - we have a history of making wrong turns while returning south through Guadalajara, but the last couple of times we had gone directly through with no unfortunate deviations. This time we missed a “slight right”, took an off-ramp and got turned around, but it took only about a half hour. Relieved, we continued to the famous toll booth and toward home.</div>
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You might think that because of our Good Samaritan points we we had earned earlier in the day, we would have a smooth trip home from there, safe, with no problems, but that was not to be. A road between Arandas, the famous tequila town and the gas station about 1/2 mile from our rancho, is famous for its potholes. They can be so large that can they stretch like emormous yawning cauldrons all the way across the road. We safely navegated around and across several nasty holes, and then an approaching driver blinded us with brights (smarter than this driver, I guess). I should have just stopped right there in the road, but instead, continued to progress. Bam!! We hit a pothole with both right tires, and a few seconds later we had a flat. At about 1:00 a.m. Luckily, we were only about 100 yards past a gasoline station, unluckily closed for the night, but luckily there were living quarters above, with lights on. Unluckily, the man who answered our calls for help refused to help - said he didn’t have a jack, and wouldn’t come down. </div>
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We thought of calling for help. Luckily, we had both of our phones along. Unluckily, neither phone was receiving a signal. </div>
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Luckily, I had my laptop. Unluckily, its broadband couldn’t find the signal either.</div>
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We had a small, toylike jack in the car. We located it and squeezed it underneath the tire after loosening the nuts. With plenty of cursing, Chon managed to raise the tiny jack with its miniature handle Once up, tire removed, we heard a quiet creaking sound, and the jack just - well, bent, and twisted under the car, leaving the brake right on the pavement.</div>
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We were far from any town. We could see house lights in the distance, and occasionally we could hear the far-off barking of a dog when we walked around the car with the light of our cell phone. No cars passed. Earlier, right after we had stopped and were still full of plans and hope, three or four cars passed us, headed toward town, probably leaving Friday night parties. But now, no cars passed.</div>
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I got in the car, as it was getting quite chilly, and rested. Chon was outside, and I thought he was probably resting, too. But after about fifteen minutes he called me out of the car to try a new idea. (That’s just the kind of guy he is.) I staggered out of the car, and searched for the large, flat rocks his idea required. But first, we had to remove the twisted jack from under the car. He had found a thick pipe, and he levered the car up with that while I jerked the jack out with a small piece of rope we had in the car. Then he tried to straighten the twisted jack, and we (he) began to raise the car again, in tiny increments. We then placed one of the rocks under the frame, and moved the jack closer to where it needed to be, and he raised it some more. </div>
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A car passed, the driver ignoring my frantic cell phone light signal. We placed another rock on top of the first, and began to raise the car again. A car appeared in the distance, and I raced to the edge of the road to signal it, hoping to cash in on our Good Samaritan points. This car stopped. The driver was not drunk, or an axe murderer. His had been one of the cars we had seen heading to town earlier. He had taken his wife to the hospital, he said, to get some stitches removed. In the middle of the night. We didn't ask. He told us that higher up into the hills, and lower down into the valley, there was phone signal, but we were in a dead spot.</div>
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Luckily, the driver had a jack - and it wasn’t a toy jack! We raised the car, placed the spare tire on, thanked the man profusely, and got in the car to leave. Unluckily, the battery was dead. We had used the lights for a couple of hours, for safety, and to see what we were doing. Luckily, we waved the driver back just in time. We had cables, and the car started up right away. </div>
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We were about twenty miles from home. I drove even more slowly and carefully, and we sucessfully avoided any other mishaps. We arrived home around 4 a.m., unloaded our bags, and fell asleep.</div>
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<br />Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-6177155802908464192012-06-30T09:14:00.003-05:002012-06-30T09:14:59.182-05:00LA SIEMBRA, 2012With the official arrival of summer begins the accompanying money outlay and field work. We had bought many bags of milo, nearly worth its weight in precious metal, and planted on June 7th.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZI4ynILgfuA/T-8IsCVMUfI/AAAAAAAAASk/6_59_xzg1XA/s1600/IMG_9662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZI4ynILgfuA/T-8IsCVMUfI/AAAAAAAAASk/6_59_xzg1XA/s320/IMG_9662.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FFHCAi9mJ8o/T-8I80Tin6I/AAAAAAAAASs/8R7q8zTR3QM/s1600/IMG_9686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FFHCAi9mJ8o/T-8I80Tin6I/AAAAAAAAASs/8R7q8zTR3QM/s320/IMG_9686.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
We got some rain on June 20, 21, and 22. On the 23, the day before Saint John's Day, the traditional "rain day", (interesting reading on the internet for anyone who's curious)we got a very good, night-long rain. Here are the brave seedlings on the 24th, and then again on the 28th. Note the very healthy Johnson Grass (see post from last summer for information).<br />
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We are caring for three fields this year, and they are off to a very nice start, I think.Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-51622771645582488532012-05-28T10:23:00.001-05:002012-05-28T10:25:06.023-05:00LEARNING SPANISH POCO A POQUITO<div style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">
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<span style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 14pt;">I’d like to
report a success story (it’s a modest one). One day we saw part of a movie from
a DVD. The story was, well, different, and the film featured Marianne Faithfull
and a British cast. We only saw the beginning half-hour or so, and I wanted to
see the rest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 14pt;">So last
night Chon put it on, from the beginning. About five minutes into the picture,
Chon stopped it. I said, “Why are you stopping it? I wanted to see all of it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 14pt;">And HE
said, “My Friend, (that's what he's called me for 25 years) <i>you speak Spanish now! </i></span><span style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 14pt;">You didn’t even notice that they were speaking Spanish,
did you? I’m just pausing it to switch to the original language.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 14pt;">And I <i>hadn’t</i></span><span style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 14pt;"> noticed! I laughed and laughed.</span></div>
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</span>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-27372875524752560162012-05-09T11:33:00.000-05:002012-05-09T11:33:07.422-05:00JUST SOME RECENT PHOTOS<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h6by2tleUKY/T6qXmV9ZpmI/AAAAAAAAAR4/Bqma2dlqBGM/s1600/IMG_2408.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h6by2tleUKY/T6qXmV9ZpmI/AAAAAAAAAR4/Bqma2dlqBGM/s320/IMG_2408.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was taken from a view-point about San Miguel De Allende when the jacarandas were blooming.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SePvHxy5-VU/T6qWwDUYVoI/AAAAAAAAARY/UmYt27jBC8s/s1600/IMG_0984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SePvHxy5-VU/T6qWwDUYVoI/AAAAAAAAARY/UmYt27jBC8s/s320/IMG_0984.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VZBmgiJla-4/T6qYdJmvUhI/AAAAAAAAASY/lWEYqK-ugBU/s1600/IMG_0985.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VZBmgiJla-4/T6qYdJmvUhI/AAAAAAAAASY/lWEYqK-ugBU/s320/IMG_0985.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SePvHxy5-VU/T6qWwDUYVoI/AAAAAAAAARY/UmYt27jBC8s/s1600/IMG_0984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These two houses are right next to each other in a town called Manuel Doblado.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D1PNtS-R8tY/T6qW0hLcrpI/AAAAAAAAARg/UnWOuAvAYLs/s1600/IMG_0975.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">T</a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D1PNtS-R8tY/T6qW0hLcrpI/AAAAAAAAARg/UnWOuAvAYLs/s1600/IMG_0975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D1PNtS-R8tY/T6qW0hLcrpI/AAAAAAAAARg/UnWOuAvAYLs/s320/IMG_0975.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blues are featured at the front entrance of the famous old templo in Jalpa De Canovas. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8hSp_oYnwVw/T6qXEctTlcI/AAAAAAAAARo/eQCu8dBBQU8/s1600/IMG_2423.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8hSp_oYnwVw/T6qXEctTlcI/AAAAAAAAARo/eQCu8dBBQU8/s320/IMG_2423.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue is often used for door color in Mexico. Chon wanted to have the picture he had bought for his sister in this photo.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jk1buzCZd1g/T6qXWyTtaeI/AAAAAAAAARw/sOgeGy_lKk4/s1600/IMG_2419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jk1buzCZd1g/T6qXWyTtaeI/AAAAAAAAARw/sOgeGy_lKk4/s320/IMG_2419.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These friends are merchants in Paracho, Michoacan, in a place that sells different types of <i>artensanias. </i>That tall vase is probably from nearby Cocucho.</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h6by2tleUKY/T6qXmV9ZpmI/AAAAAAAAAR4/Bqma2dlqBGM/s1600/IMG_2408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B-ESrtPeE_M/T6qX-5EAYQI/AAAAAAAAASA/kzKvTPAygHw/s1600/IMG_2410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B-ESrtPeE_M/T6qX-5EAYQI/AAAAAAAAASA/kzKvTPAygHw/s320/IMG_2410.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More jacarancas in San Miguel De Allende.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bM8r--EofZM/T6qYRIdJEkI/AAAAAAAAASI/CrWkySrR6uo/s1600/IMG_2457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bM8r--EofZM/T6qYRIdJEkI/AAAAAAAAASI/CrWkySrR6uo/s320/IMG_2457.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like this photo of Chon's mother (she's 90) blessing a new pump we recently used for the first time to move water into tanks above the second floor. (It works great!)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MpPcR-O1YAg/T6qYXTdcm_I/AAAAAAAAASQ/0Ecp4x5iFr8/s1600/IMG_0994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MpPcR-O1YAg/T6qYXTdcm_I/AAAAAAAAASQ/0Ecp4x5iFr8/s320/IMG_0994.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This plant has been living in this pot in this patio for many, many years. I'd like to find a young one like it to live in the same pot, but - I haven't seen one like it anywhere. I'm trying to propagate one from a leafless "trunk". Know what it is, anyone?</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-25567549324861087952012-05-08T10:26:00.001-05:002012-05-08T10:26:58.490-05:00Expat Blog, The Expatriate Community<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am a member of the Expat blog (http://www.expat-blog.com/). Don’t go there right away unless you’d like to get seduced into spending a chunk of time there. If you’re like me, you may get interested in reading a blog about driving in Greece, or a family beginning a new chapter in their lives in India. Or California. Or China, or Canada, or .......... fill in the blank. You'll have Julien to thank if you spend more time than you had planned.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Julien, the founder of the big site, says that he created it seven years ago during his first expat experience , to “gather on a unique platform all the expatriates’ blogs all over the world. Expatriates’ blogs are indeed a great way to get information about real life in a foreign country.”<br /><br />There are recent new features - a forum (I subscribe to a couple of different topics, and any time someone posts new information, I receive an email - very handy!), guides, albums, a business directory. There are two brand new features, too, for the area where I live part of the year: Jobs and Housing. I expect that these topics will grow rapidly. And it is so helpful to have this information available if you are making a move, or just hoping to make a move. You can do some exploring right from your computer.<br /><br />So if you are looking for some vicarious adventures in culture or language, or you’d like to research some hard information about a specific place or topic, check it out. And don’t get lost!</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-14965271311493116522012-05-05T11:47:00.002-05:002012-05-05T12:04:03.006-05:00TRIP TO PARACHO<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9-2QFvPhAfg/T6Q0U75f8GI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/ax8Mi8oaAUs/s1600/Herb+Vendor+Paracho.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9-2QFvPhAfg/T6Q0U75f8GI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/ax8Mi8oaAUs/s320/Herb+Vendor+Paracho.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wares of an herb vendor in Paracho.</td></tr>
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We went to Paracho again a couple of weeks ago, in April. Chon was anxious to go because he didn't want to lose the opportunity to buy a guitar that Don Luis Silva had made about 40 years ago. It had been sold then to a young woman who bought it as a gift for her fiance”. Many years later, last December, Don Luis saw the guitar again. A man showed up from Mexico City because of his label in the guitar, and Don Luis remarked to us that the man seemed sick and rather disinterested. The guitar was in serious need of repair, having broken places of the back, and a cracked neck. It looked as though it must have been involved in an altercation or accident.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B20IfOCeuzs/T6Qz4fhwbdI/AAAAAAAAAOA/OTEEELbUWSg/s1600/Don+Luis+Taller+2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B20IfOCeuzs/T6Qz4fhwbdI/AAAAAAAAAOA/OTEEELbUWSg/s320/Don+Luis+Taller+2.JPG" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don Luis offered to send this rooster home with us. We declined.</td></tr>
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Don Luis recognized his guitar right away, and asked about the young woman who had bought it. Evidently, she and her boyfriend did NOT marry as planned forty years ago, and Don Luis could not discover the relationship between the young man and the long-ago boyfriend. Don Luis promised to repair the guitar, and hold it for one month. The man said he would return to pick up the repaired guitar in January, but he didn’t show up. Don Luis made many calls to the number he left, but his calls remain unanswered. Don Luis's SON Juan who works with him said he should sell it to Chon, who was interested in the story, as well as the guitar. We have it now, to the consternation of the OTHER son, our friend Daniel, who originally helped to make it as a young man, and is still expecting the man to show up for the guitar.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mSdGXQJLCus/T6Q0GiQCg_I/AAAAAAAAAOI/LTOtOd4aQg4/s1600/Don+Luis+Taller.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mSdGXQJLCus/T6Q0GiQCg_I/AAAAAAAAAOI/LTOtOd4aQg4/s320/Don+Luis+Taller.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don Luis Silva's guitar workshop.</td></tr>
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Chon is excited about the guitar because it is so old (read well-cured and dried,
something that doesn't always happen there; many guitars there are made
quickly, with wood that is not completely cured). And it is Big - it has
a deep body and an appropriately rich sound.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fk3oSaPGByg/T6VO8OCAZPI/AAAAAAAAAPg/Rlo0MiE37fE/s1600/Wedding+Paracho.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fk3oSaPGByg/T6VO8OCAZPI/AAAAAAAAAPg/Rlo0MiE37fE/s320/Wedding+Paracho.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wedding procession in Paracho - very festive!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
While we were at the workshop a truckload of people celebrating a wedding drove by, followed shortly by this cart. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4QY6S9yD1U8/T6Q0e2gaP_I/AAAAAAAAAOY/zGnLGnhdm4w/s1600/Horse+Cart+Paracho.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4QY6S9yD1U8/T6Q0e2gaP_I/AAAAAAAAAOY/zGnLGnhdm4w/s320/Horse+Cart+Paracho.JPG" width="320" /></a> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And as Chon was visiitng with Don Luis I walked a couple of blocks to the entrance to the town. Here's the view from the workshop.<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4rYpWnhgzsI/T6QzcABWyLI/AAAAAAAAANo/0jXvtmrQBz8/s1600/Big+Guitar+2+Paracho.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4rYpWnhgzsI/T6QzcABWyLI/AAAAAAAAANo/0jXvtmrQBz8/s320/Big+Guitar+2+Paracho.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
As I continued my walk, I passed a drainage ditch with one of my favorite flowers, called mosca, or fly. Mosca likes to grow in cracks, and it sends out baby plants to nearby spots where they can root. The flowers are like tiny violets. I had tried to transplant mosca with little success. But last planting season, some just showed up in our yard - in a pot!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XjTlOFiciUQ/T6VOOOjcAKI/AAAAAAAAAO4/GsUb2vIxe_s/s1600/Mosca.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XjTlOFiciUQ/T6VOOOjcAKI/AAAAAAAAAO4/GsUb2vIxe_s/s320/Mosca.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mosca, a creeping plant with tiny sweet flowers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As you approach the gas station at the entrance to Paracho, it is difficult to ignore the main industry there:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OJZLbrmVDZg/T6QzmLnAjWI/AAAAAAAAANw/raSW99R3WzA/s1600/Big+Guitar+Paracho.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OJZLbrmVDZg/T6QzmLnAjWI/AAAAAAAAANw/raSW99R3WzA/s320/Big+Guitar+Paracho.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
So - that was the reason for our trip, which turned out to be very, very interesting, and was not our typical leave-early-in-the-morning-and arrive-home-in-the-evening sort of drive. We got to Carapan (CarApan), the turn-off to Paracho, and there were soldiers there, telling us that the ill-named "highway”, narrow, and full of twists and parades of heavily loaded trucks to Paracho was closed, and if we wanted to get there we had to find a different route. <br />
<br />
As we drove further along the same road, with fields of raspberries and strawberries on both sides, we passed through several small towns along the way until we decided to ask for directions.<br />
<br />
Chon is uncannily good at chosing people to ask for directions, and this time he chose a man and a woman obviously waiting for a bus. The man turned out to be a taxi driver. He gave us directions, but they were overheard by a man preparing elotes to sell, who told Chon to get a paper and pencil. He did that, and the man gave us a lengthy list of towns to go through for our new route to Paracho. <br />
<br />
His list of towns we would pass through read like this: turn left to Tangancicuaro; go toward Patamban; go through San Jose, Cumicho, Cucucho and Nurio. IAt the temple in Nurio turn left to Paracho. We had to go Up through the mountainous area. We only made one wrong turn of about 10 miles, and went through beautiful small towns with many native Indians in their colorful dress.<br />
<br />
We arrived at Daniel Silva's workshop. He had repaired two cracked guitars for Chon. He and his wife were there, and the workshop seemed very quiet because their teen-aged and older kids who had been there the last two times we visited had returned to school. Daniel told us what had happened to cause the road closing. His wife who helps in the workshop, prepared slices of wonderful mangos for a refreshing treat, so we sat and chatted, and Chon played the repaired guitars and gave Daniel a lesson in how to play a guitar piece he wanted to learn. <br />
<br />
And Daniel played for us, too, suggesting that Chon write a song with Purepecha rhythm, a 6-8 rhythm similar to huapango. He sang us a song in the Purepecha language, with that rhythm, too. It might have been called “Cristinita”).<br />
<br />
Two towns close to Paracho are long-time enemies, with many unfriendly altercations between them over many years. In the last year or so the government (which has for many, MANY years mistreated and misrepresented the majority Indian population there) promised some "help" to ONE of the towns. The other town complained, there was some kind of demonstration, and the two enemy towns began shooting at each other. It was reported that 8 from one town and 5 from the other town were killed. Thus the road closing. I later located a report on CNN that left out many details (and the article may have been distorted by my understanding anyway). <br />
<br />
I had thought that closing a road for two days was over-doing it, but now that I have heard more of the story, I am sure that the road will be closed for a while longer. I am imagining over-wrought, grieving families at their nightly 9 days of prayers for the dead, and the tearful and angry family conversations following that.<br />
<br />
There is a community support organization for the two towns, and I imagine that even those meetings have been suspended.<br />
<br />
In the afternoon before our drive home. we walked to the mercado, which is as colorful as any I have seen.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yv3-fxjaEfE/T6VOjwgTFXI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/jwX1pzsxQWI/s1600/Sleeping+Woman+Paracho.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yv3-fxjaEfE/T6VOjwgTFXI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/jwX1pzsxQWI/s320/Sleeping+Woman+Paracho.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a warm afternoon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-69MmFQyYktI/T6VN-dMgCzI/AAAAAAAAAOw/bgO6zzCm-GA/s1600/Mercado+Paracho.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-69MmFQyYktI/T6VN-dMgCzI/AAAAAAAAAOw/bgO6zzCm-GA/s320/Mercado+Paracho.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes you can catch a glimpse through a door or hallway into a home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Our morning drive to Paracho had taken us through a small mountain town called Cocucho where we immediately spotted pottery on the street in front of workshops that looked different from any other I had seen in Mexico. The color was mixed dark browns with streaks and spots of black.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We later found out that like Paracho, famous world-over for guitars, these two towns are world-reknowned for their unique pottery. On the way back down through the mountains from Paracho we stopped at one of the pottery places marked by a very old, rusty hand-painted sign (see below). The owner said that just that day he had sold many of his large pots to a man from Chihuahua who had stopped in the morning. All of those purchases were tied with ribbons to mark them. The buyer had evidently gone to get packing material in Paracho (or maybe some guitars!). <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v3uQfIeGoSY/T6Qzt4b1B0I/AAAAAAAAAN4/2UKYZ6hje9Y/s1600/buying+Ollas.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v3uQfIeGoSY/T6Qzt4b1B0I/AAAAAAAAAN4/2UKYZ6hje9Y/s320/buying+Ollas.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A purchase transaction in action.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UtQf5k2Pe68/T6VVlZsSY6I/AAAAAAAAAP4/Y79BIfgfWaU/s1600/Loading+Ollas+.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UtQf5k2Pe68/T6VVlZsSY6I/AAAAAAAAAP4/Y79BIfgfWaU/s320/Loading+Ollas+.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loading our treasure in the back of the car. You can see just the mouth of one pot beside Chon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Chon bought two tall pottery vases (I guess you would call them - the potter just calls them "ollas"; just "pots"). The maker told us that if we put water in them, the water would eventually leak out, but the pottery would not be damaged by the water or by rain. I'll add a photo of the two pots in another post. We later discovered that the regular purchase price is several times more than what we paid!<br />
<br />
<br />
I was in the parked car across the street from the workshop as this transaction was happening, and a woman in the store I was parked inches from had a handful of clay and was working it. Soon a little boy came our from the store carrying something I could tell was pottery. When he turned it around so I could see it, it was a representation of a cantina, about a foot long, and perhaps four inches wide. There were tables and chairs, and men in various states of drunkenness. The woman tried pretty hard to sell the scene to Chon, but he had already bought the vases, and thought the price for the little scene was too much compared to the tall, graceful, masterful vases he had just bought.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WSGM5PhBTM0/T6VPHVQXG8I/AAAAAAAAAPo/MXitBLpYx7U/s1600/Woman+and+Boy+Michoacan.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WSGM5PhBTM0/T6VPHVQXG8I/AAAAAAAAAPo/MXitBLpYx7U/s320/Woman+and+Boy+Michoacan.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo was taken through the car window. That's the boy who made the pottery cantina - Chon is holding it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In another town close by, San Jose De Gracia, there was more pottery,
glazed with green, in the shapes of pineapples. There are other shapes,
and other colors, but the green pineapples are typical.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BzLqrOZ2k4o/T6VOPJZvBEI/AAAAAAAAAPA/qRIu9XfE5Ec/s1600/pineapple.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BzLqrOZ2k4o/T6VOPJZvBEI/AAAAAAAAAPA/qRIu9XfE5Ec/s1600/pineapple.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not my photo - it's from a website offering these typical gorgeous green pineapples.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K6px8yHsrDU/T6VOufFScxI/AAAAAAAAAPY/zRk78J13w7I/s1600/Square+Templo+Aranza.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K6px8yHsrDU/T6VOufFScxI/AAAAAAAAAPY/zRk78J13w7I/s320/Square+Templo+Aranza.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peaceful afternoon view of a square templo in Aranza.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zoIFOrqZa2w/T6VOXouddjI/AAAAAAAAAPI/IMe_Cc36RdM/s1600/Purepecha+Woman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
The Purepecha Indians there are beautiful people, and their dress, especially that of the women, is spectacular. They often wear very colorful embroidered blouses. They wear skirts that are fitted to the hip, then burst into many, many pleats. They fabrics they favor are probably not what you would expect - they are mostly fabrics with sheen, probably polyester and blends. The length of the skirt varies - some women wear the skirt almost to the ankle, and others covering the knee. Almost all the women wear beautifully woven wool rebozos of different colors and designs, sometimes wrapped around their heads (or around a baby carried on the back). Even very small girls wear a similar dress. Over the skirt they favor very fancy aprons of contrasting color, sometimes embroidered, and often trimmed with extravagant lace. Their shoes may be leather flats, heels, or huaraches. At one stop for directions I saw two lovely teenaged girls sharing the same rebozo over their shoulders - very sweet!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zoIFOrqZa2w/T6VOXouddjI/AAAAAAAAAPI/IMe_Cc36RdM/s1600/Purepecha+Woman.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zoIFOrqZa2w/T6VOXouddjI/AAAAAAAAAPI/IMe_Cc36RdM/s320/Purepecha+Woman.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was lucky to catch this photo. See the apron, the pleats, the beautiful blue rebozo?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I wish that I could have taken more pictures, but it is clear that they don’t like to have their pictures taken (I really can’t blame them for that!). Maybe someday I will have the opportunity to request permission to photograph their stunning outfits. (And who knows, maybe even their striking faces!)<br />
<br />
When you come to visit us, I hope we can take a two-day trip to Paracho and go through the mountain and valley towns. It looks a lot like the area near Sonora, California, and the towns are beautiful, old, charming. You'll probably enjoy the visit as much as I do.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wNVZ6F9TuUA/T6Q0qscLDCI/AAAAAAAAAOg/0ORM0-GLcU8/s1600/House+Colors.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wNVZ6F9TuUA/T6Q0qscLDCI/AAAAAAAAAOg/0ORM0-GLcU8/s320/House+Colors.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are popular paint colors for houses and stores.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-31163081507942508592012-05-04T13:23:00.001-05:002012-05-04T13:24:18.488-05:00BANKING<div style="text-align: justify;">
I won‘t say “only in Mexico”, but see what you think about this story.<br />
<br />
Chon’s family has had a long-running problem with officials in regard to the spelling of their last name. On Chon’s father’s birth certificate Vasquez is spelled like that: Vasquez.<br />
<br />
Chon’s sister Elena, who has historically spelled her last name Basquez, (yes, birth certificate and all) recently had problems with her medical insurance because someone misspelled her name when filling out an annual form; Elena didn’t notice, and her brand, spanking-new identification read Bosques. She couldn’t receive services for several months, and had to show her birth certificate and other identifications to get a new card. This took several trips to different offices.<br />
<br />
Chon is enrolled in a government program for financial assistance for small farmers. It provides help for buying seed, etc. Last year at the end of May the people at the Procampo told him that they had opened a bank account for him, and he should go to the bank to confirm the account. He decided he wasn’t interested in the account. But this year they told him that they had deposited his check in the account. So we went to finalize the account so he could with draw the money when we need it for farming expenses.<br />
<br />
At the Accounts desk the woman reviewed his documents and said. “Procampo has misspelled your name”. (As Vazquez.) She couldn’t officially open the account. She suggested that we get a letter from Procampo stating that no matter how his name was spelled, he was really him. We went right back there and got a very official-looking letter with a seal and an enormous, artful signature and gave it to the bank official. She said that she would send it to the main bank with copies of his identifying documents, and that we could return in three days. But not really three days, because of May 1st, Labor Day. We waited a couple of extra days, because - well, just because. When we returned yesterday the same woman was not there, so Chon re-told the story to another person. She said that headquarters had not made the spelling change.<br />
<br />
She suggested that we go to the branch where the account was located, and see if they could help. (Why didn't they just tell us where the account was located in the first place, I wondered.)<br />
<br />
We went there and the accounts woman looked at the documents and said,”You just need a replacement card for the one we gave you originally.” (They hadn’t. Or Procampo hadn’t, or - whatever.) She said, “Your name is correct, so I’ll make you a new card.” We glanced at each other. Correct?<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We wisely kept our mouths shut, and in a minute or two she handed Chon his new card and a PIN (here it’s a NIP). And that was that. As he signed for the new card he cautiously asked how he should sign it. The woman casually told him that it didn’t matter. He should sign it the way he usually signs it. Vazquez.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-27691560175147880452012-04-25T12:15:00.000-05:002012-04-25T12:16:19.530-05:00I LIKE NOPALES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LE0uvYdo1C4/T5gwpkrd_-I/AAAAAAAAAMg/VZ62M5BcHcU/s1600/IMG_0958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LE0uvYdo1C4/T5gwpkrd_-I/AAAAAAAAAMg/VZ62M5BcHcU/s320/IMG_0958.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I like nopales. OK, they're not for everyone, (their texture is a bit like okra) but I really, really like them.<br />
<br />
Our next-door neighbor Doña Elena has practically no income, but she enjoys bringing us little gifts, usually food. Last week she brought two glasses filled with red gelatin, and some nopales she had harvested and prepared herself. Yesterday when we were sweeping the street in the early morning she
asked me how we liked the nopales. We had forgotten about them, I’m
afraid, but I told her they were wonderful - very tender. Right after
that I got them from the refrigerator and prepared them so I wouldn’t
have to feel so guilty.<br />
<br />
Nopales are the pads of the prickly pear cactus, and they are low in calories and contain modest amounts of vitamins and minerals.<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I cut them into strips and boiled them. As they are boiling, nopales make lots and lots of bubbles, and you have to tend them so they don’t boil over. When they are cooked you drain them and cool them quickly, and throw away all the now-slimy, bubbly water.<br />
<br />
After they are rinsed they are not (so) slimy, and you can prepare a salad with them (with chopped onions, tomatoes and cilantro), or use them like a vegetable in main dish recipes. I asked Elena if she wanted to use them and she said yes.<br />
<br />
Today she cooked some very pretty flor de mayo beans - they are a pinkish pale yellow, and cook fairly quickly, and then she added the prepared nopales.<br />
<br />
I could scarcely believe it last week when a truck came through town with large red tomatoes for sale for 4 pesos per kilo. We bought 2 kilos, and have been enjoying sliced tomatoes often. (Four pesos is less than forty cents, and a kilo is well over two pounds - figure it out!)<br />
<br />
And today i sliced the last two and served them with the beans and nopales, and toast. What a wonderful meal!<br />
<br /></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-53194764314224875412012-04-18T18:31:00.000-05:002012-04-18T18:31:45.149-05:00On The Radio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jhm_xg-HVjI/T49NqLpWUuI/AAAAAAAAAMI/fhndzzYLzok/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gA04Cs0GsZU/T49NrRSVXxI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/EGAMNpLe9xs/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wu3vGUIFwPU/T49NskESveI/AAAAAAAAAMY/8HhDA8-jaB8/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wu3vGUIFwPU/T49NskESveI/AAAAAAAAAMY/8HhDA8-jaB8/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not my image - it's from Google Images</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Last night I drank just a little too much tequila. Maybe that’s why this morning I felt a bit raw and emotional. But that’s how I felt while we were enjoying Breakfast With The Beatles (raw and emotional). <br />
<br />
Nearly every Sunday morning we enjoy the program, courtesy of my sister, (thank you, Eileen) on Sirius radio. Today’s program was especially good - the host had chosen songs that seemed to me to flow really well together. There are often a couple of surprises as well, and today was no exception. Donovan was a special guest. As a child of the sixties I grew up knowing the sound of his voice, and liking his songs very much. But today I more fully realized how much I was affected by the music he gave us.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gA04Cs0GsZU/T49NrRSVXxI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/EGAMNpLe9xs/s1600/images-1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gA04Cs0GsZU/T49NrRSVXxI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/EGAMNpLe9xs/s1600/images-1.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donovan then - from Google Images<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
There was always one song that deeply moved me. When I was seventeen or eighteen I had major surgery to shorten a leg that was mysteriously more than an inch longer than the other leg. (Evidently a genetic thing, as my brother had a similar difference in leg length). Years later it seems a medieval idea to correct this with surgery. Medieval as it may have been, there I was in the hospital, on heavy pain medications and I had a little device to call the nurse if necessary. It was was equipped with a radio, clipped to my pillow (remember that, anyone?) and tuned to sounds of the mid-sixties. I kept it on night and day for company. <br />
<br />
One night around midnight I was dreaming waking morphine dreams and Donovan’s new song “Hurdy Gurdy Man” was playing though the tiny speaker. The night nurse had not yet closed the curtains and I could see out into the night. It seemed that I was looking into time and the words of the song reached out and grabbed my imagination. The sweet clear voice seemed to speak directly to me, and I felt that I really understood the role of us performing musicians in everyday lives. There was also a guitar making sounds I simply had never heard the likes of before; unbeautiful, raw, emotional sounds that went right to my heart. At the time I knew nothing about the guitar player - it just seemed then that it had been planned as part of the arrangement of the performance.<br />
<br />
And today, in April of 2012, there was Donovan on the air speaking with Chris Carter, the program host, about his recollections of events that had happened many years ago with the Beatles in India and in the recording studio. My impression of him was that he is really an “artist” - a bit fey and clever, and - just, well, different.<br />
<br />
Donovan willingly agreed to sing, right there in the studio. He played his acoustic guitar energetically and sang wonderfully well. And he sang “The sunshine came softly through my window today...” from Sunshine Superman and I was catapulted straight back to the sixties. He followed that performance later with "Mellow Yellow" (quite right-ly)<br />
<br />
Then he sang “Hurdy Gurdy Man”. The host asked him about the “lost verse” of the song that was omitted in the recording. The verse had been written by George Harrison while they were in India. Donovan explained that all the musicians, while they were there together in India had sung for each other, and he had sung the song for George who told him that he, George, could write a verse for the song. Then Donovan recited the verse for us who were listening. It seemed to me to fit perfectly into the song. And Donovan explained why he had not included the verse when he recorded the song. During those days there was an exact length that each commercial song was to have, and the verse would have made the song too long. <br />
<br />
Here is George Harrison’s verse:<br />
When the truth gets buried deep<br />
Beneath the thousand years of sleep<br />
Time demands a turn-around<br />
And once again the truth is found<br />
Awakening the Hurdy Gurdy Man<br />
Who comes singing songs of love.<br />
<br />
As Donovan recited the verse, I wiped away tears for the dead musician who wrote it over 40 years ago, and for the little hole in my life where the words could have been living for decades.<br />
<br />
I had never heard of the extra verse. In the sixties I was a young musician hoping and planning to continue music studies. This came to pass (thank you, Mother and Daddy and Grandma). But in those days I knew next to nothing about the details of lives of musicians and the creative, bubbling fermentation of music of the times. I knew the songs, but not their makers. Many years later, Chon told me about how Jeff Beck had been in the studio that day, casually and by chance, and had added the iconic guitar part that had stunned me that night in the hospital. I had had no idea of this collaboration, nor of the friendships of the musicians during that magical time in Britain. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jhm_xg-HVjI/T49NqLpWUuI/AAAAAAAAAMI/fhndzzYLzok/s1600/images.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jhm_xg-HVjI/T49NqLpWUuI/AAAAAAAAAMI/fhndzzYLzok/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donovan more recently - from Google Images<br />
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So thank you, Donovan, for sharing your recollections, and for singing songs for us today that you must have sung literally hundreds of times in the last 40 years. Thank you for making it as real as when the music was new. It was wonderful to hear your voice again. <br />
</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-42293274396495045182012-04-16T11:31:00.000-05:002012-04-16T11:31:17.384-05:00The Friend Connection - San Miguel de Allende<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gnSStq_-5b8/T4xAx5XUXxI/AAAAAAAAALo/3_kLaxGTuGQ/s1600/IMG_9167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gnSStq_-5b8/T4xAx5XUXxI/AAAAAAAAALo/3_kLaxGTuGQ/s320/IMG_9167.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Michael, My Friend, I’m so glad I got a hold of you three days ago! I called Richard but he hadn't set up his voice mail. THEN I called Beth as you suggested and there was no answer, but I thought maybe she couldn’t get her phone in time. I thought what a bummer it would be to just tell you lamely “Well,we just couldn’t get in touch.” and I called her back, and she picked up! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Richard suggested we meet them in front of the “Parroquia” there in San Miguel, because they would be there in three minutes or so...We had to drive down from an overlook where we were, looking down on the city. We parked where we thought we were within walking distance, and asked directions from two women, obviously from the States. One told us we had about a fifteen-minute walk, but, well, you know us - we were there in about 5 minutes, I think. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i1tfgp8to8A/T4w-W9fN8hI/AAAAAAAAAKw/fF4zeiI_qAQ/s1600/IMG_2291.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i1tfgp8to8A/T4w-W9fN8hI/AAAAAAAAAKw/fF4zeiI_qAQ/s320/IMG_2291.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<br />
Every town and city here has a “parroquia” or two and you must ask the name. But in San Miguel there is only one Parroquia. It is not a modest building. It is directly across from the Jardin, and things were a-hopping when we arrived. There were many, many tourists, and small Indian women selling colorful toys and bracelets and other things from trays they carried.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7OwnkSm667U/T4xA7Ht_kQI/AAAAAAAAALw/DWGXSdu6dvE/s1600/IMG_9182.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7OwnkSm667U/T4xA7Ht_kQI/AAAAAAAAALw/DWGXSdu6dvE/s320/IMG_9182.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
And we found Richard right away. When we had passed a park earlier on our hike from where we had parked, we saw a tall man with a T-shirt and shorts, and Chon asked “Could that be Richard?” No, that was not Richard. THIS is Richard! T-shirt and shorts, indeed!</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F_pNHJjO0mg/T4w-tJfKQ4I/AAAAAAAAAK4/c0cTURw6hF8/s1600/IMG_2294.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F_pNHJjO0mg/T4w-tJfKQ4I/AAAAAAAAAK4/c0cTURw6hF8/s320/IMG_2294.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
And David and Beth were there, too, very friendly and companionable right away. I felt comfortable after feeling just a little anxious about finding them. <br />
<br />
Richard had Plans. He suggested an exploring sort of walk around a few blocks, and it was quite enjoyable, including an art gallery with a friendly artist - “No photos, please! I’ll have to charge you $500!” Richard obediently deleted the pictures from his camera. Chon was looking for information about legal matters, and went into an office and Richard accomodatingly said not to worry, that they would wait in a local restaurant/bar. We took only a couple of minutes, though - most things were closed because of Holy Week - ane we met up with them right away, and had a margarita (two for the price of one - 80 pesos, less than 7 dollars!) And they were delicious, and seemed pretty strong on empty stomachs, so we had some laughs and got to know each other a little bit. I was comfortable with Beth right away - a different kind of artist, a classical ballerina, and teacher.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JdrZEpSXnFQ/T4xBI7nJVOI/AAAAAAAAAL4/0j2JlkPrO8E/s1600/IMG_9201.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JdrZEpSXnFQ/T4xBI7nJVOI/AAAAAAAAAL4/0j2JlkPrO8E/s320/IMG_9201.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Soon we pushed on, and visited the local library, well-supported, Richard informed us, by the local gringo population. It was quite attractive, and busy for its small size. There were English lessons happening, and lots of posters announcing upcoming events of music, reading, and book sales.<br />
<br />
The streets were old, of stone, and it seemed like everywhere you looked there were beautiful colors and images. Old doors, colorful houses and shops, stones, brick, and lots and lots of people in vacation mode for Holy Week. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pd4x7bV-Nos/T4xAfqpf4vI/AAAAAAAAALg/0RLSQOORxj8/s1600/IMG_9164.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pd4x7bV-Nos/T4xAfqpf4vI/AAAAAAAAALg/0RLSQOORxj8/s320/IMG_9164.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m2XjdIv4VqQ/T4xBTvaokLI/AAAAAAAAAMA/wPjMiY5weFg/s1600/IMG_9228.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m2XjdIv4VqQ/T4xBTvaokLI/AAAAAAAAAMA/wPjMiY5weFg/s320/IMG_9228.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
Richard knew “a nice spot right around the corner” and we went to order the house specialty, chiles rellenos nogados. They were stuffed chiles with a lovely sauce of walnut cream. They were wonderful - sweetish, stuffed with spiced, ground meat with a few raisins. Chon and Richard ordered the “hotter” version, which reportedly was not hot. The sauce topping the chile was almond and cream. Goodness! A lovely meal, with crunchy French rolls and butter, and a bottle each of the house red and white. The conversation was wonderful, which I enjoyed nearly as much as the wonderful meal, having spoken English almost exclusively with Chon for more than a year or so... <br />
<br />
We needed to head home by that time, a pleasant two-hour drive, having said we would return the next day. The business we needed to see to was not completed, the American consulate having closed only a few minutes before we arrived. <br />
<br />
The next day we left a little earlier, and arrived at the consulate around 10:30 in the morning. The consul assistant spoke with us only very briefly, saying “No, you do not need ANYTHING from the consul. Stop by the ministerio publico who will give you a list, and then go to the Officina de Migracion, which will give you a different list of requirements. Since it was Holy Week, the ministerio publico was closed. The immigration office was open, but the line was too long for me to wait for the list after I took a number and analyzed the number of people before me, each with a thick sheaf of papers.<br />
<br />
We went instead to meet Richard, Beth and David at La Terraza, right next to La Parroquia. They had margaritas in front of them, and Chon ordered a coffee, heavily spiked with rum, with a name, nearly forgotten, “Tarugillo”, like “For Dummies” in Spanish. We heard about the trio’s morning walking tour, given by a woman who had written a lovely book about San Miguel with wonderful photos.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1OQq-dcgCqQ/T4w_EIxTtQI/AAAAAAAAALA/Et7AMQ82O1g/s1600/IMG_2295.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1OQq-dcgCqQ/T4w_EIxTtQI/AAAAAAAAALA/Et7AMQ82O1g/s320/IMG_2295.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of La Parroquia from La Terrazza<br />
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And for lunch? Richard knew of a very pleasant restaurant right around the corner, owned by a Frenchman. Everything was beautifully served, and delicious: Milanesa steak, salad, with a beet salad as well, chicken in almond sauce, tacos. The young waitresses were pleasant and attentive. And Richard introduced us (well, me, anyway) to a lovely drink, kir, that I had heard about before, but never had the opportunity to sample. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We continued our visit in the lovely and comfortable jewel of a house where our trio of friends were staying - the home of a designer who rents it by the week to lucky travelers. Each space had natural light from above, from skylights (tragaluzes). The furniture and color and art was very beautiful and comfortable.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FRClEDaOiCg/T4xAUjWy_dI/AAAAAAAAALY/5lBxJSVW5wQ/s1600/IMG_2394.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FRClEDaOiCg/T4xAUjWy_dI/AAAAAAAAALY/5lBxJSVW5wQ/s320/IMG_2394.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
We needed to leave at 3, but we stayed until nearly 5:30, relaxed and happy from the wine and conversation.<br />
<br />
About San Miguel de Allende: it is every bit as lovely as I had heard - flowers, stone streets and sidewalks, gorgeous colors and friendly faces. Everywhere you look there are beautiful vistas. Because of the large gringo population there are shops with different types of clothing and fabrics than can normally be found in Mexico, wonderful food, and thanks to Richard and our new friends David and Beth, comfort and relaxed enjoyment. When we travel to places it is nearly always because of some kind of business, and we don’t take the time to explore. Our two afternoons were like a vacation for us. Thank you, Friend Connection!!<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e-BB_BTPN7Q/T4w_l1Lz9eI/AAAAAAAAALI/Gze3pUg_VnU/s1600/IMG_2316.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e-BB_BTPN7Q/T4w_l1Lz9eI/AAAAAAAAALI/Gze3pUg_VnU/s320/IMG_2316.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-38689622037290777762012-02-17T12:38:00.000-06:002012-02-17T12:38:19.102-06:00CABA˜NUELAS<div style="text-align: justify;">Cabañuelas translation:</div><div style="text-align: justify;">wild weather forecasts (Latin America); first rains that fall in the summer (Andes); first 12 days of the year (used to predict the weather) (Mexico) </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u_yuV2Ryi8k/Tz6d6QaWPSI/AAAAAAAAAKk/xLsGeLLXIMk/s1600/IMG_8740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u_yuV2Ryi8k/Tz6d6QaWPSI/AAAAAAAAAKk/xLsGeLLXIMk/s400/IMG_8740.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's lovely in our part of Mexico right now - we are enjoying a short rainy season called cavañuelas that sometimes occurs during the winter months. It is a bona fide rainfall as well for farmers, who take the opportunity to plant a bonus crop of garbanzos. Whether they receive a real crop, with beans, or only grow the plants until they die a dusty death, the plants are good for the soil when they get disced into the ground. So, while old people complain about the cool air, the farmers are taking advantage of the moisture.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We have been investigating planting garbanzos. Our two fields were deeply ploughed last month, so the ground is perfect; clean and soft and wet. TOO wet for tractors, so we thought of seeding by hand. The price of the seed varies from place to place, and type to type - who knew there were so many kinds of garbanzos?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Garbanzos make a popular snack. You can buy a smallish plastic bag of garbanzos right here on our little street, in front of the school, with or without chile sauce on them. They are simply fresh round, green chick peas in their shells, so it takes a small amount of concentration to eat the delicious little things. You don’t just pop a handful in your mouth. But that is only one type of garbanzo. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Garbanzos are also well-loved by many animals. If the garbanzos you grow do not pass the flowering stage, or you need to harvest the plants early, the whole plants can be ground for an excellent feed for cattle, pigs, or goats and sheep.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The seed ranges in price (around here in central Mexico, anyway) from 15 pesos a kilo to 25 pesos a kilo. That makes for quite costly seed. Some types I have heard mentioned are garbanza (for people), garbanzo cal, garbanzo puerquero (for pigs).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A big advantage is the plants do not require close monitoring. No herbicides or pesticides are necessary.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">However, you must monitor your fields because of human predators! Since the crop is so popular with people and animals, you must expect that people will come to cut the plants and carry them away in large sacks. Since there are many people in our little town and nearby ranchos who need supplements to their meager incomes, the illicit cutting and ensuing thievery is rampant, and can make a big difference in the size of the harvest. We are not sure that we want to be on the protect-your-crops and punish-the-thieves side of things. Although the harvest is pretty much a sure thing, we are still thinking it over...</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-79170644635049203792012-02-16T09:44:00.000-06:002012-02-16T09:44:42.306-06:00BIG TOWN, SMALL WORLD<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U9eefqgRkmQ/Tz0iAKcHTZI/AAAAAAAAAKU/ITsBBb4XMHs/s1600/FH000202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U9eefqgRkmQ/Tz0iAKcHTZI/AAAAAAAAAKU/ITsBBb4XMHs/s400/FH000202.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close to the post office in San Pancho</td></tr>
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<br />
I am waiting to receive a document I need in Mexico. The fee for UPS delivery was $101!! Instead, it was sent US Postal Service ($45!). The address I had given was our street address for UPS use instead of a post office box number. Not much mail at all comes to our little town, and we decided to ask at the post office about twenty miles away if the document might pass through there, and if so, might they stop it there and put it in our mailbox. Yes, they said, and yes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ijaWzd8_jBc/Tz0ibbBHboI/AAAAAAAAAKc/wmAPhYyLNW0/s1600/FH000205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ijaWzd8_jBc/Tz0ibbBHboI/AAAAAAAAAKc/wmAPhYyLNW0/s320/FH000205.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jardin in San Pancho during Christmas. There are city offices to the right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The population of the town our post office is in is over 113,000. I am the only person with my last name that they know of. The eleventh most common surname in the US.Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-47641705285830056162012-01-03T16:53:00.000-06:002012-01-03T16:53:29.619-06:00New Year's Eve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oEZuIvCEyBk/TwODgPPcyLI/AAAAAAAAAKE/Bj0MLlYbMq8/s1600/IMG_8600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g62XtVmpWKA/TwOEEzayahI/AAAAAAAAAKM/HQ9msy42KRg/s1600/IMG_8596.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g62XtVmpWKA/TwOEEzayahI/AAAAAAAAAKM/HQ9msy42KRg/s200/IMG_8596.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
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</a></div>COUNTDOWN TO NEW YEAR’S EVE<br />
After our return from our annual gig on Olvera Street, we slept a lot on Christmas Day, then we began to gear up for playing on the roof.<br />
Monday: we practiced four hours.<br />
Tuesday: ditto<br />
Wednesday: ditto<br />
Thursday: Chon wired four lights in our tejaban as we will need them. We practiced only a couple of hours.<br />
Firday: more wiring and more practicing.<br />
Saturday: Chon got up at 5:15 a.m.!!! We moved speakers and cables and equipment from the ground level to the tejaban. It was a challenge because they had been stored for more than a year. Chon has an endearing habit of delicately and artistically making little humorous arrangements of small things on top of stacks of other large things. This makes for much tipping, replacing, falling and swearing when we are removing the large things. We hauled equipment, set some up, then hauled more equipment.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ha8SWVTWeXM/TwOCimOM3MI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/GIcvPe1ad_s/s1600/IMG_8583.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ha8SWVTWeXM/TwOCimOM3MI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/GIcvPe1ad_s/s320/IMG_8583.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Afternoon</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-28EPO67Eae4/TwODT4ToLQI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/ciW9Y_QbmJo/s1600/IMG_8589.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-28EPO67Eae4/TwODT4ToLQI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/ciW9Y_QbmJo/s320/IMG_8589.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Afternoon</td></tr>
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In the afternoon, Victor, a nephew, showed up to negotiate about music. He rents DJ services, and he had been hired to play five hours. WE had permission from the sheriff, and HE was being paid. All was settled amicably, and it was agreed that we would start from 9:30 to 11, then he would play until the midnight countdown, then we would play until two a.m.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BPZULU6kcE0/TwOCW7qlZUI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Qo5TNYBbVzE/s1600/IMG_8587.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BPZULU6kcE0/TwOCW7qlZUI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Qo5TNYBbVzE/s320/IMG_8587.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Afternoon</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
And that’s pretty much how it went. Our first set was great. We were prepared for blank stares and nobody dancing - that happens every year. We play some familiar tunes, and sometimes people will dance to them. They do not seem to have the imagination to dance to similar songs. We had selected some very exciting cumbia covers. Anyway, the <i>sound </i>was very, very good - we could hear well, and I think the effect for the audience was good, too.<br />
The DJ played for an hour, and nobody danced with his music, either. <br />
Our next set, a long one, was not quite as good; I’m not quite sure why. The energy was good, but - we just didn’t play quite as well. That’s how it goes sometime.<br />
It was a typical small-town night, and as the DJ was playing, around 3 a.m., a fight broke out somewhere up the street and the people all rushed to see. Victor was left there in the street, looking a bit shaken. We helped him tear down his equipment and drag it to his mother’s house close by. We ended up going to sleep at about 6 a.m.<br />
All in all, our part of the celebration was satisfactory, and we are starting the new year with plans for recording and registering Chon’s songs, and accompanying the paperwork for the registration with videos. Where are we planning to video the performances? In our tejaban!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oEZuIvCEyBk/TwODgPPcyLI/AAAAAAAAAKE/Bj0MLlYbMq8/s1600/IMG_8600.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oEZuIvCEyBk/TwODgPPcyLI/AAAAAAAAAKE/Bj0MLlYbMq8/s400/IMG_8600.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Party time!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-15583811897166732522011-12-15T10:22:00.000-06:002011-12-15T10:30:44.542-06:00ANNUAL CHECKUP<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tfjN8YaNt7Y/TuoXDNhbxEI/AAAAAAAAAIw/a61Fu5YNYVs/s1600/IMG00476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tfjN8YaNt7Y/TuoXDNhbxEI/AAAAAAAAAIw/a61Fu5YNYVs/s320/IMG00476.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the pointillistic effect of a Blackberry in poor light!</td></tr>
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<div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">We have been here in Mexico off and on for over a year, and I thought a general examination might be in order.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">PERSONAL</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I am happy here. There is really nothing I miss about California life., with the exception of a few wonderful people, and hot water. The bathing water that the family here calls “calientita” is really not even warmer than my skin.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">My job as a high school choral teacher was stressful. Each year when I began the year I wished I was not aware of how much hard work was ahead of me. My work here is enjoyable. I like caring for our house. I never considered myself a good housekeeper, but the daily sweeping and mopping of floors is not unpleasant. The frequency means that there really isn’t a lot of dirt. It’s quick and everything smells good afterwards. I’m trying to enjoy dusting as well.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I still don’t cook here - Chon’s sister does that. Since I like to cook, that has been a minus, but still, there is a definite ease of life when you only have to heat up food when it’s dinner time. After we return from Los Angeles we are going to refresh the kitchen with new tile floors and paint, and we intend to do our own cooking when that is finished; we are sending the small stove (with NO oven) to Chon’s sister’s house, and starting with our own electric oven that has been languishing in the patio (it’s 220 v, and, well, nobody has 220 here) or a new gas stove /oven. But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself here. In a check-up do you get to include future plans?</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I don’t have many friends, but I think that might change when I am more fluent in Spanish. And about that - it is slowly becoming more easy to have conversations, although I have occasional brain farts when I can’t remember very common words. Maybe that will never change - happens in English, too!</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">FINANCES/PRICES</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Since inquiring minds want to know, food and household items are LOTS lower in price than in the US. Medicines are rather expensive, but the doctor care I have experienced is efficient,excdellent, and inexpensive. For most people here, it seems expensive, but compared to the California health care I am familiar with, it’s very low-cost. A doctor’s visit is less than $40. A brief, efficient, and very state-of-the-art hospital visit for Chon’s sister to remove gall-stones was completed in about three hours, and cost about $1,500. Really.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Food/groceries are good, and inexpensive.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Mattresses cost about a third of what they cost in the US.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">FARMING AND GARDENING</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4rAW56grh_s/TuoWcJF03sI/AAAAAAAAAIg/7Bou8emqbmw/s1600/IMG_0619.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4rAW56grh_s/TuoWcJF03sI/AAAAAAAAAIg/7Bou8emqbmw/s320/IMG_0619.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OWFRGJY-wgY/TuoYB8qS3LI/AAAAAAAAAJI/C8-kX0Kuy8Y/s1600/IMG_7944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OWFRGJY-wgY/TuoYB8qS3LI/AAAAAAAAAJI/C8-kX0Kuy8Y/s320/IMG_7944.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">We harvested our fields last month, and made about a 50% return on our investment in seed, tractor work, and labor, and we are opening a savings account to keep the money we made for next year’s farming expenses (it costs a lot to plant and fertilize).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gI08bjwurY8/TuoYP9mSXuI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/h5dlnACjWwo/s1600/IMG_8126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gI08bjwurY8/TuoYP9mSXuI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/h5dlnACjWwo/s320/IMG_8126.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Our garden was a success, but will be much better next year. We were casual in our seeding, and the result was overcrowding. We got a great harvest of zucchini (and lots and lots memorable meals with zucchini flowers). The poblano chile plants, now freed from the shade of the sprawling tomato plants, have now set on tiny chiles. if we don't get a killing frost, who knows! Chiles in January?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wgGqpOH0p3o/TuoX0oPgqGI/AAAAAAAAAJA/S6BVrCK-vl4/s1600/IMG_7530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wgGqpOH0p3o/TuoX0oPgqGI/AAAAAAAAAJA/S6BVrCK-vl4/s320/IMG_7530.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">WEATHER</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Here in central Mexico the weather is temperate. That doesn’t mean that it is warm all the time. Lately it has been quite chilly, with temperatures dipping well into the 30’s some nights. When we brought clothing here, I was told to bring sweaters. Now in December, I’m glad that I did.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">HOME IMPROVEMENTS</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">We created some space - a new bedroom and bathroom for Chon's mother (the old bath is outdoors and down a step, making it difficult for her to navigate). </div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d_7HZ8argHA/TuoW7q3cxpI/AAAAAAAAAIo/uHl982MlOwI/s1600/IMG_0761.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d_7HZ8argHA/TuoW7q3cxpI/AAAAAAAAAIo/uHl982MlOwI/s320/IMG_0761.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">We have a new studio for practice and recording. And a stage on top of our garage, for performances. (Years ago we began a tradition of performing for the town. Come see us on New Year's Eve!)</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SuSWce8FZAc/TuoYbMDaqdI/AAAAAAAAAJY/dAukCmvoyyo/s1600/IMG_8152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SuSWce8FZAc/TuoYbMDaqdI/AAAAAAAAAJY/dAukCmvoyyo/s320/IMG_8152.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Does he look like a guitar god?</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Papyrus; font-size: 14px;">AUTOMOBILES/REGISTRATION</span><br />
<div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">We finally got the registration papers for our large truck. We use it mostly for band equipment. It took months to get this task done. There are a bewildering number of laws and rules about importing cars to Mexico. The truck qualified, but it evidently had some customization that was difficult to explain, or get cleared, or - something. Now, though, it is legal, and has Mexican license plates. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">TRAVEL AND DRIVING</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">We have driven many, many miles without trouble. When you cross state lines, however, you may well be stopped by federales, local police, or soldiers. We had an unpleasant experience in Nayarit when federales inspected our PT Cruiser and announced that they had found a marijuana seed in the back. They were insulting and a little scary while they kept us there for about half an hour. They pretended to be insulted when Chon offered to pay them for their trouble, but one of them took some large bills from the travel money we had with us.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Another time when we were stopped by some troops the young soldiers were very happy to accept a mordida although they took it hurriedly so that their superior officer did not see them; probably they didn’t want to share!</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Driving here is - different. In general, the rules and laws are the same as the ones we all know and love. But the signs are different, and I don’t mean because they are in Spanish. They are placed differently; not regularized in placement, or color, or lettering. Sometimes you must make a turn before a sign, and sometimes quite a way after the sign. It can be a challenge to find signs for street names. Glorietas (or round-abouts) are a little scary at first, but then they begin to make sense. Just keep to the center of the circle if you are going all the way around, and to the outside lane if you are going to turn right. Many large cities have removed glorietas and replaced them with signal lights.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"> UNWRITTEN RULES AND ETIQUETTE</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I can’t give myself a high mark in this, but it is improving. Here’s an example: if I were at my home in California and a visitor was seated on my couch, I would go sit next to them to show I was happy they were there, and that I wanted to visit and be sociable. Here, in Mexico though, if someone is visiting and I go to sit with them, in a few minutes they get up and go. A territorial thing? (Sometimes useful!)</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 14.0px Papyrus; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I think this was quite random, but that’s what I can think of right now for my checkup, and I’m just going to quit.</div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HpuAtzcdSS0/TuoXHkh8ZSI/AAAAAAAAAI4/cxl8ENAvduI/s1600/IMG00477.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HpuAtzcdSS0/TuoXHkh8ZSI/AAAAAAAAAI4/cxl8ENAvduI/s320/IMG00477.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-38461129883414986302011-11-21T15:23:00.001-06:002011-11-21T15:26:05.106-06:00November Treat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OHw85BpFFGM/Tsq91kx8dII/AAAAAAAAAII/0VcaFzweLsg/s1600/IMG_2280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday morning I picked a watermelon from our mostly-dried-up garden. Yes, really - just a few days away from Thanksgiving. Lest you think we have been enduring a long heat wave, well, the weather has been cold in the nights, but still quite warm in the afternoons. </div><br />
I did not expect anything at all from the volunteer watermelon plants that came up in our garden, but we just let them stay, twining all around the garden. I thought the melons would be just - blah.<br />
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We had learned some lessons about pill-bugs and watermelons over the summer, and I had placed the baby watermelon on top of a ceramic bowl about a month ago to protect it. Its mother vine dried up a couple of weeks ago, but we left the melon sitting there on its little throne because it just didn’t have that hollow sound of a ripe melon. But I decided we had waited long enough for whatever was going to happen, and when I cut it open it made that crispy sound you like to hear as it split. And guess what? It was delicious! Really good! Who would've thought?<br />
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I cut it up in bite-sized pieces. That is a really good solution to an everyday problem of not-much-food-and-quite-a-few-people, a common practice with all kinds of food here. I didn’t do anything else to it, but usually people sprinkle the pieces with lemon and chili. Ten or twelve of us enjoyed eating it. Now I’m eyeing the next little watermelon for an autumn treat.<br />
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To quote my friend Michael, happy Thanksgiving, everybody. I do hope you all have a safe, happy and loving week. My thoughts, exactly!Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-85708430804570199682011-11-20T10:57:00.000-06:002011-11-20T10:57:58.353-06:00NOVEMBER NINTH, 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-duIn4wCdXyA/TskwYwCqqqI/AAAAAAAAAIA/DZVi_ZepTlc/s1600/IMG_8449.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-duIn4wCdXyA/TskwYwCqqqI/AAAAAAAAAIA/DZVi_ZepTlc/s320/IMG_8449.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VYQM040TB0o/Tskvwo3L8QI/AAAAAAAAAHw/-aRo4jIw2k0/s1600/IMG_2472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
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</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o7N2FJZducM/Tskv-ZZCz8I/AAAAAAAAAH4/2zbTbr9cYjc/s1600/IMG_2071_1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o7N2FJZducM/Tskv-ZZCz8I/AAAAAAAAAH4/2zbTbr9cYjc/s320/IMG_2071_1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Around midnight last night I could hear Chon moving around the room. He said he heard the church bell ringing “doubles”. That is an announcement of death. He went out to the street but saw no one. Later on, very early in the morning, we woke again, hearing bells.<br />
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Tio Kiko was waiting at the door at sweeping time. He went in, as he always does in the morning, asking about Socorro (still asleep) and Chon (still asleep). He has to check anyway, and is not satisfied until he finds their doors closed. Then he told me that his compadre Enrique died in the night, and his body was there at the house. This was not really a surprise, as they took him yesterday to the hospital for the umpteenth time. He lacked three weeks of reaching his ninetieth birthday, and his many serious health challenges had kept him bedridden for years.<br />
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A few minutes later, the news came that Don Geronimo also died last night. The bells we heard early in the morning were from the next rancho to the east, ringing his death. <br />
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The families in these small towns are very closely related. Don Enrique’s granddaughter who has cared for him for the last few years is also the granddaughter of Don Geronimo. Last night both of her grandfathers died, and people are whispering about that. Nobody cane recall that ever happening before.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VYQM040TB0o/Tskvwo3L8QI/AAAAAAAAAHw/-aRo4jIw2k0/s1600/IMG_2472.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VYQM040TB0o/Tskvwo3L8QI/AAAAAAAAAHw/-aRo4jIw2k0/s320/IMG_2472.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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The first day of November brought sudden cold weather, freezing the crops, and people say that the cold weather brings “bad things”. The town is full of people suffering from colds and coughs. When we visited the fields in the morning we could see ice crystals sparkling in the sun. Chon’s sister Maria and his mother both have persistent coughs, and we have been sharing home remedies with them.<br />
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In the mornings Socorro says her morning prayers, interrupted by frequent coughs. She prays on doggedly in a strong voice. Coming to the end of some prayers, she continues on and on with more. She mentions death several times a day. She will be 90 in December, and suffers from a painful old knee injury, and right now from a constant cough.<br />
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Surely every adult in this little town will have many thoughts of death today and during the nine days of novenarios for the two old men who died the same night.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-52978306083150104872011-10-03T19:19:00.000-05:002011-10-03T19:19:54.632-05:00DEATH OF A LOCAL CHARACTER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--yuLufThdig/TopN91uNihI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/b8wtGSS8QFw/s1600/IMG_0645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--yuLufThdig/TopN91uNihI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/b8wtGSS8QFw/s320/IMG_0645.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Nena was born into a family of over twenty siblings. When Chon’s mother describes Doña Mathilde’s and Don Luz’ multitudinous family she always says that Mathilde had 23 children; “tres vezes cuates”; three times twins.<br /><br />Nena’s name is Maria Elena, but was never called that. She was always called Nena, a common nickname for Elena. Nena is also a word for “baby girl”. Nena was a twin, born second. She was always trailing behind - in everything. She was not very healthy, and many things just sort of passed her by. As she grew to adulthood she became known in this little town as a viguera; a person with “bad” language. She liked to sit in front of her family’s little store, right across the street from us, and watch the world go by, trumpeting insulting remarks about nearly everyone. <br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-01eE_QNJ-Ew/TopO-T_9rUI/AAAAAAAAAHc/YrHbR7vLlGI/s1600/IMG1586.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-01eE_QNJ-Ew/TopO-T_9rUI/AAAAAAAAAHc/YrHbR7vLlGI/s320/IMG1586.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />We met about 26 years ago, and I tended to avoid her; not because of her language so much, but because I was learning to speak Spanish, and Nena was harder than the usual to understand. As I came to know her better, we would have conversations. I can’t remember her ever saying anything really rude to me, but whatever Nena said to anyone was heard by everyone within a couple of hundred feet because of her extremely loud and focused voice. She was absolutely incorrigible; loud, rude and crude.<br /><br />Her health, never good, began to deteriorate to a serious level a few years ago. A small-boned person, quite short of stature, she began to carry more and more weight on her frame. She looked a great deal like a ball and she had to lean back to walk on her tiny feet. People said that she carried a lot of water weight, and evidently that was true. They said that from time to time the doctors would remove several liters of water from her stomach. That was not true, except for the amount. <br /><br />Several times I heard family say that they just didn’t know what was wrong with Nena; the doctors had told her, but they just couldn’t remember what it was that they had said. She died of renal failure.<br /><br />The last few months of her life she developed a continuous cough, deep, rasping, and painful-sounding. Here at our house we heard it a lot, because she would visit nearly every day. She especially liked to visit on Tuesdays when Chavela would come, because she often brought or prepared here delicious meals. Nena was the first one to the table, not only at our house. She made herself welcome in many, many neighboring homes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hOKGLzcR4iY/TopONemuQ8I/AAAAAAAAAHU/uHs5--QeWqw/s1600/IMG_5523.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hOKGLzcR4iY/TopONemuQ8I/AAAAAAAAAHU/uHs5--QeWqw/s320/IMG_5523.JPG" width="320" /></a><br /><br />She and Chon would sometimes exchange mild insults. Other people would avoid her, or just chuckle and shake their heads, saying “Oh, Nena,”. In spite of her insulting and low speech, was quite religious, and attended mass when she could. <br /><br />There was much conjecture about her coffin - how would they fit the enormous amount of flesh into it? As it turned out, the coffin was a normal one, with a glass window on top. <br /><br />The funeral mass was very well-attended, and included many family members who had not visited for years. Many of the attendees had never been friends of Nena’s, but attended out of respect for the family, or bald curiosity.<br /><br />There were fireworks Saturday night, when Nena’s body arrived from the hospital/morgue, and there were more fireworks early the next morning. These are typically rocket-type things that are shot into the air, and explode high above. You can hear the swish of the rocket as it flies. There was also a mariachi group, only occasionally hired in our little town (mariachis are costly). Nena had a couple of favorite songs, and they were sung, along with popular rancheras, at the velorio.<br /><br />As far as I know, although Nena told stories about bus drivers and musicians that she had her eye on, she never had a boyfriend. I doubt that she ever had a close friend. She never attended school. She lived much of her life in pain. She was truly one-of-a-kind, and I already miss her.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FjZf0eanFVc/TopOu0UGDvI/AAAAAAAAAHY/RXYMpy_QPMI/s1600/IMG1499.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FjZf0eanFVc/TopOu0UGDvI/AAAAAAAAAHY/RXYMpy_QPMI/s320/IMG1499.JPG" width="240" /></a><br /></div>
Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6247505372971273634.post-22905192017359392732011-09-14T15:36:00.000-05:002011-09-14T15:36:16.988-05:00Pests In The Fields<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Iy6AN51ZjbA/TnEPB0tGBbI/AAAAAAAAAHE/jeagh_cKCXo/s1600/IMG_7869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Iy6AN51ZjbA/TnEPB0tGBbI/AAAAAAAAAHE/jeagh_cKCXo/s320/IMG_7869.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This worm and hundreds of thousands of its friends can ruin a whole crop. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UxK0ewCzYEk/TnEPJ7HZ3sI/AAAAAAAAAHI/Nar6pb7ZxOs/s1600/IMG_7818.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UxK0ewCzYEk/TnEPJ7HZ3sI/AAAAAAAAAHI/Nar6pb7ZxOs/s320/IMG_7818.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They get right in the heart of the growing plant.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gQrgRHrl6ao/TnEPU7mzzZI/AAAAAAAAAHM/zqXJfYClE-4/s1600/IMG1485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gQrgRHrl6ao/TnEPU7mzzZI/AAAAAAAAAHM/zqXJfYClE-4/s320/IMG1485.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are the birds that the pajareros try to scare away from the growing crops.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07530691997593653300noreply@blogger.com0