Thursday, September 20, 2018
Wednesday, June 13, 2018
THE HILLS ARE AFLAME!
As yet, we're not in danger. The downtown part of Durango is in the valley still some distance south from where the fire is now burning, and we live somewhat to the north of downtown -- right in the populated area of residential Durango. So! If the fire even THINKS of coming close to the residences -- I think the fire-fighting scene will escalate rapidly. Which is saying something -- because the fire-fighting scene is already very impressive with the number of planes dropping water, and the "boots-on-the-ground" guys we cannot even see from the distance we keep.
https://www.google.com/search?
As yet, we're not in danger. The downtown part of Durango is in the valley still some distance south from where the fire is now burning, and we live somewhat to the north of downtown -- right in the populated area of residential Durango. So! If the fire even THINKS of coming close to the residences -- I think the fire-fighting scene will escalate rapidly. Which is saying something -- because the fire-fighting scene is already very impressive with the number of planes dropping water, and the "boots-on-the-ground" guys we cannot even see from the distance we keep.
Alas, it is the beautiful evergreen forests that are becoming flaming torches, with white clouds of smoke billowing outwards...
We've
been driving up the valley (which runs north-south) -- to the north of
town nearly every early evening to watch the flaming hillside, as the
fire progresses. Tonight, we're taking a break. But hey, IT IS
HUGE, with flames and smoke billowing upwards. The fire has been moving
steadily SOUTHwards, right along the line of hills on the WEST side of
the valley, and of course, it is also burning downwards on those
hillsides towards the valley floor. Such a flare-up when yet another
living tree (evergreens) is ignited.
We do not yet feel threatened.
Here's a website for an up-to-date report. I presume they keep it current:
Saturday, June 2, 2018
WORDS TO USE MORE OFTEN / Silliness expounded Upon
SILLINESS EXPOUNDED UPON
An exchange taken off my Facebook page so I can laugh at it again:
WORDS TO USE MORE OFTEN
lovely plump fetching
proper efficacy enormity
beautiful omit discombobulate
swell loath intrude
absurd abominable cleave
flawless balderdash beam
unique peckish eminent
precious skedaddle accuracy
hullaballoo thrall delightful
scrumptious winsome breathtaking
dandy mayhap worthy
squabble evolve solitude
secure purpose enthralled
contemplate behalf sorrowful
audacity thankful taught
lousy gruesome resplendent
embrace residency dictate
likely tangible present
pompous superfluous regardless
inflection great (in size) mimic
sleepy gumption realm
================================================
SARA RANSOM:
Well, I have used all of these words at some time or another -- yes, including discombobulate! In fact, revisiting them, they are common words to my mind... I loath to contemplate the audacity of being in a squabble with a pompous being who is totally enthralled with his own resplendent presence. Wonderful words!!!! HEY, EVERYBODY! LET'S HAVE A CHAIN OF RESPONSES USING THESE WORDS! C'MON, IT'LL BE FUN.
SARA RANSOM: I'm W-A-I-T-I-N-G !!
SARA RANSOM: I'm quite discombobulated by the LACK of hullaballoo.
Guillermo Argueta-Bernal: Well as a resplendent eminent worthy speaker of the English language who delights in the scrumptious sounds of words like balderdash, gumption and squabble I take up your swell challenge beautiful and fetching , Sara!
SARA RANSOM: Mayhap this challenge will evolve into an audacious, mayhap even pompous, display of absurd, yet flawlessly delightful and unique... balderdash!
Di-Donna Niesman: Sara Ransom What is this hullabaloo? Please, don't be peckish, as some of us are sleepy and slow to evolve a proper and unique response to your worthy dictate.
Sara Ransom: Guillermo Argueta-Bernal Indeed you ARE a resplendent eminent speaker of the English language! How you DO delight in the scrumptious sounds of the words!
Sara Ransom: Di-Donna Niesman -- Truly, I am sorry to have intruded upon your precious solitude. Mayhap, if you are feeling peckish, you could partake of some scrumptious delight, and thence discover thereby the energy to further embrace the lovely absurdity of this enthralling verbal...um... balderdash.
Di-Donna Niesman: Sara Ransom Would that I could mimic such a swell response with worthy accuracy. I can only contemplate the audacity the reply would require. Hence, I shall skedaddle.
An exchange taken off my Facebook page so I can laugh at it again:
WORDS TO USE MORE OFTEN
lovely plump fetching
proper efficacy enormity
beautiful omit discombobulate
swell loath intrude
absurd abominable cleave
flawless balderdash beam
unique peckish eminent
precious skedaddle accuracy
hullaballoo thrall delightful
scrumptious winsome breathtaking
dandy mayhap worthy
squabble evolve solitude
secure purpose enthralled
contemplate behalf sorrowful
audacity thankful taught
lousy gruesome resplendent
embrace residency dictate
likely tangible present
pompous superfluous regardless
inflection great (in size) mimic
sleepy gumption realm
================================================
SARA RANSOM:
Well, I have used all of these words at some time or another -- yes, including discombobulate! In fact, revisiting them, they are common words to my mind... I loath to contemplate the audacity of being in a squabble with a pompous being who is totally enthralled with his own resplendent presence. Wonderful words!!!! HEY, EVERYBODY! LET'S HAVE A CHAIN OF RESPONSES USING THESE WORDS! C'MON, IT'LL BE FUN.
SARA RANSOM: I'm W-A-I-T-I-N-G !!
SARA RANSOM: I'm quite discombobulated by the LACK of hullaballoo.
Guillermo Argueta-Bernal: Well as a resplendent eminent worthy speaker of the English language who delights in the scrumptious sounds of words like balderdash, gumption and squabble I take up your swell challenge beautiful and fetching , Sara!
SARA RANSOM: Mayhap this challenge will evolve into an audacious, mayhap even pompous, display of absurd, yet flawlessly delightful and unique... balderdash!
Di-Donna Niesman: Sara Ransom What is this hullabaloo? Please, don't be peckish, as some of us are sleepy and slow to evolve a proper and unique response to your worthy dictate.
Sara Ransom: Guillermo Argueta-Bernal Indeed you ARE a resplendent eminent speaker of the English language! How you DO delight in the scrumptious sounds of the words!
Sara Ransom: Di-Donna Niesman -- Truly, I am sorry to have intruded upon your precious solitude. Mayhap, if you are feeling peckish, you could partake of some scrumptious delight, and thence discover thereby the energy to further embrace the lovely absurdity of this enthralling verbal...um... balderdash.
Di-Donna Niesman: Sara Ransom Would that I could mimic such a swell response with worthy accuracy. I can only contemplate the audacity the reply would require. Hence, I shall skedaddle.
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
A Snowless Mid-Winter Explore...
So... a basically snowless mid-winter! So much for x/c forays.
Instead, I enjoy laid back daze now filled with: hanging out with friends, and... well, of course there's Facebook (I do love being able
to keep in cyber-touch), and...
YES! workouts in the local rec. center just a short
distance from home...
But oh HEY!!!! An integral part of my days:
The wild red-rock formations:
At least once-a-week, and with any luck, twice-a-week, Robert and I enjoy hiking adventures in the wonderful hilly, rocky, beckoning wild country that surrounds Durango, and running the river when it's not too wild.
At least once-a-week, and with any luck, twice-a-week, Robert and I enjoy hiking adventures in the wonderful hilly, rocky, beckoning wild country that surrounds Durango, and running the river when it's not too wild.
We
were up hiking in the wilds again just yesterday, clamboring among wild red rock formations (some so anthropomorphic you want to name them)... The dog we took along would BOUND both up and down that wild
terrain, wagging his tail impatiently as we casually explored nooks, crannies, and vast views. Such exquisite beauty....
As for our river:
We
used to run the wild rapids each in our OWN boat back in our agile wild days. Wow! Got that!!! That is enough.... 'tho if Robert were to ask
me to run them in our two-person boat, I'd say YES! ...but maybe a tad later in the season when they're not so wild.
Swimming IN the rapids, watching your boat and
paddles float rapidly FAR downstream from you as you aim your struggles for ANY
shore... WAS fun... back then. Nowadays, when I'm on my
own, I actually paddle calmly UPstream where there are no other boats: a beautiful winding river through patches of trees, surrounds of
farmland, and vistas of the nearby high hills and mountains. Often, I pass by deer grazing peacefully, and on occasion, YES! a bear watching me idly from shore.
When I feel like it, I turn the boat around and gently cruise back downstream. I take
out before the rapids begin. I love the peaceful solitude now.
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Thursday, December 7, 2017
SPEAKING OF THE SEA...
Speaking of the sea, and our reason
for going down there -- the surf .... Well, the surf took a vacation
itself! There were NO boogie-board waves over to the side, and because
the surfer's surf was slight, I didn't feel it fair to join them...
Other years, as the waves kept rolling in one after another, I was
welcome to join the surfers -- and given my turn in the line-up for the
Big Surf !
But... this year? I didn't really feel drawn into the water at all!
Oh, I did go out there –once-- and immersed myself for a short time and
then waded back to shore.....
But
hey! what made that little pilgrimage into the water so very poignant
was the little loving dog who had been keeping company with me! Oh,
yes! This little dog had decided to hang out with me full-time while
his master was way out there in the Big Surf. Indeed, I was thereby
HIS responsibility!!!
So.... as you might imagine, that sweet dog got all kinds of upset
with me for going out there into water far too deep for him, and
getting myself all mixed up in the rushing whitewater (long since crashed, and
just a gentle push to shore, really -- just waist deep at the
deepest)....
You must realize, that this is a small dachshund doglet,
and he just could NOT save me if something were to go wrong!!! BARK!
BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! ... OH! ...and when I (FINALLY!) made it
back to shore, oh, did he SCOLD me, running around my feet and still
barking at me, as I headed up to "our table"....BARK! BARK! BARK!
Friday, October 7, 2016
Married!
Such a "big deal".....
We were in some tax office (October 4 2016), here in Durango, filling out boring forms when the clerk noted that we always file jointly. In the end, we agreed to be marked as married. We signed some forms that, therefore, had the "married" box checked. That was it. Married by the Federal Government.
So!! our Wedding date is October 4th, 2016.
(Hmmm.. JUST noticed (on 1/31/2018) that our wedding date is also: TEN-FOUR. Googled that and got this:
A code used by CB owners possibly since the dawn of amateur radio, the code 10-4 simply means "Message received".
We were in some tax office (October 4 2016), here in Durango, filling out boring forms when the clerk noted that we always file jointly. In the end, we agreed to be marked as married. We signed some forms that, therefore, had the "married" box checked. That was it. Married by the Federal Government.
So!! our Wedding date is October 4th, 2016.
(Hmmm.. JUST noticed (on 1/31/2018) that our wedding date is also: TEN-FOUR. Googled that and got this:
A code used by CB owners possibly since the dawn of amateur radio, the code 10-4 simply means "Message received".
A brief history of our initial courtship, beginning way back in:
1992:
THE COURTSHIP BEGINS
(1) I had been hired to teach an extended class in the "Art of Storytelling" to a
summer's class of adults up at the Fort Lewis College campus, in 1992. This was
the first time I'd even HEARD of Durango.
(2) I had barely arrived in Durango, and I knew NO-one. I was lookin' for stuff to do when not teaching -- and there was this one night when I wandered into a dance hall (not even a bar -- just a dance hall) featuring folk/circle dancing like Antioch used to feature. Pretty hokey...
(2) I had barely arrived in Durango, and I knew NO-one. I was lookin' for stuff to do when not teaching -- and there was this one night when I wandered into a dance hall (not even a bar -- just a dance hall) featuring folk/circle dancing like Antioch used to feature. Pretty hokey...
and yes they DID the Hokey-Pokey.
(3)
ROBERT, a local lad born & raised in Durango, also showed up. His
mother had very recently succumbed after a long battle with cancer.
This was his first night out, to regain the spirit of Living. Robert
and I did NOT even meet eyes at this folk dance scene, BUT!!! when we
talked about it, we both admitted that we each had taken strong note of
the other, viz:
(4) MY TAKE: When I saw him walk in, I noticed how open, and non-judgmental he was -- quietly surveying the crowd in this funky old 1940s dance hall -- and how he simply joined in with the circle dances, warm-hearted and friendly. Said I to myself, "Now THAT is a good man. If there are men like this in Durango, I'll be okay here..." but I also decided he was too young for me, and so made no attempt to connect. In fact, I found that folk dancing scene was just TOO hokey, and took off for the local bar featuring 60's music, down the street a ways.
(5) HIS TAKE: Oh hey! Robert noticed me as well, and he said to himself, "That is the woman I'm going to marry." REALLY! We did NOT meet eyes in that funky dance hall -- we just each "recognized" the other.
(6)
THE CONNECT: I arrived at the bar, down the street, where was a '60s
rock band... Not dancing, but rockin' out right there at the table.
Not long afterwards, Robert showed up -- he was literally looking for
me. Durango is a small town, and there was really no other place I could
have gone to.
He leaned over the table, past the strangers also sharing the big round
table, and with the warmest smile, said, "Would you like to dance?"
I burst into a big grin (THIS was THAT GUY with the warm open-hearted
eyes). Immediately, I tried to get out from the round table. I was on
the far side by a wall.... but the strangers sharing that round table
utterly ignored me....
Therefore, being a graceful, shy type, I simply climbed up onto the table top and WALKED OVER THE TOP towards Robert.
Not surprisingly, the table TIPPED ("Grab your beers!!) and I fell right into his arms. We danced every dance til the place closed.
Then we courted, driving back and forth between Taos and Durango -- two years filled with many types of outdoor adventures, camping trips et al.
1994:
THE PROPOSAL: And then... well, they say, "You know you're a redneck if he proposes to you over the phone...." ....which is what Robert did.
Robert (on the phone): "Would you like to move up here?" (translation: "Will you marry me?")
Then we courted, driving back and forth between Taos and Durango -- two years filled with many types of outdoor adventures, camping trips et al.
1994:
THE PROPOSAL: And then... well, they say, "You know you're a redneck if he proposes to you over the phone...." ....which is what Robert did.
Robert (on the phone): "Would you like to move up here?" (translation: "Will you marry me?")
Me (on the phone): "That means I bring all my stuff, and I never leave. Are you ready for that?" (rough translation: "Oh yes! Yes!! Oh, I love you so much, YES!)
SO! That proposal was 22 years ago.
October 4, 2016 ("marriage" in that tax office)
October 5, 2016 ("reception" at a favorite restaurant)
About the Reception: Most coincidentally, it just so happens that (already in the works with no connection to our "wedding" in the tax office on Oct. 4) is a wonderful gathering of friends at a favorite restaurant -- tomorrow night (Oct. 5).
Yup -- we'll secretly (maybe I'll mention it, maybe not) celebrate our marriage with friends tomorrow night (October 5) at our beloved "Himalayan Restaurant."
What the hey!
Love to y'all,
Sara (no, not changing my last name)
Friday, June 10, 2016
Pueblo Dance Shenanigans -- a glimpse
A GLIMPSE INTO PUEBLO DANCE SHENANIGANS...
We also visited two different tribal pueblos to view their dances,
both open to the public. Judy is close friends with a number of the
women in both pueblos.
No photographing is allowed at all... so here is a brief word-picture:
First we hear the powerful drumbeats which fill the air and open
the heart, and we, the many observers, stand nearby taking it all in.
Soon after, we can see the dancers entering the courtyard area --
colorfully painted faces, colorful clothing, hauntingly beautiful
singing, rhythmic footsteps. The dancers are fully focused on their
dance, their deep chanting touches the heart, as they all move in
procession throughout the pueblo grounds.
We all follow at a respectful distance, standing around the edges.
And ahhhh! One dance in particular....
Yes, at one of the pueblos, there was a very playful twist. We had
been following a dancing "herd of deer" when -- as if in utter
disruption -- once-were-enemy "Apache," colorfully marked with warpaint,
appeared on the scene!
They snuck up alongside the "deer"...
Then, suddenly, they began hooting war-cries! With their tiny bows
they shot toy arrows into the air over the heads of the dancers -- and
the rain of arrows fell all around, wafting harmlessly to the ground.
This went on for some playful time... and then, to our delight, the
dance SUDDENLY erupted in a sort of "Sadie Hawkins" scramble!!!
At the sound of one gunshot -- all the dancers took off running like
hell to avoid being captured by local unmarried tribes-women.
Delightful pandemonium indeed! After all, if they are caught, they are
then taken to that woman's home, and HELD there, captive, until the
dancer's family comes up with payment to free them -- foodstuffs, maybe
other trades, (not money).
Much laughter!
Monday, August 10, 2015
HORRIFIC RIVER POLLUTION... AND A BLESSING FROM A HAWK
BELOW: Close-up of the pollution, as it settles along the shore, and river-bottom.
From the Durango Herald (August 10, 2015)
The EPA on
Sunday tripled its estimate of how much contaminated water gushed out of
Gold King Mine and slipped into the Animas River... up to 3
million gallons from an initial estimate of 1 million gallons...
One million gallons of water is equal to about two Olympic-size swimming
pools, meaning about six Olympic-size swimming pools of wastewater came
downstream." (NOTE added by me: it is STILL coming down, just not that sickening yellowish color)
(Regarding cleanup) "...heavy metals will settle on the riverbed... We do
expect over the coming months and years, as there are surges in the
river, that sediment can get kicked up... We'll really need to have
long-term monitoring plans. ...sampling in the river, wells and soil
may be necessary for a long time to come... Some of these metals, such
as zinc, can inhibit plant growth. Others, such as lead, are more of a
human health concern. A lot of these metals pose long-term health
risks..." (for more details: https://www.hcn.org/articles/when-our-river-turned-orange-animas-river-spill )
* * *
So...
a real part of my life in Durango has been shut down, apparently for
the foreseeable future. No more spring rapids-running.... No more
evening solo paddle. Oh, I'll miss those... * * *
Since I moved up here, I've been spending many summer and autumn sunsets (and an occasional bundled-up WINTER run) in my kayak, paddling upstream a ways, and then floating down among the reflecting reds and oranges (and some small ice floes in winter).
This year, there was this blue heron that I liked to see on its perch along the river. It's been a personal meditative time. But now -- will the fish be poison to the heron? Oh, who knows...
Our mountain lakes are quite beautiful and I'll go there sometimes but they're all a longer drive, so it won't be a daily evening ritual....
Ah, but day before yesterday, a friend and I were doing just that, each of us paddling our own kayak while bathed in the sunset brilliance of a beloved mountain lake. We were quietly circumambulating along its wild edges, among the reeds and nooks. As we came close to completing our circuit, there came a hawk gliding overhead directly towards me, carrying a fish in its talons.
Setting my paddle down, I turned my head up to watch. The hawk flapped its wings very powerfully -- just once -- thus stopping its glide for just a moment -- an electric moment -- and we met eyes (so it seemed to me). Then the hawk flew on, directly over my head, and was gone.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
UP IN FLAMES
In the dark of night -- last night -- Robert strapped on a portable flamethrower, hoisted up the heavy fuel container, lit the business end of the hose, and -- after laying down a precise line of flame on OUR property -- he quietly entered our neighbor's yard. (NOTE: this is taking place in our little village in Mexico.)
Watching the ground intently, he walked slowly around their outdoor kitchen and play-yard, laying down an incinerated trail as he moved. Then, he circled their entire home, all the while flaming a trail... Then he moved on to the next neighbor's home (the last house on the little dirt road through town) and lay down a flame trail. From there, he crossed the little dirt road and continued his slow walk, circling the little homes across the street -- staring at the ground and laying down a flaming trail.
I paced the porch and hoped no one would wake up, that no one would hear him, and that he would return safely, and I fervently wished that he had, like, you know.... asked permission first or something. Can you imagine what they might think, waking up in the dark of night and seeing the crazy gringo neighbor circling their house while laying down flames?
Remarkably, not one neighbor awoke, and no flames went out of control... and also in his intent wandering, he discovered the Mother Lode! Yes! He found the entrance to the underground citadel of chancharas (we call them army ants). He has plans for how to completely eradicate that little empire, to be accomplished on another night.
What he successfully accomplished last night, was the saving of entire trees. These chancaras can completely denude a tree in a short time, and then move on to the next. It's how we lost our guava tree last season.
Our dearest village friend -- brother at heart -- had dropped by earlier in the evening with a pouch of ant poison. He had noticed the advance of the army the night before that and was determined to stop them in their tracks. Once Robert was alerted, he went on high-action mode. Rather than letting Guille lay down a long trail of poisonous powder, he brought out the flame-thrower and Guille gave him full approval for its use.
This morning, I wandered along the trail of the flame-thrower. Not much to see. Incinerated ants don't leave much behind .. and also, the free-range chickens don't miss much of what's left!
As for the concept of incinerated foliage -- there was none. We all keep our yards as clear of growing plants as we can. Certainly NEVER is there grass. Bare dirt is preferred. Flowering plants and bushes are kept in containers That way, scorpions and small lethal blue snakes (for instance) have nowhere to hide.
We left for this particular town trip before the next-door neighbors even wandered outside, so we don't know their reaction -- if they even can tell what happened while they slept. That's probably a good thing.
Watching the ground intently, he walked slowly around their outdoor kitchen and play-yard, laying down an incinerated trail as he moved. Then, he circled their entire home, all the while flaming a trail... Then he moved on to the next neighbor's home (the last house on the little dirt road through town) and lay down a flame trail. From there, he crossed the little dirt road and continued his slow walk, circling the little homes across the street -- staring at the ground and laying down a flaming trail.
I paced the porch and hoped no one would wake up, that no one would hear him, and that he would return safely, and I fervently wished that he had, like, you know.... asked permission first or something. Can you imagine what they might think, waking up in the dark of night and seeing the crazy gringo neighbor circling their house while laying down flames?
Remarkably, not one neighbor awoke, and no flames went out of control... and also in his intent wandering, he discovered the Mother Lode! Yes! He found the entrance to the underground citadel of chancharas (we call them army ants). He has plans for how to completely eradicate that little empire, to be accomplished on another night.
What he successfully accomplished last night, was the saving of entire trees. These chancaras can completely denude a tree in a short time, and then move on to the next. It's how we lost our guava tree last season.
Our dearest village friend -- brother at heart -- had dropped by earlier in the evening with a pouch of ant poison. He had noticed the advance of the army the night before that and was determined to stop them in their tracks. Once Robert was alerted, he went on high-action mode. Rather than letting Guille lay down a long trail of poisonous powder, he brought out the flame-thrower and Guille gave him full approval for its use.
This morning, I wandered along the trail of the flame-thrower. Not much to see. Incinerated ants don't leave much behind .. and also, the free-range chickens don't miss much of what's left!
As for the concept of incinerated foliage -- there was none. We all keep our yards as clear of growing plants as we can. Certainly NEVER is there grass. Bare dirt is preferred. Flowering plants and bushes are kept in containers That way, scorpions and small lethal blue snakes (for instance) have nowhere to hide.
We left for this particular town trip before the next-door neighbors even wandered outside, so we don't know their reaction -- if they even can tell what happened while they slept. That's probably a good thing.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
I WILL ARISE AND GO NOW...
________________________________________________________
THE HILL OF DURANGO
I will arise and go now, and go to the top of the hill,
And a medicine wheel formed there, of stones in a circle made;
Around me flowering bush there, and the bird's sweet warbling trill,
And sit in silence in the sun and shade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes from deep within,
Spreading from the heart's first dawning to when the breath is deep;
There the dawn's a gentle sigh, and noon a playful whim,
And evening full of the coming sleep.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear the wind rustle with soft sounds through the trees;
While I sit in the circle, or stand along the way,
My heart does hear the sound that frees.
-- Sara Ransom
(composed by inspiration from W.B. Yeats)
_______________________________________________________
THE LAKE OF INNISFREE
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin built there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
-- William Butler Yeats
THE HILL OF DURANGO
I will arise and go now, and go to the top of the hill,
And a medicine wheel formed there, of stones in a circle made;
Around me flowering bush there, and the bird's sweet warbling trill,
And sit in silence in the sun and shade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes from deep within,
Spreading from the heart's first dawning to when the breath is deep;
There the dawn's a gentle sigh, and noon a playful whim,
And evening full of the coming sleep.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear the wind rustle with soft sounds through the trees;
While I sit in the circle, or stand along the way,
My heart does hear the sound that frees.
-- Sara Ransom
(composed by inspiration from W.B. Yeats)
_______________________________________________________
THE LAKE OF INNISFREE
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin built there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
-- William Butler Yeats
Monday, May 26, 2014
John Jacob Alzenheimer-Smith
"John Jacob Alzenheimer-Smith...That's my name, too...
Whenever we go out, the people always shout,
There goes John Jacob Alzenheimer-Smith....da-da-da-da-da-da-da--- **
Here follows a short rant. Feel free to skip it.
How many of you folks a-readin' this here rant are over 60? Can you recall?
I'll tell you what -- we are a lot more fun to be around than bein' stuck in a crowd of young knowitalls, sez I.
Why? ...'cause we laugh!
We can be in the middle of some involved conversation and forget just what our point was -- and what do we do? We laugh! What do our younger compadres do? They nudge the person next to them (assuming that person is under 60), raise one surreptitious eyebrow with a glance toward one of us, and then they both nod, and roll their eyes.
Oh, and hey! How about when you ask the same question after a reasonable passage of time. Do that often enough and you get more than an exasperated "you already asked me that!"
Finally, it will come to "The Alzheimer's Talk"..... that matter-of-fact, down-to-earth, let's-face-it: "You Have Alzheimer's" talk. Sez I in reply: "I don't even know a guy named Alzheimer... how can I have anything of his? What is it that he's lost, anyway... maybe I've seen it around."
But seriously folks... the oddest part of this "gentle" talk, is the undercurrent of anger. I have (more than once) been informed that (herein unnamed) people are getting angry with my repeated questions. Angry! And of course, what follows is that they become dismissive. In their eyes, I am now irrelevant, confused, and not to be taken seriously. I do not matter.
In my own way of seeing it, I ask a question again -- because the answer I got was boring! ...and I quit listening! I want a better one. Besides, I often like what I am thinking about far better than paying attention to... well, you know.
Hmmm... I can't recall what else I wanted to say on this topic....
Anyway, it sure looks like there´s gonna be a beautiful sunset over the sea tonight. Clear skies. Just might see the Green Flash again.
You know, early this morning, I was sitting alone at a table under a lovely surf-side umbrella -- after a GREAT session of body-surfing, playing in set after set of wild bouncing big waves, ducking under and diving over, in playfully wild careening abandon. No one else was out there. Just me and the sea..... ahhh...
As I was dripping myself to a dryer state... I was watching the crashing waves, utterly absorbed in my own thoughts. Just then! ...a friend -- a man of my age (the kind that laughs and shares) -- STARTLED me with a simple hello! ...but he had no problem understanding my explanation of why I jumped so.
I told him that just then, I was enjoying the flow of a particular crashing wave. Rather than water, it looked like a vast skein of smooth, silken, silver cloth -- shimmering in the morning sun. In particular, what had fascinated me was the apparent wholeness of the cloth... There was the smooth rise of the silvery skein, as if wafted up on the wind, then the billowing out in its fullness... And ah, the shimmering light which it reflected at its full pregnant height and then... ooooh! As the wind beneath the cloth dropped, the left side gracefully fluttered down, simultaneously with the right side -- leaving the center of the long skein still aloft and billowing...
...only to be pulled down suddenly yet ever so gracefully, from both sides -- without a break in the smooth shimmering integrity of the whole.
===================
**The original song (which I learned at Y-Camp in Iowa back in the early '50s) is about John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith. You see, I was originally going to title this essay "Jack Jacob Alzenheimer Schitt" and begin the essay itself with "I know Jack Schitt!!" but it seemed rude and totally unnecessary.... so I snuck it in here.
Whenever we go out, the people always shout,
There goes John Jacob Alzenheimer-Smith....da-da-da-da-da-da-da--- **
Here follows a short rant. Feel free to skip it.
How many of you folks a-readin' this here rant are over 60? Can you recall?
I'll tell you what -- we are a lot more fun to be around than bein' stuck in a crowd of young knowitalls, sez I.
Why? ...'cause we laugh!
We can be in the middle of some involved conversation and forget just what our point was -- and what do we do? We laugh! What do our younger compadres do? They nudge the person next to them (assuming that person is under 60), raise one surreptitious eyebrow with a glance toward one of us, and then they both nod, and roll their eyes.
Oh, and hey! How about when you ask the same question after a reasonable passage of time. Do that often enough and you get more than an exasperated "you already asked me that!"
Finally, it will come to "The Alzheimer's Talk"..... that matter-of-fact, down-to-earth, let's-face-it: "You Have Alzheimer's" talk. Sez I in reply: "I don't even know a guy named Alzheimer... how can I have anything of his? What is it that he's lost, anyway... maybe I've seen it around."
But seriously folks... the oddest part of this "gentle" talk, is the undercurrent of anger. I have (more than once) been informed that (herein unnamed) people are getting angry with my repeated questions. Angry! And of course, what follows is that they become dismissive. In their eyes, I am now irrelevant, confused, and not to be taken seriously. I do not matter.
In my own way of seeing it, I ask a question again -- because the answer I got was boring! ...and I quit listening! I want a better one. Besides, I often like what I am thinking about far better than paying attention to... well, you know.
Hmmm... I can't recall what else I wanted to say on this topic....
Anyway, it sure looks like there´s gonna be a beautiful sunset over the sea tonight. Clear skies. Just might see the Green Flash again.
You know, early this morning, I was sitting alone at a table under a lovely surf-side umbrella -- after a GREAT session of body-surfing, playing in set after set of wild bouncing big waves, ducking under and diving over, in playfully wild careening abandon. No one else was out there. Just me and the sea..... ahhh...
As I was dripping myself to a dryer state... I was watching the crashing waves, utterly absorbed in my own thoughts. Just then! ...a friend -- a man of my age (the kind that laughs and shares) -- STARTLED me with a simple hello! ...but he had no problem understanding my explanation of why I jumped so.
I told him that just then, I was enjoying the flow of a particular crashing wave. Rather than water, it looked like a vast skein of smooth, silken, silver cloth -- shimmering in the morning sun. In particular, what had fascinated me was the apparent wholeness of the cloth... There was the smooth rise of the silvery skein, as if wafted up on the wind, then the billowing out in its fullness... And ah, the shimmering light which it reflected at its full pregnant height and then... ooooh! As the wind beneath the cloth dropped, the left side gracefully fluttered down, simultaneously with the right side -- leaving the center of the long skein still aloft and billowing...
...only to be pulled down suddenly yet ever so gracefully, from both sides -- without a break in the smooth shimmering integrity of the whole.
===================
**The original song (which I learned at Y-Camp in Iowa back in the early '50s) is about John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith. You see, I was originally going to title this essay "Jack Jacob Alzenheimer Schitt" and begin the essay itself with "I know Jack Schitt!!" but it seemed rude and totally unnecessary.... so I snuck it in here.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Out. Of. Sight.
Rather literally -- out of sight -- as in, I cannot see.
Without corrective lenses, I am "legally blind," meaning I see only colorful blurry shapes. I recognize people by the dominant color of their clothes. So.... if I see you in a red shirt in the morning, and you change to a yellow shirt later on, I have no idea who you are -- not until you are right up in my face (and then, well, I forget faces these days, too, but that is another tale for another time).
So here is how I became --Out. Of. Sight-- here in Mexico:
1. Although I distinctly recall setting out a box of 6 contacts for my left eye, and a box of 6 contacts for my right eye -- neither box made it to Mexico.... which is to say, I have ONLY the contacts I was wearing when I arrived in Mexico (already a month in use, due to be replaced immediately, as in first week of May).
2. Oh well, thinks I. I can survive by wearing glasses all the time except in the ocean... which is when I will wear the outdated contacts... The ocean requires vision.
3. However, within days, my glasses and the case they were in disappeared (along with my headlamp, which affects late night pee forays -- thus giving me another kind of out-of-sightness).
4. Seriously >>out of sight<<. All I have left are those outdated contacts. I must carefully monitor when I wear them.
5. Then came The Big Glitch!! I hear them first -- and then see them, even in the dark of night: Cows are VERY big!! So it was a snap for even me to see them. Unfortunately, they were in OUR yard, where there are four mango trees with countless ripening mangos well within cow -- oh no, HORSES TOO -- reach. They can decimate the fruit of entire trees in a short while. Robert took off with a big stick and a loud voice, chasing and corraling them toward where there was a break in the fence (always, it is in the corner of our property that we share with one of our ...more casual, shall we say... neighbors).
8. Robert needs help chasing them down and corraling them toward that corner. I am blind! So hell... In the dark with just that little headlamp, I put in those precious contacts, grab a big stick (there are old tree branches lying around all over our wild backyard)... and start running around, shouting, waving the stick, blocking their escape routes. Mind you, I am wearing just a sarong tied around my neck, with sandals.
9. False security: they seem to have returned to their side of the fence and so I take OUT my contacts and crawl back under our mosquito netting, and nestle onto my Thermarest under a light sheet.
10. Then, DAMN!!! They are back! So I put my contacts back IN, and take off shouting, with my big stick waving. Once back on their side, Robert sends me back to bed while he sets to making sure the fence and gate are truly secure...
11. I take out those precious contacts, lie down on my thermarest and ---- fall sound asleep.
12. Wouldn't you know!!! In the morning, when I went to put my contacts back IN -- the only contacts I have for the next two months, my only line to SIGHT -- I discover that one contact is missing. It is simply NOT in its little compartment of my contacts case. It is gone. It is my right eye-one -- the most blindest, worst fuzziest of my two eyes. I quietly mention its loss to Robert.
13. (Ironic that this part of the story is "13" -- let us jump on to "14")
14. Robert quietly, carefully, slowly, walks over to the edge of our mosquito net tent, looking all around most intently. My contacts are soft'lens water soluble-ish light blue thin things.... Could be ANYwhere, including stuck under a sandal for starters.
15. And yet, he f 'in FINDS it!!!! Folded in half, dried hard like a teensy chip, it was right there in the dirt, outside the opening to our mosquito net tent -- he could see it there, among all the dust bits and little dirt chunks of last night's foray into our jungly backyard.
16. After a 24 hour soak and continual changing of the cleanser solution -- I could wear it again, no pain -- just good vision.
17. Only THEN, did Robert discover that it was HE who had gathered up my glasses case, and headlamp -- and stashed them carefully in HIS ditty bag.
18. Three and a half more weeks of this perilous hold on sight ... two outdated contact lenses, and a pair of glasses.
OUTTASITE, MAN!!!
Without corrective lenses, I am "legally blind," meaning I see only colorful blurry shapes. I recognize people by the dominant color of their clothes. So.... if I see you in a red shirt in the morning, and you change to a yellow shirt later on, I have no idea who you are -- not until you are right up in my face (and then, well, I forget faces these days, too, but that is another tale for another time).
So here is how I became --Out. Of. Sight-- here in Mexico:
1. Although I distinctly recall setting out a box of 6 contacts for my left eye, and a box of 6 contacts for my right eye -- neither box made it to Mexico.... which is to say, I have ONLY the contacts I was wearing when I arrived in Mexico (already a month in use, due to be replaced immediately, as in first week of May).
2. Oh well, thinks I. I can survive by wearing glasses all the time except in the ocean... which is when I will wear the outdated contacts... The ocean requires vision.
3. However, within days, my glasses and the case they were in disappeared (along with my headlamp, which affects late night pee forays -- thus giving me another kind of out-of-sightness).
4. Seriously >>out of sight<<. All I have left are those outdated contacts. I must carefully monitor when I wear them.
5. Then came The Big Glitch!! I hear them first -- and then see them, even in the dark of night: Cows are VERY big!! So it was a snap for even me to see them. Unfortunately, they were in OUR yard, where there are four mango trees with countless ripening mangos well within cow -- oh no, HORSES TOO -- reach. They can decimate the fruit of entire trees in a short while. Robert took off with a big stick and a loud voice, chasing and corraling them toward where there was a break in the fence (always, it is in the corner of our property that we share with one of our ...more casual, shall we say... neighbors).
8. Robert needs help chasing them down and corraling them toward that corner. I am blind! So hell... In the dark with just that little headlamp, I put in those precious contacts, grab a big stick (there are old tree branches lying around all over our wild backyard)... and start running around, shouting, waving the stick, blocking their escape routes. Mind you, I am wearing just a sarong tied around my neck, with sandals.
9. False security: they seem to have returned to their side of the fence and so I take OUT my contacts and crawl back under our mosquito netting, and nestle onto my Thermarest under a light sheet.
10. Then, DAMN!!! They are back! So I put my contacts back IN, and take off shouting, with my big stick waving. Once back on their side, Robert sends me back to bed while he sets to making sure the fence and gate are truly secure...
11. I take out those precious contacts, lie down on my thermarest and ---- fall sound asleep.
12. Wouldn't you know!!! In the morning, when I went to put my contacts back IN -- the only contacts I have for the next two months, my only line to SIGHT -- I discover that one contact is missing. It is simply NOT in its little compartment of my contacts case. It is gone. It is my right eye-one -- the most blindest, worst fuzziest of my two eyes. I quietly mention its loss to Robert.
13. (Ironic that this part of the story is "13" -- let us jump on to "14")
14. Robert quietly, carefully, slowly, walks over to the edge of our mosquito net tent, looking all around most intently. My contacts are soft'lens water soluble-ish light blue thin things.... Could be ANYwhere, including stuck under a sandal for starters.
15. And yet, he f 'in FINDS it!!!! Folded in half, dried hard like a teensy chip, it was right there in the dirt, outside the opening to our mosquito net tent -- he could see it there, among all the dust bits and little dirt chunks of last night's foray into our jungly backyard.
16. After a 24 hour soak and continual changing of the cleanser solution -- I could wear it again, no pain -- just good vision.
17. Only THEN, did Robert discover that it was HE who had gathered up my glasses case, and headlamp -- and stashed them carefully in HIS ditty bag.
18. Three and a half more weeks of this perilous hold on sight ... two outdated contact lenses, and a pair of glasses.
OUTTASITE, MAN!!!
Friday, January 17, 2014
THAT'S TELLING THE CARTEL, and then some!
So, uh...
I was ambling along the empty, peaceful dirt road that runs through the little Mexican village where I live (part-time). It's a quiet road with sweet homes on either side. On this road, often, there are little kids playing right there in the middle of it, in the dirt, living out fantasy adventures with their toy horses and trucks, or kicking/tossing/batting balls back and forth.
So, on this day, as I approached what I refer to as the "center" of the village -- there came a pick-up truck from the other direction -- racing down the short hill, careening around the corner, and coming straight towards me.
This little old lady was very angry.... yes indeed.
I scowled at the truck as it rapidly approached, and made the universal motion (palm-down, with repeated downward motion) signifying, "SLOW DOWN!!!"
I don't actually know if they DID slow down. All I recall now is this: as they drove by me, I saw that the pick-up was filled with men -- in the cab, and in the back -- all staring right into my eyes, as if memorizing my face. All of them (well, maybe not the driver) were holding machine guns. Cartel guys, on patrol.
I guess I told them!
I was ambling along the empty, peaceful dirt road that runs through the little Mexican village where I live (part-time). It's a quiet road with sweet homes on either side. On this road, often, there are little kids playing right there in the middle of it, in the dirt, living out fantasy adventures with their toy horses and trucks, or kicking/tossing/batting balls back and forth.
So, on this day, as I approached what I refer to as the "center" of the village -- there came a pick-up truck from the other direction -- racing down the short hill, careening around the corner, and coming straight towards me.
This little old lady was very angry.... yes indeed.
I scowled at the truck as it rapidly approached, and made the universal motion (palm-down, with repeated downward motion) signifying, "SLOW DOWN!!!"
I don't actually know if they DID slow down. All I recall now is this: as they drove by me, I saw that the pick-up was filled with men -- in the cab, and in the back -- all staring right into my eyes, as if memorizing my face. All of them (well, maybe not the driver) were holding machine guns. Cartel guys, on patrol.
I guess I told them!
Sunday, December 15, 2013
A GUANAJUATO ANECDOTE
This return trip, we took our time -- not just zooming from Colorado mountains to Pacific coast and back. Ah, Patzcuaro again... always pleasing. And this time, we also went to Guanajuato. Besides being a beautiful town built on steep rolling hills -- which we enjoyed driving through:
......we also knew that there was a museum containing mummies. We were expecting to see royal mummies from the Aztecs, in all their finery and posings.
Not so. Yet, we were entranced.... That is to say, the way one would be entranced whilst looking long and thoughtfully at ever so many individual mummies, now housed in glass boxes -- each one caught in whatever pose that their untimely death caused, even tiny babies. They were ordinary Mexicans caught by a cholera epidemic in the 1830s, and stored in dry caves which preserved them. You can google the mummies of Guanajuato for more photos of what we saw, and more information...
But ah.... there is a delightful anecdote w/r Guanajuato: our experience with a professional guide. As we approached the perimeter of the town, several hills/valleys away from the center -- we came upon the kiosk of tourist info, and a friendly fellow approached us, offering to be our guide. He said that the roads were very winding, and the tunnel system (tunnels? what's that about, we wondered) is very complex. It is very easy to get lost and confused. Jojo was rather abruptly rude to him (commenting later that he used to be such a "guide" in the Philippines, scamming tourists with tales of how they'll get lost without a guide etc...) Myself, I was inclined to believe this guy, and since our time was short (late afternoon), why not hire him?
BUT! we didn't hire him, and blundered towards town, descending into and out again from the first set of perplexing winding intersecting tunnels. This town is riddled with the underground tunnel system -- who would ever have suspected that a small picturesque town rolling over various steep hills in Mexico would have a snake's nest of tunnels BELOW the picturesquely colorful buildings and winding streets above?
Anyway, when we emerged into daylight, we came upon a roundabout -- more choices! We were utterly perplexed with no idea what to do next. We pulled to the crowded side of the narrow busy winding road with its many side roads branching out, and out came our simplified tourist maps....
After a polite passage of time as we puzzled over the maps, up to our window walked the very same professional guide -- offering, once again, his services. He had followed along behind us on his motorcycle(!)... knowing full well that we'd get all tangled up in the road system of roundabouts, hills, and tunnels. I gave Robert that Look, and he nodded, and we hired him.
As our guide zoomed ahead of us on his motorcycle, I was delighted to read the back of his black leather jacket: "TURISTA RESCATE" ( Tourist Rescue)
......we also knew that there was a museum containing mummies. We were expecting to see royal mummies from the Aztecs, in all their finery and posings.
Not so. Yet, we were entranced.... That is to say, the way one would be entranced whilst looking long and thoughtfully at ever so many individual mummies, now housed in glass boxes -- each one caught in whatever pose that their untimely death caused, even tiny babies. They were ordinary Mexicans caught by a cholera epidemic in the 1830s, and stored in dry caves which preserved them. You can google the mummies of Guanajuato for more photos of what we saw, and more information...
But ah.... there is a delightful anecdote w/r Guanajuato: our experience with a professional guide. As we approached the perimeter of the town, several hills/valleys away from the center -- we came upon the kiosk of tourist info, and a friendly fellow approached us, offering to be our guide. He said that the roads were very winding, and the tunnel system (tunnels? what's that about, we wondered) is very complex. It is very easy to get lost and confused. Jojo was rather abruptly rude to him (commenting later that he used to be such a "guide" in the Philippines, scamming tourists with tales of how they'll get lost without a guide etc...) Myself, I was inclined to believe this guy, and since our time was short (late afternoon), why not hire him?
BUT! we didn't hire him, and blundered towards town, descending into and out again from the first set of perplexing winding intersecting tunnels. This town is riddled with the underground tunnel system -- who would ever have suspected that a small picturesque town rolling over various steep hills in Mexico would have a snake's nest of tunnels BELOW the picturesquely colorful buildings and winding streets above?
Anyway, when we emerged into daylight, we came upon a roundabout -- more choices! We were utterly perplexed with no idea what to do next. We pulled to the crowded side of the narrow busy winding road with its many side roads branching out, and out came our simplified tourist maps....
After a polite passage of time as we puzzled over the maps, up to our window walked the very same professional guide -- offering, once again, his services. He had followed along behind us on his motorcycle(!)... knowing full well that we'd get all tangled up in the road system of roundabouts, hills, and tunnels. I gave Robert that Look, and he nodded, and we hired him.
As our guide zoomed ahead of us on his motorcycle, I was delighted to read the back of his black leather jacket: "TURISTA RESCATE" ( Tourist Rescue)
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
UPDATE ON THE PUPPIES
Apparently there were 5 puppies .... the four brown ones I watched over and found homes for, and all along, there was a fifth one, mostly white... I am told, now, that our next-door neighbors had him in their care all that time...
Anyway, upon our return to our village home after 4 months away:
The moment we approached our humble digs for the first time since we left (last June), who should come running out to us -- from across the road, where he now lives -- but Coyote, so ecstatic to see us that he bowed his head as he GRINNED, walking sideways, tripping over his own feet and falling, tail a mere blur of joy.... When he reached my outstretched arms, he collapsed on the ground, belly up and there we were: me scratching his entire body while he wriggled ecstatically.
Not long afterwards, there came Manuela --who we learned has been renamed Pantera (Panther). She approached me in exactly the same overwhelmed-with-joy fashion.
Pantera y Coyote --perritos felices, en buen salud. They now come by daily for long visits, of course, but we never feed them. We merely provide water (and cannot resist petting them).
What about Guantes and Pirata?
A few days later, we drove to the next village up the road from ours.... The couple who adopted them both are good, responsible, loving people, but the news is less joyful.
Guantes (Socks) is dead. He was the first of the puppies to appear in our yard -- a starving, stumbling, pathetic puppy... the very sight of whom made me spring from my hammock to give him water, and search for some kind of food that is good for puppies... The Beginning...
Alas, while living with his owners, he got into some chicken bones.... As we were a told as kids when I was growing up -- never let dogs get into chicken bones.... But Guantes DID get into chicken bones. A bone or bones, lodged in the throat of dear Guantes, and he did not survive the trauma. I did not ask for details.
As for Pirata... He is healthy, but I see no light in his eyes. He showed no recognition of me, nor even interest when I offered him a sniff of my fingers... He just plodded solemnly to his little resting place by the front door of the beautiful cottage (surrounded by flowers and veggie garden) -- and plopped down. He did not move after that... I have no idea what.... to think. As a human, I entertain the idea that maybe, though he recognizes me, he is deeply grieving for his beloved brother...
What is happening NOW, is the white brother-dog (name slips my mind but its a good one), and Coyote have taken to sneaking onto our porch (where we sleep while it is still raining at night) and curl up up very nearby, under the table, so very very near to us.... and then hop off of the porch if we glimpse them. They "know" better! (Curiously, this white brother greets me in the same ecstatic manner.. even though I had no interaction whatsoever with him... basically unaware of him before.)
And Manuela? Manuela is permanently injured (folks here do NOT take dogs to veterinarians). She was chasing a little motorized vehicle, got hit, and badly damaged one back leg. She now hops on the other three, holding the injured one in the air....SOMETIMES putting weight on it (and she does not wince when we touch it all over, checking for injury).... so there is vague hope she could heal. She has not been joining her brothers in these clandestine sleepovers on our property. I presume she sleeps at her own digs just across the road.
All three of these guys remain ecstatically happy to see us every day. Again, we do NOT feed them.. They have owners now. We just keep water available to them, that's all... Oh, and we DO pet them. Can't NOT pet them.
Anyway, upon our return to our village home after 4 months away:
The moment we approached our humble digs for the first time since we left (last June), who should come running out to us -- from across the road, where he now lives -- but Coyote, so ecstatic to see us that he bowed his head as he GRINNED, walking sideways, tripping over his own feet and falling, tail a mere blur of joy.... When he reached my outstretched arms, he collapsed on the ground, belly up and there we were: me scratching his entire body while he wriggled ecstatically.
Not long afterwards, there came Manuela --who we learned has been renamed Pantera (Panther). She approached me in exactly the same overwhelmed-with-joy fashion.
Pantera y Coyote --perritos felices, en buen salud. They now come by daily for long visits, of course, but we never feed them. We merely provide water (and cannot resist petting them).
What about Guantes and Pirata?
A few days later, we drove to the next village up the road from ours.... The couple who adopted them both are good, responsible, loving people, but the news is less joyful.
Guantes (Socks) is dead. He was the first of the puppies to appear in our yard -- a starving, stumbling, pathetic puppy... the very sight of whom made me spring from my hammock to give him water, and search for some kind of food that is good for puppies... The Beginning...
Alas, while living with his owners, he got into some chicken bones.... As we were a told as kids when I was growing up -- never let dogs get into chicken bones.... But Guantes DID get into chicken bones. A bone or bones, lodged in the throat of dear Guantes, and he did not survive the trauma. I did not ask for details.
As for Pirata... He is healthy, but I see no light in his eyes. He showed no recognition of me, nor even interest when I offered him a sniff of my fingers... He just plodded solemnly to his little resting place by the front door of the beautiful cottage (surrounded by flowers and veggie garden) -- and plopped down. He did not move after that... I have no idea what.... to think. As a human, I entertain the idea that maybe, though he recognizes me, he is deeply grieving for his beloved brother...
What is happening NOW, is the white brother-dog (name slips my mind but its a good one), and Coyote have taken to sneaking onto our porch (where we sleep while it is still raining at night) and curl up up very nearby, under the table, so very very near to us.... and then hop off of the porch if we glimpse them. They "know" better! (Curiously, this white brother greets me in the same ecstatic manner.. even though I had no interaction whatsoever with him... basically unaware of him before.)
And Manuela? Manuela is permanently injured (folks here do NOT take dogs to veterinarians). She was chasing a little motorized vehicle, got hit, and badly damaged one back leg. She now hops on the other three, holding the injured one in the air....SOMETIMES putting weight on it (and she does not wince when we touch it all over, checking for injury).... so there is vague hope she could heal. She has not been joining her brothers in these clandestine sleepovers on our property. I presume she sleeps at her own digs just across the road.
All three of these guys remain ecstatically happy to see us every day. Again, we do NOT feed them.. They have owners now. We just keep water available to them, that's all... Oh, and we DO pet them. Can't NOT pet them.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
WHAT WOULD THE MENTALIST DO? (WWTMD?)
In the previous post, I left a cliffhanger.... WILL the puppies get beheaded?
The answer is no!
It's a great story -- email me if you want to read it. I had to assume the mindset of the Mentalist during the thick of things! Now, all is well.
Short version: They were all adopted by thoughtful, loving people. Better yet, they were adopted in pairs -- even better yet, the pairs were the way the puppies had sorted themselves out.
SO! Coyote and Manuela are sharing a home together just across the dirt road from our place, and Guantes and Pirata are together as well, in another village not so very far away.
What I share here are a couple of photos (out of many)....
Here is starving, frightened, homeless Guantes -- we could NOT resist those eyes. We began to feed and water him from the first moment he stumbled weakly into our jungly back yard. When he regained some strength, he went off and brought his sister (Manuela), and naturally, shortly after that, Pirata and Coyote showed up. All four were mere skin and bones, like this...
But give 'em a couple months of good food, good water, and good lovin' and you get this, with Guantes (on the right) leading the pack:
The families who adopted them needed dogs to work with them in their fields -- to head off thieves like raccoons, for instance. But also.... they welcomed the dogs as "amigos" they said. They smiled as they said that, while watching their dogs cavort about with each other.
All's well that ends well, and this is a good place to end this story. I'm kickin' back and.... watching the beautiful clouds in the beautiful blue sky. That's what the Mentalist would do, too.
In the previous post, I left a cliffhanger.... WILL the puppies get beheaded?
The answer is no!
It's a great story -- email me if you want to read it. I had to assume the mindset of the Mentalist during the thick of things! Now, all is well.
Short version: They were all adopted by thoughtful, loving people. Better yet, they were adopted in pairs -- even better yet, the pairs were the way the puppies had sorted themselves out.
SO! Coyote and Manuela are sharing a home together just across the dirt road from our place, and Guantes and Pirata are together as well, in another village not so very far away.
What I share here are a couple of photos (out of many)....
Here is starving, frightened, homeless Guantes -- we could NOT resist those eyes. We began to feed and water him from the first moment he stumbled weakly into our jungly back yard. When he regained some strength, he went off and brought his sister (Manuela), and naturally, shortly after that, Pirata and Coyote showed up. All four were mere skin and bones, like this...
But give 'em a couple months of good food, good water, and good lovin' and you get this, with Guantes (on the right) leading the pack:
The families who adopted them needed dogs to work with them in their fields -- to head off thieves like raccoons, for instance. But also.... they welcomed the dogs as "amigos" they said. They smiled as they said that, while watching their dogs cavort about with each other.
All's well that ends well, and this is a good place to end this story. I'm kickin' back and.... watching the beautiful clouds in the beautiful blue sky. That's what the Mentalist would do, too.
Friday, May 24, 2013
DROWN THEM; FIND THEM HOMES; ADOPT THEM; BEHEAD THEM
That about sums up the progression, and the mix of opinions, on what to do about a litter of cute puppies. They were abandoned in the riverbed near our village by some passing city-dweller. A common practice this, for such folks to drive to some remote village like ours here in coastal Mexico, push the puppies or kittens out the door, and drive away. Problem solved..... for them.
For us, it was just the beginning.
I am writing, again, about our life in a little village along the great coast of Mexico -- the only gringos in this sweet, peaceful place.
We were lounging in hammocks in the shade of our home-built ramada one afternoon -- after a day in the surf. Just one little puppy, all bones and weak and exhausted, wandered into our backyard where we were.... He could barely walk, stumbling, falling, and lying down to rest... Neither of us could stand it, of course. I got a plastic container and filled it with water, while Robert unearthed a bag of dogfood bought from a previous year's concern. The puppy sated himself, and collapsed awhile, then came over to lick my hand and.... then took off and returned with his sister! We fed her, too. Then, surprise, the other two brothers joined them. Four adorable sweethearts.
Not surprisingly, they stuck around -- and took up sleeping against the back wall of our casita... Very sensitive, gentle, and intelligent creatures, quickly responsive to our slightest messages. A simple "Sssssssttt!" is all they need for warning. For instance, they know that they are not allowed to come up the stairs onto our porch, nor into the casita. And of course, they are so playful now -- big puppy piles and chases all around our land, then coming to us for petting, and to give us passionate licks before racing off again.
And so began the progression of solutions. Our first solution: we tried to donate them to the no-kill animal-rescue place in Zihuatanejo but the place is full, and also, any animal donations must already be neutered.
Next, the thought of putting them in a bag and tossing them into the ocean was offered (NOT supported by me -- though I do know that this is how my Uncle Herb dealt with the many litters of kittens on his Minnesota farm).
Then... in fact, we are still in this stage... there is the hope of having them adopted out. Some success there. Coyote and Manuela have been accepted by our neighbors just across the dirt road from us (oh, yes, we named them all, which -- of course -- only strengthens our attachment...mine anyway....alas)!! So! Twice a day these two now go over there, and these neighbors feed them. The puppies know just what time of day that is. Their new owners do not --however-- pet them and play with them. Thus, the puppies still spend their days at our place playing with their littermates.... and sleeping in a puppy-pile there by the side of our house. Hopefully, when we return Stateside, they will bond more with their humans.
No such luck, however, with sweet Pirata (for mascara´d eyes like Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean"), and gentle Guantes (meaning gloves, for the white four feet; pronounced HWAN-tays).
Robert gently, firmly, nixes the idea of adoption -- which would entail carting them back and forth between US & Mexico just for starters. However, the wife of our closest dearest friends offered a compromise to that! She says that she will come by everyday for the four months we are gone, and feed them.... (but as a fellow human being, I can imagine that this could become quite an unrewarding burden over time). Yet clearly, she and I share the attachment and tenderness for them...
And then there is the Final Solution, echoing the first one mentioned above. It came up again, as we shared breakfast on our porch... Both her practical husband, and my practical husband, offered a more concrete solution. Each of them have made a vicious, fast, hacking gesture while indicating a puppy's neck.
That about sums up the progression, and the mix of opinions, on what to do about a litter of cute puppies. They were abandoned in the riverbed near our village by some passing city-dweller. A common practice this, for such folks to drive to some remote village like ours here in coastal Mexico, push the puppies or kittens out the door, and drive away. Problem solved..... for them.
For us, it was just the beginning.
I am writing, again, about our life in a little village along the great coast of Mexico -- the only gringos in this sweet, peaceful place.
We were lounging in hammocks in the shade of our home-built ramada one afternoon -- after a day in the surf. Just one little puppy, all bones and weak and exhausted, wandered into our backyard where we were.... He could barely walk, stumbling, falling, and lying down to rest... Neither of us could stand it, of course. I got a plastic container and filled it with water, while Robert unearthed a bag of dogfood bought from a previous year's concern. The puppy sated himself, and collapsed awhile, then came over to lick my hand and.... then took off and returned with his sister! We fed her, too. Then, surprise, the other two brothers joined them. Four adorable sweethearts.
Not surprisingly, they stuck around -- and took up sleeping against the back wall of our casita... Very sensitive, gentle, and intelligent creatures, quickly responsive to our slightest messages. A simple "Sssssssttt!" is all they need for warning. For instance, they know that they are not allowed to come up the stairs onto our porch, nor into the casita. And of course, they are so playful now -- big puppy piles and chases all around our land, then coming to us for petting, and to give us passionate licks before racing off again.
And so began the progression of solutions. Our first solution: we tried to donate them to the no-kill animal-rescue place in Zihuatanejo but the place is full, and also, any animal donations must already be neutered.
Next, the thought of putting them in a bag and tossing them into the ocean was offered (NOT supported by me -- though I do know that this is how my Uncle Herb dealt with the many litters of kittens on his Minnesota farm).
Then... in fact, we are still in this stage... there is the hope of having them adopted out. Some success there. Coyote and Manuela have been accepted by our neighbors just across the dirt road from us (oh, yes, we named them all, which -- of course -- only strengthens our attachment...mine anyway....alas)!! So! Twice a day these two now go over there, and these neighbors feed them. The puppies know just what time of day that is. Their new owners do not --however-- pet them and play with them. Thus, the puppies still spend their days at our place playing with their littermates.... and sleeping in a puppy-pile there by the side of our house. Hopefully, when we return Stateside, they will bond more with their humans.
No such luck, however, with sweet Pirata (for mascara´d eyes like Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean"), and gentle Guantes (meaning gloves, for the white four feet; pronounced HWAN-tays).
Robert gently, firmly, nixes the idea of adoption -- which would entail carting them back and forth between US & Mexico just for starters. However, the wife of our closest dearest friends offered a compromise to that! She says that she will come by everyday for the four months we are gone, and feed them.... (but as a fellow human being, I can imagine that this could become quite an unrewarding burden over time). Yet clearly, she and I share the attachment and tenderness for them...
And then there is the Final Solution, echoing the first one mentioned above. It came up again, as we shared breakfast on our porch... Both her practical husband, and my practical husband, offered a more concrete solution. Each of them have made a vicious, fast, hacking gesture while indicating a puppy's neck.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Corky Carrol and The Green Flash
With a title like that for this silly essay, one might well conjure up images of a svelte surfer careening down the face of a huge wave, keeping just ahead of the crash -- then catching his place right at the mouth of the Green Room... Make that a huge tube with a thunderous crash following along just behind the surfer.... Can you see him do a couple of cool swoops, maybe let himself slide back into the tube, out of sight for a moment, and then explode back out again? Flashing in and out of the Green Room.... yeah, call him the Green Flash.
But no. Oh, I have seen that kind of action, but this silly essay is not about that.
It's not even about the Green Flash, per se.... though I now have actually (and recently) SEEN this phenomenon. Yes. It was a clear, clean horizon, no clouds and no fog hovering above the vast expanse of ocean. The beautiful bright orange sun sank slowly below the horizon of the sea and just at that moment of setting --there it was, a small green flash of light, right where the sun had been. It seemed to last, for it burned into my eyes and I could see it superimposed upon whatever I gazed at afterwards -- a bright green it was, like new grass. I have been walking out to the beach at sunset for many years now, hoping each night to see what I now have seen. I will, of course, continue to watch the sunsets, but I digress.
This silly essay should probably be deleted, but I have time on my hands on this particular trip to town, an hour's drive from our humble digs in a small Mexican village.
Perhaps you could say it's about what a delightful gentleman Corky Carrol is.
( As an aside, may I compliment him on his performance last night at a favorite seaside resort restaurant here in Mexico. He played lead singer and lead guitar, backed up by his band (an iMac computer).... and thoroughly delighted the packed house of friends and admirers with his repertoire of favorite songs from over the years. But this silly essay is not about that, either. )
Lifelong surfer, man of fame for his surfing skills, Corky has a home on the beach where .... well, where I personally go boogie-boarding. This essay is NOT about surfing. It is about boogie-boarding, sorta.
At the end of a great, long, bouncing fast boogie-ride on a whoop-and-holler wave, there I was, just starting to pull myself back to an upright stance in the waist-deep water, when Corky came gliding in, directly in front of me.
I stood up quickly then, with a grin -- completely unaware for just a moment, that the top of my swimsuit was below where it should be. My womanhood was in full view. Corky was cool. While I quickly rearranged things, he showed no reaction to that at all... Instead, he commented on how great the surf was today, talking to me as a comrade among wave-riders.
Ah... and when I shrugged and said, that I was just a boogie-boarder, he QUICKLY replied, quite sweetly (with no insinuations at all....trust me) -- and with a big smile -- "Hey! You're a girl who likes to boogie!"
As an addendum to all this... Corky's lovely wife, who is NOT a surfer, has expressed an interest in coming out to boogie with me.
But no. Oh, I have seen that kind of action, but this silly essay is not about that.
It's not even about the Green Flash, per se.... though I now have actually (and recently) SEEN this phenomenon. Yes. It was a clear, clean horizon, no clouds and no fog hovering above the vast expanse of ocean. The beautiful bright orange sun sank slowly below the horizon of the sea and just at that moment of setting --there it was, a small green flash of light, right where the sun had been. It seemed to last, for it burned into my eyes and I could see it superimposed upon whatever I gazed at afterwards -- a bright green it was, like new grass. I have been walking out to the beach at sunset for many years now, hoping each night to see what I now have seen. I will, of course, continue to watch the sunsets, but I digress.
This silly essay should probably be deleted, but I have time on my hands on this particular trip to town, an hour's drive from our humble digs in a small Mexican village.
Perhaps you could say it's about what a delightful gentleman Corky Carrol is.
( As an aside, may I compliment him on his performance last night at a favorite seaside resort restaurant here in Mexico. He played lead singer and lead guitar, backed up by his band (an iMac computer).... and thoroughly delighted the packed house of friends and admirers with his repertoire of favorite songs from over the years. But this silly essay is not about that, either. )
Lifelong surfer, man of fame for his surfing skills, Corky has a home on the beach where .... well, where I personally go boogie-boarding. This essay is NOT about surfing. It is about boogie-boarding, sorta.
At the end of a great, long, bouncing fast boogie-ride on a whoop-and-holler wave, there I was, just starting to pull myself back to an upright stance in the waist-deep water, when Corky came gliding in, directly in front of me.
I stood up quickly then, with a grin -- completely unaware for just a moment, that the top of my swimsuit was below where it should be. My womanhood was in full view. Corky was cool. While I quickly rearranged things, he showed no reaction to that at all... Instead, he commented on how great the surf was today, talking to me as a comrade among wave-riders.
Ah... and when I shrugged and said, that I was just a boogie-boarder, he QUICKLY replied, quite sweetly (with no insinuations at all....trust me) -- and with a big smile -- "Hey! You're a girl who likes to boogie!"
As an addendum to all this... Corky's lovely wife, who is NOT a surfer, has expressed an interest in coming out to boogie with me.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Los Rayos Que Pican
(Did I get the grammar down correctly on that title? "The Rays that Sting")
So -- my conclusion is this: it's about surrendering to reality, and having booties MADE of straps and then WEARING them -- in order to be protected from the outrageously painful strike of the stingrays in the sea.
We each have been struck. Robert first, then Annie, then me... and Robert has now been hit twice. All strikes happened out there in our boogie-wave territory. Surfers float above it all.
For both of Annie and Robert, that first strike was an excruciatingly painful ordeal, lasting some four hours. We hover over the afflicted asking what we can do to help, telling stories, massaging shoulders, whatever -- to just help them through...
For me when I got hit, well, I lucked out. When I set my foot down after a great ride, a ray struck me... I could feel it hit repeatedly and then wiggle to drill the poison in deep... but the stinger had hit me directly on a STRAP of my sandals, and so it was all to no effect.
So, anyway... this most recent strike (poor Robert) brought with it another helpful tip (Robert's invention).
Just a few days ago, being a good sport (and the surf waves sucked, so why not), Robert came and joined us surf-widows out there in the shore break waves. Boogie-boarding, by the way, is the equivalent of sledding down hills. Getting out to where the waves break (forcing your way through the forces of already crashed waves) is the equivalent of climbing back up the hill. Catching the wave and riding it to shore is about as thrilling as sledding back down... The size of the wave -- like the steepness of the hill -- determines the hoot'n'holler factor. (Annie and I are the only surf-widows who go out there and do this childish play -- I guess the others are just too sophisticated for "sledding." Their loss, sez here.)
The shore waves were big and strong on this day, and so we were all hootin' and hollerin' and bouncing along to shore -- a great day for boogiers -- when Robert put his foot down and then called out.
We know the drill well.
Help the afflicted one limp to shore. Race over to the nearby sand-dunes where the herbal remedy grows wild. Gather bunches of it, while any other helper available alerts the little surfside restaurant folks to boil up some water. In all past instances, the leaves are broken up and put into the very hot water and the afflicted one then painfully lowers the part of his foot that has the hole in it downdown into that very hot water. One wonder which hurts worse! Boiling hot water or strike?
FOUR HOURS of that before the pain subsides enough to move on...
But now, there is IMPROVEMENT! Robert came up with this one and it worked. Following his request, the first batch of leaves that I gathered for him were "blendered" to a pulp and then packed and held directly onto the sting area. Following that, we submersed his foot into the mash as well. The pain subsided noticeably (which is NOT to say that it quit hurting like hell -- but it did indeed subside to perhaps like, uh, purgatory maybe).
Robert still believes that hot infused water is also good, so he followed up the mash-soaking with gingerly dipping his foot into the hot water and herb infused bath , too.
The wonderful result (and I thank the mash) is that in a mere TWO hours, the pain had subsided and we moved on!
So..... about booties made of straps. We have learned that sandal straps block the ray-sting, so then why not make booties that are all-strap? Well, why not!! So Annie did just that. Had a pair made for me as well. She wears hers... They look kinda like the boots that a knight-in-shining-armor might wear.... and kinda clunky. The ones she had made for me need a little tweaking before they are wearable (they don't bend at the ankle but that can be tweaked if I would just take them back to the guy). What is stopping me? Danged if I know!
So -- my conclusion is this: it's about surrendering to reality, and having booties MADE of straps and then WEARING them -- in order to be protected from the outrageously painful strike of the stingrays in the sea.
We each have been struck. Robert first, then Annie, then me... and Robert has now been hit twice. All strikes happened out there in our boogie-wave territory. Surfers float above it all.
For both of Annie and Robert, that first strike was an excruciatingly painful ordeal, lasting some four hours. We hover over the afflicted asking what we can do to help, telling stories, massaging shoulders, whatever -- to just help them through...
For me when I got hit, well, I lucked out. When I set my foot down after a great ride, a ray struck me... I could feel it hit repeatedly and then wiggle to drill the poison in deep... but the stinger had hit me directly on a STRAP of my sandals, and so it was all to no effect.
So, anyway... this most recent strike (poor Robert) brought with it another helpful tip (Robert's invention).
Just a few days ago, being a good sport (and the surf waves sucked, so why not), Robert came and joined us surf-widows out there in the shore break waves. Boogie-boarding, by the way, is the equivalent of sledding down hills. Getting out to where the waves break (forcing your way through the forces of already crashed waves) is the equivalent of climbing back up the hill. Catching the wave and riding it to shore is about as thrilling as sledding back down... The size of the wave -- like the steepness of the hill -- determines the hoot'n'holler factor. (Annie and I are the only surf-widows who go out there and do this childish play -- I guess the others are just too sophisticated for "sledding." Their loss, sez here.)
The shore waves were big and strong on this day, and so we were all hootin' and hollerin' and bouncing along to shore -- a great day for boogiers -- when Robert put his foot down and then called out.
We know the drill well.
Help the afflicted one limp to shore. Race over to the nearby sand-dunes where the herbal remedy grows wild. Gather bunches of it, while any other helper available alerts the little surfside restaurant folks to boil up some water. In all past instances, the leaves are broken up and put into the very hot water and the afflicted one then painfully lowers the part of his foot that has the hole in it downdown into that very hot water. One wonder which hurts worse! Boiling hot water or strike?
FOUR HOURS of that before the pain subsides enough to move on...
But now, there is IMPROVEMENT! Robert came up with this one and it worked. Following his request, the first batch of leaves that I gathered for him were "blendered" to a pulp and then packed and held directly onto the sting area. Following that, we submersed his foot into the mash as well. The pain subsided noticeably (which is NOT to say that it quit hurting like hell -- but it did indeed subside to perhaps like, uh, purgatory maybe).
Robert still believes that hot infused water is also good, so he followed up the mash-soaking with gingerly dipping his foot into the hot water and herb infused bath , too.
The wonderful result (and I thank the mash) is that in a mere TWO hours, the pain had subsided and we moved on!
So..... about booties made of straps. We have learned that sandal straps block the ray-sting, so then why not make booties that are all-strap? Well, why not!! So Annie did just that. Had a pair made for me as well. She wears hers... They look kinda like the boots that a knight-in-shining-armor might wear.... and kinda clunky. The ones she had made for me need a little tweaking before they are wearable (they don't bend at the ankle but that can be tweaked if I would just take them back to the guy). What is stopping me? Danged if I know!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
