Austin, here we come

I saw my dentist this morning and got a double crown? She said it was really called a splint crown. I am glad to get that over with. I will attend to the other side of the mouth next month. I am told that all this work is not that I did not take care of my teeth, it mainly has to do with age. Just think I could have skipped all of those flossings?

But the more important thing today is that we are as ready as we are going to be. I have packed everyone's suitcases, have boarding passes for all three of us, shuttle service to the airport has been confirmed, and Austin, we will get there tomorrow--tired, but happy. 

Looking forward to playing with that 7 1/2 month old sweetie!

Sad News Today

Hubby has informed me that it was 1975 when we moved to our present house. Our daughter made the change from Loara Elementary School to Peter Marshall Elementary School and she found children her age living on our street. 

The cute little girl across the street was younger than our daughter, but they soon became friends—forever. Like all young friendships theirs did not lack for periods when they were not talking to each other, but they always seemed to make-up. 

 
My daughter’s friend had a couple of older brothers and both parents. Through the years all have gone in different directions—all over the world, literally. But my daughter’s friend has always managed to keep up with everyone, and has stayed in touch with my daughter. Today, I received the sad news that my daughter’s friend has lost her mother.

 
I am sorry for her passing, of course, but my heart aches for my daughter’s friend. I have experienced the loss of a mother and know the pain. My deepest condolences to Mara and her brothers.

Get Your Goat or Cabrito

Just out of high school I went to San Antonio to look for work. My dad had informed me that we did not have any money for me to go to college, since my sister was attending James Dougherty School of Nursing in Corpus Christi. I was a real green horn when it came to job searching in SA. The only skills I had were clerical, so I went through the newspaper ads and went to a few places. What I should have known was what was meant by the ads that insisted "must apply in person." I thought that if I dressed nicely, I would do OK. But I encountered the turn-down of "that position has been filled." It took only a couple of those turn downs that I learned that it was the brown color of my skin that was not wanted for the position. Though that was not the first time I had experienced discrimination, it can still really get your goat.

So back home, looking through the Robstown Record, Mom read the want ads and suggested I apply for the clerical position at the Nueces County Farm Bureau. After an interview and recommendations from my high school typing and steno teachers, the position was mine. I was to get paid bi-weekly. My first paycheck for the first two weeks, minus deductions, amounted to $90! My dad did not believe in saving money, he did believe in celebrating life's achievements, however trivial. So to celebrate my first paycheck he suggested we all go to Nuevo Laredo to a much advertised restaurant El Rincón del Viejo. The featured fare was cabrito. Now that's a goat for celebration.

Fast forward to Summer 1998. No, not the olympics, but a celebration of a different sort. I was being recognized by the town of Marín, Nuevo León for my genealogical work. My mother's side of the family is a direct ancestral line to the founder of the town, José Martínez Flores. The town is a neat, small town, with no hotels, so we stayed in Monterrey. One of the must-do things for visitors is to dine on cabrito, namely at El Rey del Cabrito. My niece (picture above) was so taken with the display of the goats that she asked if she could go to the kitchen area and have her picture taken. Now those are tasty goats.

These memories came to me because the current issue of Time Magazine (August 25, 2008) has an article in their food section on goat becoming "a rising star among American meats."  You can even see a video on slaughtering, roasting goats. I still prefer the roasted cabrito.

Back to the Bowling Alley

In the memory of June Bengston, the booster club of the former Anaheim Therapeutic Recreation Center (now Ability First), organized a bowling event. June was a tireless advocate for the developmentally disabled. June passed away last December, and we miss her.

 

We first met June when our son transferred from Maxwell Elementary to Orangeview Junior High. June was a teacher’s aide in one of the two classrooms at Orangeview. June was also volunteering with Special Olympics. She was active in every and any way that advocated for our children. 

 

Today was a happy occasion. Although the event was to have started at 10 a.m., the staff finally got everyone and things going an hour later. The picture above is the group while we were waiting for staff to show up. Fantastic group of bowlers!

 

The best bowler in my humble opinion, of course, is my son. Here I captured him just as his ball will give him a strike. He likes to see those XXXs.
 

Figs, figs, figs!

Summer time is the time of bounty. Our Kadota fig tree is the most prodigious of our trees that produce edibles. We have already given away many figs to friends and neighbors, and still we have a great many on the tree. The birds and the green beetles really enjoy the figs, too. But we decided to save a few of the figs for later. Depending on how many jars we fill up, we  will probably give away some jars at Christmas time, too. My sister loved getting my figs, but air travel restrictions make it very difficult to take the glass jars to Texas now.

No, this is not my sister, but if I could, I would adopt her as an additional sister. This is the beautiful lady who about ten years ago gave me the recipe that follows. She was working at the court house during one of my stints of serving on the Orange County Grand Jury. She stated that  her mother pickled figs, and that the process was simple. Thanks, Ms CD.

 CANDIED FIGS

Step 1:
Sprinkle 1/2 c. baking soda over 3 quarts figs. Add 2 quarts boiling water. Allow figs to stand in this solution for 5 minutes. Rinse thoroughly - (run cold water over the figs.)
Step 2:
In a large pot, combine and bring to boil:

• 1 c. water
• 6 c. sugar
• 1 c. vinegar
• A cheesecloth (fist-size), with 1/2 box whole cloves and 8 sticks cinnamon. (This may be saved and used for a second batch.)

To the above solution, add drained figs and boil for 10 minutes.
Step 3:
For 4 consecutive mornings, boil figs for 10 minutes each morning. (Leave in covered pot at room temperature between boilings).
Step 4:
On the 4th day of boiling, put hot figs in sterilized canning jars with two-piece lids. Pour hot syrup over and immediately seal. Process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. (Note: we used 16-oz Kerr/Ball canning jars.)
 

 

These are the figs before we started the process.

Here we start the syrup. The cloves and cinnamon sticks give a great aroma as well as taste.

And these are the figs in full boil. Don't know if I can wait for four more days! . Hmmmm good. 

Saving Our Good Things for Later

“No, no son cuatas.” I remember Mom, Dad or Mama Mere explain that my sister and I were not twins. Not only did Mom dress us alike, but we also got identical gifts. The pink umbrellas I think were from Mama Mere. Sis and I played with them for a short while, had this picture taken, and then she took them from us to save them for later. The umbrellas were not for playing, but like other valuable things had to be “saved” for later.  

I grew up with my elders thinking that all the nicer things had to be “saved” for later. I remember as a child getting a big doll, but not playing with it because it was too nice. Mama Mere again took it from us and stored it who knows where.


I now have a house replete with clutter, and am asking myself, why am I saving some of those things? We have lived in the same house for close to thirty years, and there are a lot of things that have been saved for later. I think it is time for us to make use of our fine china and crystal that we were gifted at our wedding. The good silver needs polishing, but I should probably get it out of wherever I stored it for later, and start using it, too.


In the photo above, that’s my Dad beaming proud with his girls. The beer? I think his preference was Schlitz. He had come home for lunch, but in those days the midday meal was the main one. La abuelita (my great grandmother) was the one who cooked meals for all of us. She wouldn’t allow my mom to cook, but that was just fine with Mom. Mom never liked any domestic chores.

Some of my Laredo Friends . . .

are here for an awards banquet. This photo came to me because of the start of this blog. Time was when I could name everyone in the photo, but now there are a couple of gals I can only remember part of their names. If you can name all put it in comments section below. Thanks.

I have great feelings for the people I met in Laredo. Their warmth and friendliness was a change from the high school where I had graduated. Although our high school was integrated, there were definitely separate factors. In Laredo I never felt discriminated against. In addition, the counselor at LJC (Laredo Junior College has changed its name and is part of the Texas A&M system ) opened the door that gave me the opportunity to attend the University of Texas, Austin.

Sweet memories of staying with my aunt, uncle and cousin. All three made my stay comfortable and I shall forever be in their debt.

Like Mother Like Son

My daughter at seven months (mas o menos) and my grandson at seven months. 

I remember that my daughter was a very good baby and she reached all of her milestones according to the baby books. My husband and I joked with the pediatrician that she had read Dr. Spock’s book.

Motherhood is a lot of work, as any mom will admit. What certainly helped me was having a wonderful, understanding husband. We had to rely on each other when we started our family because we lived very far from our extended families. I just hope our best was good enough.

Shopping at the Happiest Place on Earth

We are preparing for a trip to see our grandson later this month. I got the notion that a gift for him from Disneyland would make his mommies happy. So we went to Downtown Disney. 

 
We did find a couple of things for grandson, so we accomplished our mission. Walking around the area I couldn’t help but notice several of the fountains. 

 
The chorritos of the fountains reminded of a nursery ditty that I learned as a child, probably when I was at St Anthony’s Parochial School or it could have been from the radio. 

My grandparents used to listen to a radio program called Cri Crí, el Grillito Cantor that came from Mexico City’s station XEW (they have since dropped the XE and is known as W Radio). The program was primarily for children, I am so grateful that I had that experience as a young child. At any rate, I think I should teach my grandson this little song, right along with the Itsy Bitsy Spider.

 

Allá en la fuente, había un chorrito,
Se hacía grandote, se hacía chiquito
Y estaba de mal humor, pobre chorrito
Tenía calor!

Too Many Tortillas!

Every Sunday night is when Son and Hubby take the trash containers to the curb in front of the house. We set out three large containers: green for recycling, brown for yard waste, and black for garbage. Anaheim has had this program for quite a number of years, and our section of town was the first one to test the program before it went citywide. Our green container is usually the fullest and primarily clean discards go in there. The load in the brown one depends on the season—fuller in summer than in winter. The black container can get messy and smelly, so we try to contain what we put in there into other plastic bags. In the summer things can get pretty rank because we dispose of over ripe fruit (not allowed in the brown container). Monday the trash is picked up.

Needless to say, we try our best not to be wasteful. That is why it frustrates me that I can hardly ever finish a package of corn tortillas! The smallest count available is 36! I remember when I could find a package of 12 tortillas, but no more. I even went to Gigante, and voiced my concern to the manager at the time. He agreed, but stated he couldn't do anything about it.

Even if I freeze some of the tortillas, they lose their freshness, and then get soggy when I defrost them. We do not eat tortillas everyday, so what to do with the old tortillas?

My Abuela Mere was the one who introduced me to Migas. She used to prepare Migas when she had left over tortillas. You don’t really need a recipe for preparing this. All that are needed are eggs and the tortillas cut-up in small pieces. You can add whatever else you have in the refrigerator or on hand: prepared salsa, or fresh tomatoes, onions, peppers, etc. In California it is quite common to add cheese and/ or sour cream. 

BTW a miga means a crumb.
 

Olympics!

My son has been bowling since he was about eight years old. The Special Education teachers at Maxwell Elementary School, Mrs. Roy and Mrs. Merrill, started taking the class to the bowling alley about once a week. They had great gifts to deal with their special students.

Through the years, my son has participated in Special Olympics every year. The venues have changed, the dates have been moved around the calendar, but he has always managed to participate.

I use the word participate instead of compete, because he is not competitive. He just likes to bowl. He does not even care if his scores are high or low. But he does like to watch the “turkey” on the monitor when he does the three strikes in a row. Today was a turkey day.

As I watched the Olympics from Beijing tonight, I saw Michael Phelps mom when he won the 400m swimming event. I knew just exactly how proud she felt, and why tears swelled in her eyes. I experience that pride yearly when my son wins his Special Olympic medals.

School Days Start Earlier and Earlier

I was thinking about school because all the newspaper ads have “back to school” specials. And, it occurred to me that I do not remember my first day of school. One would think that that day would be one of those things never to forget.

I do remember being in the first grade, however, and one of my friends was Obdulia. Her cousin Rosa came later on in the year, and she had a larger box of crayons, and none of the crayons were broken. And she did not let me borrow one of her crayons, when the color I wanted was missing from my box.

St. Anthony’s Parochial School was mainly staffed by the nuns of the parish, and the grades taught were First through Sixth. We did not have Kindergarden, much less pre-K. My teacher in the first and second grade was Sister Manuela, and I don’t recall that we necessarily spoke English or Spanish. Language did not become an issue until I was in the fourth grade with Sister Rosario, who announced that we would speak only in English in the classroom.

But speaking of language, I wondered, but never questioned, why in English we called the nuns “Sisters” but in Spanish they were “Las Madres” or the affectionate diminutive “Las Madrecitas.”

By today’s standards, there were some things at the school that would not be allowed today. In the first year there were no drinking fountains, only a spigot in the central yard. There was a tin cup available for anyone to use. Some of us had a collapsible, telescopic drinking cup we were suppose to use, but that always got lost. It was no big deal to drink from the same cup everyone else did.

Those school days were carefree days. My great-grandmother, La Abuelita, would walk to our school with lunch for sis and me. We would sit in a sunny spot on some benches and ate our lunch. The other children I think brought sack lunches. We had not heard of Burritos, to us they were taquitos con tortillas de harina.

Not all the nuns were teachers. Sister Sofia, a short pudgy lady, was the one who took care of the cooking and domestic chores of the residence. She also taught some of us girls to crochet. For mother’s day, she crocheted a black purse for my mother. My sister and I might have completed a few stitches on the project, but it was actually Sister Sofia who did the most of the work, because it was beautifully done. Mom kept that purse for quite a few years, using it for her dressier occasions.



As we look at the picture above, my cousin is on the right, and I am on the left. We are standing next to one of the buildings at school. I find the picture interesting because we are holding hands, as if to reassure each other that it is OK to have our picture taken. I am older than my cousin, and I grew to be taller than she, but in this picture we are the same height.



The color photo is of my beautiful grandson who goes to daycare every weekday. My daughter refers to it as “school” instead of daycare. Today, my handsome nieto is seven months old, has three teeth, and is able to sit up by himself. Oh yes, another thing he picked up at his school is a cold. Happy 7-month birthday, baby, learn all you can at school, and stay well! Abuela loves you.

The Pain of Filling Up

Hubby likes to take care of filling up our two cars. A few weeks ago he filled his Dodge SUV for $70+. But since prices are slowly coming down, he only charged $52.64 today for a little more than 13 gallons.






When I got my driver’s license and my first car (early 1960s), the price of gasoline was not an issue with me. But I do recall that there would sometimes be “gas wars.” Looking back, I guess gasoline must have been so abundant and cheap that gas stations had to be more competitive. It was not unusual for a main intersection to have four “filling stations” all offering “full service” (checking the oil, washing windshield and all the windows, use of rest rooms, maybe water fountain).

But the “gas war” would be started by one of the gas stations dropping the price by one cent. The others might follow the penny drop or would better it by dropping two cents. It was fun to see how low they would go. The lowest I personally recall was .25 9/10 per gallon. I don’t recall but two grades of gasoline: regular and ethyl. Regular was the only thing I ever bought.



My first car was this beauty: 1962 Ford Fairlane, 2-door, standard transmission, white sidewall tires, an AM radio, no air conditioning but it did have a heater. The top was a creamy color and the bottom part of the body was a soft aqua color. My dad gave his old Chevy truck as a trade-in to help with the down payment. One of my dad’s friends, Fred Hanson, went with me to the State National Bank to co-sign for the loan. But I got the coupon book to make the monthly payments. I wish I could remember the amounts of money involved, but I do recall that I was very responsible and paid for my first car on schedule. I really loved that car. I guess there is always a special sentiment for that first car.

Dental Woes

My earliest recollections of going to the dentist was when I was about seven years old. I remember that because the dental office sent me a birthday card for my eighth birthday. I felt special because they remembered, and because the card was so neat. It had a wheel between the front of the card and the inside left of the card. The front had a square cut out to reveal one of the numbers printed on it. My card showed “8” at the time. I think I kept that card for the longest time—for sentimental reasons as well as the thought that someday I might make a similar card later in life. I have lost track of the card now.


Now to the present. I just had one more session with my dentist this morning. Last month I had three sessions with the endodontist, and I need to make an additional appointment with the periodontist. We are in the age of specialization! Even though I have dental insurance, I still have to come up with co-pays on some things, some other services are not covered at all, and I have already maxed out my benefits for this year. Oh to have the teeth of an eight-year old.


The top picture is on the dentist’s front counter. The picture below is what I need to take to the periodontist. It looks like a have a foot in my mouth instead of teeth. I just want to be able to eat some corn on the cob, steaks, hard candy, and other goodies soon.

Sputnik to Barcelona

Just out of the University of Texas (Austin), my first job was in Amarillo, Texas, teaching Spanish at Tascosa High School. The Russians had had their success with Sputnik in the recent past--1957--and the educators were recruiting teachers with emphasis on math and science, as well as foreign language. The foreign language instructors given priority were native speakers. So I was hired as the Spanish teacher, and a native French woman was the new French teacher. The Latin teacher was a very senior lady about ready to retire.

My first year of teaching was primarily a learning experience for me. Not only did I learn grammar rules, but I learned interesting little cultural bits. One of the stories in my Spanish II class was about the architect Antoni Gaudí. At least a couple of my students were particularly interested in architecture and had heard of him. I had not. But that was one of my learning experiences.

Hubby and I toured Europe for nine weeks shortly after we were married, and Barcelona was one of our stops. I was especially looking forward to the Gaudi works, and was not disappointed. We were particularly impressed with the church La Sagrada Familia.



Then thirty years later my daughter and I went to Europe, and met up with a friend of Hubby who had taught with him in the US. It was great to have her as our guide, and we covered just about every spot in Barcelona. The picture above was taken just before we took in Gaudí's Casa Mila.

If I make it back to Europe, Barcelona is still one of my favorite stops.

My New Nikon Arrived Today

I am excited about my new digital camera. I hope this Nikon lives up to its claim that it will work in low light situations.It arrived this afternoon, and I was anxious to try out right away, but had to wait until the battery charged. Then there was dinner time, and laundry to attend to. By then it was dark, so I tried it out on different things here in the house. This picture is taken in the macro mode. I wanted to capture the needlework of a cushion cover that I have framed. I think so far I need to try other subjects under different light conditions. Am looking forward to trying the active child mode when we visit grandson later this month.

The needlework above was done by the Hmong, and I bought it at a quilt show sometime in the early 1980s. I like the reverse applique that is so delicate, but I picked this particular piece because of the embroidered figures, that depicted the everyday life of the Hmong farmers.

When I worked as a social worker, I had a consumer whose family name was Cha. The family knew very little English, but were extremely cooperative. I remember that their apartment had almost no furniture, but they were very gracious and offered me some tea. Not wanting to be impolite, I accepted. I normally do not drink tea without tons of sugar, but I did manage to consume at least five or six swallows. This Hmong family came from the mountain area of Laos. And were among the thousand s of refugees that settled in the United States, and more particularly in Orange County.

Happy Birthday, Sis

I am so lucky to have you as my sister. When we were very young, we came close to losing you. I am so glad you made it back to health!

The time was close to the end of WWII. I remember that Mama Mere was taking care of me, and I did not see much of Dad, Mom or you. Mama Mere told me that you were in the hospital, and that we had to pray. She had me kneel and pray to La Virgencita that you would get well.

It was not until I was a little older that I learned some of the details of your illness. You had meningitis, and the doctors had to requisition that new miracle drug—penicillin—from the brass at the Corpus Christi Naval Base. Since it was wartime, this drug was not readily available for civilians.

Mama Mere and I kept praying at home, and she made a promise to La Virgencita de Guadalupe that if you recovered, we would make the pilgrimage to the Basilica in Mexico City.

I don’t know if it was the penicillin or La Virgencita, but to the joy of all in the family, you recovered!

That left Mama Mere and Mom to make good on the promise. And we made the trek to El Cerro del Tepeyac and paid homage to La Virgencita. I remember that there were some people who went kneeling all the way to the altar. I don't think we did that. While there Mom paid for a plaque that had the message of thanks to the Virgin and it was to include your name and to be posted somewhere on the church grounds. Who knows if it was ever done.

Since we were there in Mexico City already, we also went to the floating gardens of Xochimilco, just outside of the city. Remember those hats! Oh yes, and Mom’s idea of not playing favorites was to dress us alike. Enjoy your birthday with your family, I feel blessed to have you as my sis.

Geraniums and Mama Grande

Almost anything will grow in Southern California. We may be experiencing a drought, but some plants just keep on growing and giving. I think everyone on our block has a gardener. The only one I see mowing his own lawn is the teacher across the street, and he does it primarily to get some exercise, he says.

I think some of my favorite flowering plants are the geraniums. They thrive even if neglected. But my fondness for geraniums goes back to when I was a child and my great-grandmother had all the different colors of geraniums in pots. Pots for plants in those days were old tin cans that had a hole or two on the bottom. Coffee cans were the prized ones, but the cans from other things worked, too. I remember some of the neighbor ladies admiring her geraniums and commenting, “Tiene muy buena mano la abuelita, ¿verdad?” referring to my Mama Grande's "good hand" for making things grow. And then they would walk away with a rooted plant in one of those cans, and pay her with a promise to save their coffee cans for her.



Since those childhood days, I have read and experienced that geraniums will root and thrive with little care. But I prefer to believe that my great-grand abuela really had “a very good hand” for making things grow. La Abuelita, Mamá Grande, or Ma Grande were some of the names by which I knew her. This great lady who had a way with the geraniums, was great at recycling (we had not heard the term back then), and just "made-do" with what ever was available. She had known many hard times in her life, yet lived to be 104 years old! Some of my aunts and uncles liked to explain her longevity to the fact that she liked a shot of hard liquor now and then, and that she walked and walked everywhere she needed to be. Now our doctors admonish us to do exercise for our health. And those highly-funded studies reveal that drinking red wine daily is good for us. How did Ma Grande know to do that since she had very little formal education and was never sick.

The Tarahumara of Chihuahua

I had read about this wonderful train ride that originated in Chihuahua, Chihuahua probably about fifteen or twenty years ago. I knew that was a trip I had to take, but other things in my life were going on, and that trip was placed in the backburner of my mind. Even in retirement, it seems other events took precedence, but early in 2007 I decided that if I didn't do that trip, I might not get to do it at all.


Excitedly, I searched for different tours, but the safest one for me was going with Elderhostel. They cater to able, active senior citizens. So, even though it was not the cheapest one of the tours, I signed on for the Copper Canyon trip in May 2007. I was really happy with the program from the very first night at the Davis Mountain Education Center in West Texas.

The train ride was nice, the scenery impressive, but I was especially intrigued by the Tarahumara Indians. The women weave these wonderful baskets using pine tree needles. The children sell trinkets to the tourists. Many of the men still wear their native dress even though the Mexicans in town wear modern dress.

I would love to make the trip again, but would like to have hubby and son accompany me next time. There are so many places yet to see and do. Reminds me of the Jack Nicholson/Morgan Freeman movie, The Bucket List. Thankfully, neither of us have gotten the medical news that we have only a short time to live.