My Turkey Trotter

Busting my buttons, proud as punch and tickled pink! I could probably come up with a few other clichés, but I'll just say that Daughter never ceases to please me with her accomplishments. She is back to getting fit and what she enjoys is running. Yesterday she finished in the San Antonio Turkey Trot. Not bad for an asthmatic kid.

Here she is around two years old. Although I remember mostly a healthy child, she did have the scary moments. One that I recall now is when she was around two or three years old, and had trouble breathing. I called the doctor's office and besides ordering medication, the nurse gave me the suggestion to get in the bathroom, run the hot water in the shower so that the whole room would fill with steam. The steam should help clear the bronchial tubes.

I followed the instructions, and Daughter and I sat in there. I knew she was scared because I could feel her little body shaking. I thought it was because she was having a difficult time breathing. I just held her in my lap, trying to comfort her. Maybe it was the medications and/or the steam treatment, but she did recuperate from that asthmatic attack. It was not until many years later, when she and I were recalling that episode that she told me the reason she was so scared was not because she had trouble breathing. She thought I was going to make her take a steaming hot shower! A good lesson to always communicate with your children.

The Beach Scene

Although summer is almost over, we are still experiencing warm days and sometimes even scorching days.

Last July when our grandson came to visit, he was treated with a day at the beach by my niece who lives walking distance from the Pacific Ocean. By report, I learned that he enjoyed the water, but not the sand. 

Then a few weeks ago, hubby and I attended a talk by a doctor on the subject of skin cancer. The doc gave us the message we all know. Protect yourself from the sun. Lather yourself in sunscreen, etc. He said that even if we protect ourselves now, the non-protection we experienced in our childhood could come back to haunt us.

That statement brought memories of marvelous days at North Beach in Corpus Christi. More than a handful of times we went there as children, and played in the sun and water. In the days before surfboards, one could rent those floating devices. I don’t recall that we did much play in the sand, although we did like to collect shells. As a matter of fact I never liked the feel of sand between your toes. The main thing we looked out for were the Portuguese man-o-war jellyfish. We were really scared of them. We heard stories that the sting from the jellyfish brought great pain and/or death.

Still, many happy hours were spent in sun. The picture below was taken in 1947.

In the photo we find Rosita from Tampico on the left. She was probably in her late teens or early twenties. She came to visit us one summer and delighted in telling my sister and me fantastic stories. One that I remember to this day was that there was a girl she knew who had a bug crawl inside her body and there the bug grew and grew in the poor girl’s belly. Sis and I (she was 8 and I was 6 ½) never questioned any of her tales.

Next to Rosita is Daddy. The beauty next to him in that two-piece swimsuit is yours truly (didn't fill out that bra then, and still don't). The baby is Sammy who passed away in 1987. He was around a year old. Sis is the one holding on to him. She adored that baby (foretelling what a great mom and grandma she grew up to be). Sis has her eyes closed—don’t know if she got saltwater or the sun was too bright, but she did not let go of the baby. Last one on the right is my pretty mom.  I don’t remember that her hair was that long or that she wore it down.I don't remember who took that picture.

Those were sweet, carefree days of summer and of my childhood.

Lady of Spain Comes to Visit

What a delightful surprise! Our Lady of Spain hits this area with a day’s announcement, and is here for only three days. We were lucky to get together for lunch.



Back in the 1990s, Assumpta came for a one-year program to teach mathematics at the same school where hubby was teaching. He and other members of the math department provided Assumpta assistance, and she has many times expressed her gratitude. She is a lovely lady.

Outside the restaurant we paused for a photo before saying, “Hasta la vista.”


The memories part for me goes back to January 1998 and a marvelous trip that my daughter and I took to parts of Europe. One of our favorite cities was Barcelona. That is the place we still want to keep going back to. Although we were very cold, we enjoyed the sights, particularly with Assumpta as our personal guide.

That is me and Assumpta on the roof level of the Gaudi Museum, and on the right, are daughter and Assumpta in the same place.

Assumpta showed us her apartment in Olot.

We were warmly greeted by her own family.

But daughter and I could not leave Barcelona without visiting the monumental church of the Holy Family, begun by Antoni Gaudi so many years ago. Hubby and I had visited Barcelona some 30 something years earlier. At that time the church was a mere shell and the laborers were skilled but their tools were "low tech" in comparison to what we observed in 1998. I would like to return to see the progress during this century.





This is one of the many, many pictures we took of the spires. Believe it or not, I actually climbed one of those spires, but did not attempt to go to the highest point allowed for tourist--but daughter did. The view from up there is breathtaking, literally.











This last picture is one that I took because I saw the box with numbers. I was thinking of hubby and daughter and how they are mathematicians. At the time I was in too much of a hurry to figure out what the numbers meant, but have since figured them out. Can you?

Special Olympians Say Thank you, Eunice Shriver, RIP.

Eunice Kennedy Shriver started the Special Olympics in 1968. Our son was born the year before, but we did not know then what a big part Special Olympics would play in his life. In those turbulent years of the 1960 decade there is at least this one lady who made a big difference in our young family.

One of the best obits is this one from the LATimes.

Holy Redeemer Church, Laredo, Texas

Surfing around some of my old bookmarks I ran into this photo. It brought memories of my sweet Tía and Tío who opened their home to me so that I might attend Laredo Junior College. After I graduated from high school in Robstown, Dad told me very simply and very true—we just did not have the money for me to continue my education. I had not had much counseling in high school regarding opportunities to go to college. So, I went to work as a secretary for almost a year. My Tía encouraged my parents to allow me to go to live with them in Laredo so that I might attend the very affordable Laredo Junior College. So I became part of their family.

This is the church that we attended when I lived in Laredo for a couple of years. We referred to it as Redentor, however. My Tío worked with the church credit union. Having him attending to the CU’s business was part of the Sunday ritual. I think that he was there from its onset. However, I do not know when that was. I don’t recall that I ever saw any of the students from LJC at the mass that my prima and I attended. My cousin sometimes opted to attend Sunday Mass at San Agustín because that was where she had attended high school.

I guess most of the students from LJC were from another neighborhood. I can’t imagine anyone in Laredo at that time skipping Sunday mass. It may still be a more cultural/social thing to do than religious. Although some of the Laredo friends I have stayed in touch still have deep religious convictions and very conservative politics. Not so like me!

It's May!

It’s May, it’s May the merry month of May. And I have not blogged since March.

Last Friday I discovered an archival site that still has my first attempt at having my own webpage back in 1997. It was such a primitive site in comparison to what we see today. It was great to see some of the photos that I had included there because it had one that I have somehow misplaced.

The photo is of my mother, my sister and me. When my sister and I were at St. Anthony’s School there were two clubs for girls to join. One was Hijas de María and the other Las Teresitas. I may not have the correct recollection, but it seems that the first one was for the older girls, and the latter one was for the younger ones, like us. One Sunday a month, we would wear our Teresitas uniform, sit as a group in church, and go to Holy Communion during the Mass.

But the month of May was particularly a great month for us. Maybe this is one of the reasons I especially like flowers and gardening. The month of May was dedicated to Our Holy Mother, Mary (La Virgen María), and one way of celebrating was by offering flowers in the evening during the recital of the rosary.

On the Sunday before, Father Dunne would read out the names of the mothers who were responsible for providing flowers for each evening of the coming week. I think that Mom’s turn didn’t come until sometime during the third week. To hear Father read Mom’s name was like when your name appeared in the Robstown Record. It brought a smile of pride to my face.

The younger girls—maybe first and second grade Teresitas—dressed in white, including a head cover of either lace or net, carried a bunch of flowers and formed a double line down the center aisle of the church. At the break in the rosary after ten Hail Marys, we would joyfully sing alabanzas, raising our flower-holding arms. Then we marched toward the altar and give the flowers to one of the two older girls—usually a girl from Hijas de María.

What carefree days of our childhood! We might worry that our bouquet of flowers was not big enough or that someone else’s bouquet might have prettier flowers.

Amarillo Had a Snowstorm

Hubby brought to my attention today that Amarillo had a blizzard this week-end. The snowstorm brought more than 10 inches of snow to parts of the Texas panhandle.
You can see a slide show of the snow storm at the newspaper website.

This brought some memories of how I got to Amarillo to begin my teaching career in the first place. I was fresh out of the University of Texas with a life-time teaching credential and a bachelor’s degree in Education with a major in English and minor in Spanish.

The education recruiters who came to Austin that summer of 1962 were looking for native speakers to teach foreign languages. I don’t remember going to too many interviews, but I had narrowed my choices to either Deer Park of Dallas or Amarillo, way up north in the Texas panhandle.

Somehow the Amarillo job sounded more exotic since it was so far from home. In the months before going to Amarillo I had to buy a car and find my way to that far off city. The farthest north I had driven was San Antonio. I had driven to Laredo and even to Monterrey, Mexico, but I was going to drive into unknown territory. That sounded both scary and exciting to this sheltered, naïve girl.

I knew that Tío Miguel had been to northern Texas, so I asked his advice on how to get to Amarillo. He gave me some instructions, although I do not remember just what he said. Mom was to be my navigator and little brother was along to give moral support.

I guess we had a map of Texas with us, but I mainly remembered the sequence of towns we were to cross on the way to Amarillo. I don’t remember the number designations of the highways where we traveled. I remember that most of the towns had directional signs to either the next town or toward a larger city. I mainly guided myself by watching for those signs. My mom was not the best navigator (I can say that now that she is no longer here to deny it).

At that time the highways were mainly two lanes. The lanes were divided by a single white line, but sometimes there was also the yellow line. The yellow line was sometimes solid, sometimes broken and sometimes on one side of the white line and other times on the other side of the white line. I quickly figured out that the yellow line was to guide the driver when it was safe to pass, especially in the hill country.

It took us pretty much the whole day to get to Amarillo. We had packed food, and stopped only to get gas and the potty stops were only at gas stations in those days. There were no fast food places yet, and no rest areas--how did we do it, then?

When we got to Amarillo we went to the school district office, and the school secretary helped us find a place to stay. It was a small rental apartment in the back of a house in the north side of town. All three of us slept there for a couple of nights. While Mom and brother were still with me we found the local Woolworth and bought a couple of plates, forks, spoons, and I don’t remember what else. I might have even bought a skillet or pan.

Then it was time for them to leave. I drove Mom and brother to the Greyhound (or was it Trailways?) bus station. I stayed there until it was time for their bus to depart for Robstown. That’s when it really hit me! I was alone in a strange city, starting a position I was not experienced with, and I had to rely on no one but me!

I watched the bus pulling out of the depot and waved at my kid brother who was sitting by the window. I was trying to control my emotion of the moment, but when I saw my eight-year old brother crying as he waved good-bye, I began to cry, too. I walked to my car, sat there, and, knowing there was no reason for inhibition, just bawled out loud.

I did not stay in that apartment that was behind a house. When we had our teacher orientation the next day, the French teacher and I decided we should share rent on an apartment. When I went to pick up my things at the first apartment, I paid the lady for the couple of nights and settled for my teaching assignment at Tascosa High School. I think she might have asked for $10 for both nights.

And that brings me back to the snowstorm in Amarillo. Four or five months after the school year began I experienced my first snow. I recall the morning after we'd had a snowfall in the evening. I went from window to window to window in our small apartment. I was in awe of the beauty of that white blanket. It was a joyful new experience for me. Yes, this year was when I experienced a lot of firsts. Snow was just one.

Wildflowers

I was back in the garden pulling weeds today. I do not have exotic plants, but rather like the plants that can tolerate abuse. Maybe that is why I like the roses, geraniums, nasturtiums and others that I can rely on not to die if I leave for several weeks on vacation.

But I got to thinking about some of the weeds that are beautiful.

Living in California, we celebrate the California poppy. About thirty years ago we took a weekend trip north of Los Angeles just to view the hills that were orange. Although it was springtime the day turned cloudy, cold and windy. The children were great troopers, though, posing amid the poppies. The flowers were not opened because they only open for the sun. But the smiles on the faces of son and daughter were enough sunshine for me!



When I was in high school in Robstown (more than 50 years ago!), a small group of us took a field trip to San Antonio with our sponsor, Mr. Porter. The club was called something like the Junior Historians. We toured the missions and museums and took photos. Only three of us students went, so we all rode in Mr. Porter's car. The first photo was taken at the San Fernando Mission and I am the one with a pony tail; Celia and Ellen are the other two. The second picture was taken at some museum and shows Ellen Celia and Mr. Porter.

There was no I-37 at the time, so the street that took us out of town toward Robstown was South Presa Street. We were almost out of the city limits when we sighted a field of beautiful wildflowers. The wildflowers were right by the side of the road. I guess some of the flowers must have been bluebonnets, but I remember other colors, too. We stopped and all of us picked flowers, including Mr. Porter. I gave my flowers to Mom, of course. Later I thought how sweet that Mr. Porter had joined the students in gathering flowers for his loved one.

The photo below is of a bluebonnet field, but not the field of more than fifty years ago.

 

Going further back in my memory bank, the earliest wildflower I remember is the Mexican primrose. My abuelas called them amapolas. When I was in Robstown last month, I chanced to go by the house where my grandmother lived. My dad’s house (our house) was in the lot where that old house is barely standing. But, those lots were deep and as a kid I used to run in that backyard and enjoy climbing trees. Around this time of year there were always amapolas that grew way back in the yard, far from the house and far from any water source other than rain.

 

Mexican Primrose

To this day one of my favorite songs is Amapola. I remember Mom casually singing that song. Today, I especially like the rendition by Andrea Bocelli, but Placido Domingo does it great justice, too.

My Special Olympian Bowler

Just to add our two cents to Obama’s off-the-cuff remark on Jay Leno’s TV show. None in our family were offended. To look on the positive side of his remark, he has brought attention to one of the hardest working group in our population.

Yesterday, son bowled with his regular Saturday morning league of Special Olympians. His scores were consistent with his average. Not too shabby.

He has been bowling since he was about 10 years old, and bowling is something he truly enjoys. He never liked team sports. Because of his height and slender built people thought he would be perfect for basketball, but he did not like the idea that people were trying to take the ball away from each other—that’s not very nice. On the court, he would prefer someone else had the ball instead of him.

Son was also good, but not outstanding in track when he was in school. He was better at long distance rather than sprints. When he was very young (about six or seven), he thought it was nice to let others go ahead of him, and if someone else might stumble, he felt better to assist him instead of getting to the finish line first.

But bowling has been his sport of choice. He is in a class by himself, and it does not matter to him what the others score. He is able to follow instructions from his favorite coach, his dad! What is amazing is that son is a better bowler than dad. A case of do as I say, not as I do?

Next is a series of photos taken around 1977 or 78. It was probably the first time that Maxwell School participated in Special Olympics bowling.


Notice that the children were started by swinging the ball between their legs to maintain better balance before releasing the bowling ball.

This last photo shows that he was quite pleased with his effort.

The Special Olympics creed after all is:

“Please help me win, but if I cannot, let me be brave in the attempt.”

I Broke a Fingernail!

I broke a fingernail working in the garden. I always start out wearing my Martha Stewart garden gloves, but it's not long that I will remove at least one of the gloves. I not only get to really pull on the weeds, but I manage to get dirty hands and fingernails. I wear one of my late father's long-sleeved shirts, but sometimes still manage to get my arms scratched from the tree branches or the bougainvilleas.

 

  

 

This time of year is the best of times and the worst of times (to plagiarize Dickens) in my garden. It is the best because the rose bushes have come back after getting a severe pruning in January; the nasturtiums faithfully return without much attention; and most of the almond tree blossoms have fallen and the crop looks promising.


It is the worst of time because my eyes itch and water; my nose gets drippy; and Benadryl makes me sleepy. I think I will try some other allergy remedy. Today’s paper had coupons for both Zyrtec and Benadryl. I might give Zyrtec a chance.


Getting back to my fingernail, though, reminded of being told not to trim my nails on Sunday. I don’t remember what the dire consequences would be, but Mom and grandmas stuck by the custom. I think something embarrassing might occur if we committed the sin of trimming our nails!


That got me to thinking of another “don’t” that I remember hearing, “En martes no te cases ni te embarques.” --telling one not to marry or to embark on a Tuesday. The embark part is somewhat ambiguous, but it was usually meant not to start a trip, but it can also mean not to begin a business or some enterprise. So I guess if one can’t get going on Monday, one has to wait until Wednesday?


I remember being told that if I had to scratch one of my hands, it was better to have the itch on the left hand. That meant that I was to come into some money. But, if I had to scratch my right hand that meant that I was going to be shaking someone’s hand. How long I would have to wait for the money or the shaking of hands was never divulged, and I never bothered to ask—just like I never questioned why I could not trim my nails on a Sunday. However, I have already trimmed the rest of my fingernails--too much of the garden dirt under them!

Signs in the Rest Rooms

 

 

The “Decency” sign was discovered in a Chinese Restaurant in Garden Grove, CA.

The “Please Flush” sign was found in a Clubhouse of a Senior Apartment Complex in Azusa, CA.

I thought they were both humorous, but those signs brought back memories (though now a little hazy) of my two European tours.

My first tour of Europe was with Hubby in the summer of 1966. We had wed June 1965, went back to teach one more year at Tascosa High School, Amarillo, TX. I was a member of an organization of Teachers of Spanish and Portuguese. The organization and some University in Spain sponsored a 9-week course in Madrid. The course was optional, but we could take advantage of the charter plane. So the trip was sort of a honeymoon for us. We toured Europe on a shoestring. We were young and healthy and could walk long distances, climb stairs to the top of domes, sleep on the train, etc.

Fast forward to January 1998 and Daughter and I went to Europe for about 5 or 6 weeks. She was between finishing school and finding a job. I discovered I could not walk as far, climb as many steps, and I preferred sleeping on a clean, warm hotel bed. But the tour was a great adventure nonetheless.

On the second tour, I was also more picky on the bathroom facilities, especially those found in public places such as the train stations and restaurants. Even some of the older accommodations in Barcelona, Florence and other cities could have been brought to higher standards. Daughter and I began to joke and take notice of some of the signs found in some rest room facilities. I don’t remember specific wordings on the signs, but our lodging in Valencia, Spain was a place that had signs plastered on the bedroom walls as well as the rest room walls. Most of the signs had instructions or directions of things NOT to do. We thought the experience was very funny.


I feel very fortunate to have done that traveling--sweet memories of experiences with very dear ones.

Inauguration thoughts

Like millions around the world, I watched the inauguration of our 44th president today. It was quite a celebration.

I recall the John F Kennedy moment of January 1961: Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country! That was a great moment and a great memory.

Now that I have a grandchild I have this reflection of our nation. Our country has been great for us, and it will be great again for him. So help us God.

Sunday Music and Old Traditions

We prefer to call it tradition instead of saying our life is in a rut. The tradition for Sunday mornings is reading the Sunday edition of the LA Times while listening to five (5) CDs. Five is the format of our current CD player. Our collection of CDs is so large and disorganized that if I wanted to listen to a specific song, it might take me a while to find it. But that is not important since I like about 98% or more of the CDs we own. So anything Son chooses will be great. Today I got up later than usual, and Son’s selections were well into the third CD. After his five were heard, I was then privileged to pick the next five CDs.

The first CD I picked is one that some people might classify as elevator music, but I enjoy it because it has the traditional Mexican music done with symphonic twist.

I bought this CD in the early 1990s when a professor at Cal State Fullerton introduced me to Luis Cobos. Included with the folkloric songs is also the Moncayo themes of "Huapango" which I really love.


But, it was hearing some of the traditional folkloric dance music that brought some childhood memories. The nuns at St. Anthony’s School taught us some of the dances to perform for our parents at the end of the school year. As I was listening to “Las Chiapanecas” (literally, the women or girls from the state of Chiapas), it was easy to remember the right time to do the double clap, but harder to remember the steps that the nuns taught us for the dance. I was surprised that I could at least remember some of them—did not mean to imply that I could execute the dance, though. When “La Raspa” came on, I easily remembered the steps, but those steps required much more agility than “Las Chiapanecas.”




I wish that I had some photos of those programs at St. Anthony’s when my sister and I attended there, but I don’t. Last summer, however, I did take a few photos of articles that had appeared in the Robstown Record in 1949-1950. When I saw this group picture of children, I identified with them immediately. I recognized the stage where I had danced “Las Chiapanecas” two or three years before them.

 

Click on the photo to read the names of the children. The only boy in the photo went on to become a local/regional celebrity who had his own tv series of variety shows. He is now known as Johnny Canales instead of Juanito Canales.

Christmas Tulips in Bloom

My niece and sister-in-law gave me a really sweet gift for Christmas. Thank you very much. As you can see, I have been really enjoying your gift. They are well aware that I love flowers and gardening. The major jobs in gardening are getting a bit much for me, now, but I still can do the 'little' jobs.

The gift: three tulip bulbs in water. I wish I had started photographing the growth from Christmas day, but just the last three days have been dramatic enough.

 

This was on Monday.

  

Here is Tuesday.

  

And, this one was taken tonight.

But I think my favorite photo is this one that I Photoshopped some effects. I like to do that just to see what comes out.

 

Since I grew up in South Texas, I always thought a tulip was something esoteric, and I can't recall that we ever had any tulips growing in our vicinity. Since moving to California I have had limited success with tulips. They will be in bloom when I purchase them (just before Easter), and then never again will I see a flower. I have tried storing them in the freezer, but that did not help.

Daffodils have been more responsive. I can usually count on daffodils coming up around the time for my birthday. Hope I get to see some this year. I like all flowers.

New Year, New Calendar

First day of the new year means I had to choose a new calendar. I receive many mailing labels from charitable organizations, and a number of them have sent me calendars, too. I like the one with flowers, so I will keep that one in the kitchen where we write down all our appointments. The calendar with pictures of wild life is very attractive, too. Maybe that will go in my sewing room--don't have to check that one for coming commitments. I keep a mini calendar by the telephone in the kitchen/dining area. The medium-size calendar with the pictures done by the Mouth and Foot Painting Artists is kept by my computer.

Then there is still another calendar that I frequently refer to and that is the pocket sized one where I keep all the information that is on the first calendar--the one in the kitchen with everyone's appointments. I carry that calendar in my purse. It is handy to have all that information with me when I am at the dentist's office and need to make the next appointment. I know some people keep their calendar in their computer, but I need to have all these calendars to keep me informed of what is coming up next.

The calendars that I remember when I was a child were usually hung in the kitchen area. I remember a popular picture of a calendar was of a beautiful couple of Indians. I remember reference being made to the woman as "La Mujer Dormida" and of the man as "Popo." Not much else explanation do I remember being given at the time. If it was, it probably had little meaning to me at the time. It was not until probably about the time I was a teen-ager that I learned about the legend of the star-crossed lovers Mixtli and Popoca. It is a beautiful story (reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet) of the formation of the volcanoes Ixtaccihuatl  and Popcatépetl.

The other type of calendar I remember we had was one courtesy of the funeral home or of the Catholic church. I liked that one better because every day had the name of a saint. I never found my name among the saints' in the calendars, but I remember that San Fidel was the name on my birthday. The other thing the calendar had were symbols of fish for every Friday and other days designated to be meatless days. I think during Lent there were lot of "fishy" days, too. It also listed the holy days of obligation--when we had to go to Mass! I think I mainly enjoyed reading all the names of the Saints and hoped that one day there would be a saint listed with my name.