tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4998860415663827942024-02-06T21:18:49.786-08:00Memorias and memoriesMemories triggered by something that happened today.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-91333435516566195782010-02-20T19:00:00.000-08:002010-02-20T21:11:40.834-08:00February, Valentine Piñata and Birthdays <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link style="font-family: verdana;" rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/violasadler/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>279</o:Words> <o:characters>1591</o:Characters> <o:company>SADLER, Inc</o:Company> <o:lines>13</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>3</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>1953</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>12.256</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >The shortest month of the year is more than half way gone now. I have always liked February because not only is it my birth month, but so many of my family also had their birthdays during this loving month.</span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; font-family: verdana; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="">Febrero loco, y marzo otro poco. </i>That was often heard when I was a youngster. I think it referred to the weather, but some would tease us February children proclaiming that we were all <i style="">locos</i>, just like the weather.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; font-family: verdana; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">To begin the month, my cousin Josie’s birthday was on the 3<sup>rd</sup>, then my Dad’s was on the 7<sup>th</sup>. My pretty cousin Esther finished the month by being born on the 28<sup>th</sup>. But before her, my cousins, Olga and Tina come in the middle of the month. Then in the younger generation, we have Rolando and Valerie being born in the 1990s. The youngest February child is my handsome grandnephew, Jerry.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; font-family: verdana; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The photo that I have here was one that I got from Mom’s collection, and I did not make much of it. When I was digitizing many of the old photos, I considered cropping this one because the children should be the main focus of the picture. The outer parts of the picture are blurry, out of focus. But when I studied the picture I saw what surely was the piñata. It was a Valentine piñata, and it was my second birthday! So instead of cropping it out, I decided to color it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; font-family: verdana; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">My sister and I have tried to identify the children, but have only been able to remember about half of them. Sadly, about 5 or 6 who are in the photo have already passed away. The place of the party was the backyard of where the family resided at the time. I do not remember the place at all. I have been told that there were several small homes on Avenue A, across from Modern Pharmacy, where there was Polanco’s Bakery for many years.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; font-family: verdana; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">My mom would refer to living “in those shacks” when she remembered her early married life. Robstown may have changed a lot, and yet stays the same innocent little town in my memory.</span></p> <!--EndFragment--> rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-61879697429087184102010-01-20T17:28:00.000-08:002010-01-22T17:58:14.339-08:00My Dad was a Recycler<meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/violasadler/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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</style>Because of all my doctor’s appointments I had not been able to pack away all the Christmas decorations until now. I probably put too much packing in the breakables since there is little chance of them being moved before I unpack them next Christmas season. The packing material that I use primarily is old tissue paper that has been used in presents of Christmases past—the kind of paper that we used to call <i>papél de china</i>.
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">That got me to thinking of how my dad was a great recycler when it wasn’t even trendy.
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">The wholesale produce market was in San Antonio, and Dad and my uncle would go there about twice a week, sometimes only once a week. When my uncle was not working with Daddy anymore a driver was hired because Daddy never learned to drive. The bananas were bought by the entire stalk, not cut into bunches as you see in the produce markets today. Watermelons, cantaloupes, melons, and pineapples were also loose, not in big containers. To protect the produce in transit, especially the bananas, the material used was <b>excelsior</b>. Excelsior is old newspaper that has been shredded. Looks a lot like a newspaper run through the ubiquitous paper shredders in today’s offices. It was fun to play with the excelsior, but it was messy when the printer ink came off on our hands.
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">One other recycling that my dad practiced was the recycling of comic books. Comic books were the Nintendo of the 1940s and the 1950s. It didn’t matter if it was Superman, Katy Keene, Little Lulu, or my favorites—the love comics, the price for a new, uncirculated comic book was ten cents. Most of us could not afford to spend that much on a comic book. My dad would buy comics that were in good condition at two for a nickel, and then he would sell them at a nickel a piece. Great recycling and a great profit!
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">But the best recycling that I now realize <b>was</b> recycling was the use of used motor oil. There used to be a Texaco filling station next to our fruit stand in the early years (the early 1940s). They kept the used motor oil in a big drum and Daddy would either purchase or get the oil for free to mop the floor of our store. The first few days after the oil was applied, it was really messy. If the wooden floor did not soak up the oil after so many days, I remember that sawdust was used to soak up the excess. I never saw any other stores ever having oil-stained floors, and I never bothered to ask why he did the floors that way. But my brother has told me that he did, and that the reply was “so the bugs don’t get into the wood.” That makes sense now, since the weather of the Texas coastal bend area is friendly to termites, roaches, and other such.
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">Even after Dad no longer had the store, I remember he would save soda cans for my nephew to take to the recycling places.
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">My pretty Mom and my Daddy are on the left. My <i>Tío</i> is on the right. Notice the stalks of bananas way in the back, the heater in foreground by Mom, and the oil-stained floor. This photo was probably taken in the late 1940s.
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAhl3CtwHJDih56a-GSTsqJ8EcRtb3MbUsMJUA0ENhyphenhyphenyZCvyYk77PlNWyz35YgO9tvqYwEjaDDQZBh7fLJC_s1_O2cpa4Z9SyuL0QD57aitV2hxxSGzVNQxE5xXVexwJKCh-sKCyCl_nw/s1600-h/Sam's%20Fruit%20Stand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAhl3CtwHJDih56a-GSTsqJ8EcRtb3MbUsMJUA0ENhyphenhyphenyZCvyYk77PlNWyz35YgO9tvqYwEjaDDQZBh7fLJC_s1_O2cpa4Z9SyuL0QD57aitV2hxxSGzVNQxE5xXVexwJKCh-sKCyCl_nw/s400/Sam's%20Fruit%20Stand.jpg" width="400" /></a>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">------
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">My uncle was the driver of the truck. The building is the cold storage. It was elevated so that unloading could be done at the same level as the backside of the truck. During the summer months Dad and/or my uncle would send young boys into the barrio selling ice cream for a nickel a piece.
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Dad liked to wear white shirts and his white apron when he was at the store. My kid brother enjoyed playing on the watermelons. Mom enjoyed soda pop—even if it ruined her teeth. This photo was taken in the mid to late 1950s.
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EF6rcpBxm_4PowYFd0SuQJuiFHwliyZFnEXcwg1-EkrNtEbQdveEENn6m4gJroZmwum3LyVNGw08gC1zW4mC5Af0ikjmU8UH_9Wl-GfqiWbwN4lsUt1zPDH-BeB8El_8hVj_OWqmLwg/s1600-h/pineapps%20n%20melons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EF6rcpBxm_4PowYFd0SuQJuiFHwliyZFnEXcwg1-EkrNtEbQdveEENn6m4gJroZmwum3LyVNGw08gC1zW4mC5Af0ikjmU8UH_9Wl-GfqiWbwN4lsUt1zPDH-BeB8El_8hVj_OWqmLwg/s400/pineapps%20n%20melons.jpg" width="400" /></a>
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rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-71073897157195775032009-11-27T15:53:00.000-08:002009-11-27T16:05:53.408-08:00My Turkey TrotterBusting 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 <a href="http://www.active.com/running/san-antonio-tx/sarr-turkey-trot-4-miler-2008#Summary">San Antonio Turkey Trot</a>. Not bad for an asthmatic kid.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrP9IdfKhMF3_IX-JO9F2bb7dt8dqnZcJJK3ZdeiaNTp4y0NkXSyJugRF1ZZWxjRJdpHA_XlCfDyHywmk6EqZhaZwY97GcRm7qby2QiFev4q9L7UME2FM4_xYXnb_Dq-IYJ4O9FNp1Qwo/s1600/cyn%20bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrP9IdfKhMF3_IX-JO9F2bb7dt8dqnZcJJK3ZdeiaNTp4y0NkXSyJugRF1ZZWxjRJdpHA_XlCfDyHywmk6EqZhaZwY97GcRm7qby2QiFev4q9L7UME2FM4_xYXnb_Dq-IYJ4O9FNp1Qwo/s400/cyn%20bw.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div>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.<br /><br />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.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-11237632507661851312009-09-13T22:08:00.000-07:002009-09-13T22:08:38.435-07:00The Beach Scene<meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/violasadler/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">Although summer is almost over, we are still experiencing warm days and sometimes even scorching days.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjriYzdAM-YLcNHVHTOELgekdIUsPwEh1_MeUVXKd81Sn39LQW2LgzmMCCLSpdz2o62Gndcgb0PVMb6SDbedZcBQX4Q4vpxUDXyfPth5uURknoE0G4isOWM7zwWXoDO9nNn9VwNBZtMdM/s1600-h/DP+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjriYzdAM-YLcNHVHTOELgekdIUsPwEh1_MeUVXKd81Sn39LQW2LgzmMCCLSpdz2o62Gndcgb0PVMb6SDbedZcBQX4Q4vpxUDXyfPth5uURknoE0G4isOWM7zwWXoDO9nNn9VwNBZtMdM/s400/DP+beach.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">Still, many happy hours were spent in sun. The picture below was taken in 1947.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMtrVUjF71oGowVFDjSERWzITY-E3ryKgxLVggKMRCMJ8rxS9f-idQyYO_7k1mYNdRhHiDTaaUTTWGGzlKC2J3gi-jUCC8-3LWDkZH_iRE5r8OiSGPNIHltLwsfvGiI_TZb8-w6FThTA/s1600-h/north+beach600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMtrVUjF71oGowVFDjSERWzITY-E3ryKgxLVggKMRCMJ8rxS9f-idQyYO_7k1mYNdRhHiDTaaUTTWGGzlKC2J3gi-jUCC8-3LWDkZH_iRE5r8OiSGPNIHltLwsfvGiI_TZb8-w6FThTA/s400/north+beach600.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">Those were sweet, carefree days of summer and of my childhood.</div>rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-52119661338611593322009-08-24T21:35:00.000-07:002009-08-24T22:37:50.192-07:00Lady of Spain Comes to VisitWhat 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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_5g41X0ppASa9RgntsVq3yVXW-pmprT5O4wi9Qyx3NcMGLqqCQjLmIwzLY2AQh_P-DEhw2sLPPIu5as3DxpOk4OKTwrNKqLZb2-xli3dRv5hwG9HNcQLTGLxxZfEs5ex4Q6ru9CVlV58/s1600-h/assum+n+chas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_5g41X0ppASa9RgntsVq3yVXW-pmprT5O4wi9Qyx3NcMGLqqCQjLmIwzLY2AQh_P-DEhw2sLPPIu5as3DxpOk4OKTwrNKqLZb2-xli3dRv5hwG9HNcQLTGLxxZfEs5ex4Q6ru9CVlV58/s400/assum+n+chas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373756311411112306" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppnLI-xZ2UrlvRWb0Lu4l0oJdsSVUjmnoaWYcyUv-v9g-btvNTBMrZMbf5F9ZzEaXAyMD4zzxRFbYdd4ryt9cH_R9lsZVdpWPF-QYlgBtx3XDj6wgEjQlKrcNkuXgEbG_yNzRl6_qvnY/s1600-h/assumpta2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppnLI-xZ2UrlvRWb0Lu4l0oJdsSVUjmnoaWYcyUv-v9g-btvNTBMrZMbf5F9ZzEaXAyMD4zzxRFbYdd4ryt9cH_R9lsZVdpWPF-QYlgBtx3XDj6wgEjQlKrcNkuXgEbG_yNzRl6_qvnY/s400/assumpta2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373768510213557154" border="0" /></a>Outside the restaurant we paused for a photo before saying, “Hasta la vista.”<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXUU8mPDFg-jFMcHPpIaCioNhWhg0r9neZeT5oVengghYuq6PeQRDzoWeRktmr4jk5KXXgiWHzAAhDVOmA8MSTJJ0aY5lBeKDqLhLR4VqIwp_oEOSeq9M-xxonONz1mE4rTmBw7IXLz6I/s1600-h/gaudi+museum.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 303px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXUU8mPDFg-jFMcHPpIaCioNhWhg0r9neZeT5oVengghYuq6PeQRDzoWeRktmr4jk5KXXgiWHzAAhDVOmA8MSTJJ0aY5lBeKDqLhLR4VqIwp_oEOSeq9M-xxonONz1mE4rTmBw7IXLz6I/s400/gaudi+museum.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373770774324136562" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg489MD81j8QdUgqkV55d4PPdO_2ktC7suY6xktfxtS8dy9QNZ0Ji4ckF17f3Kx_a-XG2J1oTGGgKqgdlXmI6DYLqze8V2URTlsdvMwvC8LriYnMX26SpTvYqFaUQ8Y5JgsGMhiLr7aBM8/s1600-h/gaudi3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg489MD81j8QdUgqkV55d4PPdO_2ktC7suY6xktfxtS8dy9QNZ0Ji4ckF17f3Kx_a-XG2J1oTGGgKqgdlXmI6DYLqze8V2URTlsdvMwvC8LriYnMX26SpTvYqFaUQ8Y5JgsGMhiLr7aBM8/s400/gaudi3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373758616671055298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">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.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rPiJI2wxZYU7MRus4UlkQU6SbsEzKXB_iQ-Mw55LpRx9qNM1KsxwmCAeumjuzTB5HcYx-cQ_qnZk5CJtLRr5ChL_ItNlA_SOt_noV01n8w8FUee2pSqLAzTbjPhulOSKS7KgyOkLVew/s1600-h/Olot1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rPiJI2wxZYU7MRus4UlkQU6SbsEzKXB_iQ-Mw55LpRx9qNM1KsxwmCAeumjuzTB5HcYx-cQ_qnZk5CJtLRr5ChL_ItNlA_SOt_noV01n8w8FUee2pSqLAzTbjPhulOSKS7KgyOkLVew/s400/Olot1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373757190996924402" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Assumpta showed us her apartment in Olot.<br /></div></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnLfWjqZ6zT-ag3Jo72kjLvV85zK7T53Gyw2KUIt9UBHSs4r2Mx5yPUdScicOVrCu5c9i6pRH7Iw10dxI-9pAXggyFRFoLOQVvOvDY3bCZzwARzs53_FX94n8dFnrDl6CyzxfEpdJdU0/s1600-h/Olot+family.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnLfWjqZ6zT-ag3Jo72kjLvV85zK7T53Gyw2KUIt9UBHSs4r2Mx5yPUdScicOVrCu5c9i6pRH7Iw10dxI-9pAXggyFRFoLOQVvOvDY3bCZzwARzs53_FX94n8dFnrDl6CyzxfEpdJdU0/s400/Olot+family.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373758130444808898" border="0" /></a>We were warmly greeted by her own family.<br /></div><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFAzXUAjGvVZjo8L3ccFsXxaiflfveo93XUzteTBf0TUUqd5CtRGwyki_5LA9HFjSkJx6JMxtBsz39ZrneYJdlltXbm60C-m6nWPXgH08mNwu_RHlLw-VQATEwjUprrQ6OUvfTbxQbR8/s1600-h/holy+family2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFAzXUAjGvVZjo8L3ccFsXxaiflfveo93XUzteTBf0TUUqd5CtRGwyki_5LA9HFjSkJx6JMxtBsz39ZrneYJdlltXbm60C-m6nWPXgH08mNwu_RHlLw-VQATEwjUprrQ6OUvfTbxQbR8/s400/holy+family2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373764184096697714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JeZN4WtAIftJVhJhXIiyugLS8yCabTnMBMCsLywMckiYRXp9w8Qb8IGmv43fOkdTIUW87a54RtnA85CQCarmnhjOeqItEsHOBSNfi2bWcg4YIAKoJVmU8OjXIJvhHhBw_86NQkvnFEs/s1600-h/judaskiss33.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JeZN4WtAIftJVhJhXIiyugLS8yCabTnMBMCsLywMckiYRXp9w8Qb8IGmv43fOkdTIUW87a54RtnA85CQCarmnhjOeqItEsHOBSNfi2bWcg4YIAKoJVmU8OjXIJvhHhBw_86NQkvnFEs/s400/judaskiss33.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373764882860932722" border="0" /></a><br />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?rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-20268398320638795452009-08-12T20:39:00.000-07:002009-08-12T20:39:01.642-07:00Special 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.<br />
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One of the best obits is this one from the <a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-eunice-kennedy-shriver12-2009aug12,0,4627914.story?page=1">LATimes.</a>rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-15715269614534597212009-08-09T18:22:00.000-07:002009-08-09T18:22:26.390-07:00Holy Redeemer Church, Laredo, Texas<div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0JWD4tZg0Gl7b5UYm0f7RWhQrFGZTON_PpZ6ngOcaQFdFEKraa5-7Tk-v8YwWFQqUNwLBOtA9HYnaA4vBhzR0876sVH5plBBSem2DTV6V-5-h__wqgTLg6qIQy3g_lZyX8ZCzta7b44/s1600-h/holyredemerchurchlaredo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0JWD4tZg0Gl7b5UYm0f7RWhQrFGZTON_PpZ6ngOcaQFdFEKraa5-7Tk-v8YwWFQqUNwLBOtA9HYnaA4vBhzR0876sVH5plBBSem2DTV6V-5-h__wqgTLg6qIQy3g_lZyX8ZCzta7b44/s320/holyredemerchurchlaredo.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">This is the church that we attended when I lived in Laredo for a couple of years. We referred to it as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Redentor</i>, 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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">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!</div>rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-3972391320045296912009-05-15T16:16:00.000-07:002009-05-15T16:16:00.596-07:00It's May!It’s May, it’s May the merry month of May. And I have not blogged since March.<br />
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Last Friday I discovered an <a href="http://www.archive.org/web/web.php">archival site</a> that still has my first attempt at having <a href="http://web.archive.org/web/*/http://members.aol.com/vrsadler">my own webpage</a> 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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKFhl8H-cLC-kB4swrf8QSXaNk4VWPn954FcYrTvFEuvxBlN_QdYmgIoxDXVWcD240OL_bch3g8L4FUQLTYTO_H-DUIY_LYPaYHmDGtT_Q2VAhoWNOxhpShSivGYIpUkW3_e2WVWcAT8/s1600-h/Teresitas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKFhl8H-cLC-kB4swrf8QSXaNk4VWPn954FcYrTvFEuvxBlN_QdYmgIoxDXVWcD240OL_bch3g8L4FUQLTYTO_H-DUIY_LYPaYHmDGtT_Q2VAhoWNOxhpShSivGYIpUkW3_e2WVWcAT8/s400/Teresitas.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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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 <i>Hijas de María</i> and the other <i>Las Teresitas</i>. 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 <i>Teresitas</i> uniform, sit as a group in church, and go to Holy Communion during the Mass.<br />
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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 (<i>La Virgen María</i>), and one way of celebrating was by offering flowers in the evening during the recital of the rosary. <br />
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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 <i>Record.</i> It brought a smile of pride to my face.<br />
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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 <i><b>alabanzas</b></i>, 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 <i>Hijas de María</i>. <br />
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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.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-45466227555341316792009-03-28T22:15:00.000-07:002009-03-29T00:46:38.352-07:00Amarillo Had a SnowstormHubby 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. <br />
You can see a slide show of the snow storm at the <a href="http://media.amarillo.com/photos/winterstorm_032709/index.html">newspaper website</a>.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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).<br />
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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.<br />
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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?<br />
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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.<br />
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-45800910109772765562009-03-26T22:18:00.000-07:002009-03-26T22:18:15.469-07:00WildflowersI 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.<br />
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But I got to thinking about some of the weeds that are beautiful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2AgsjSdhOx1tNTkUuQtFdkKx9jgDffhpQKGh7YkFmlHbm4dIuVtHQq9rUMH52rFOhSOtfkyoH81CSwz3GAdeMZNjqJQBfL5dAa77oi_0WyDjGaOBWSFFyh-LCYgR1fE2u8QXDGg3LZfI/s1600-h/poppies+field.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2AgsjSdhOx1tNTkUuQtFdkKx9jgDffhpQKGh7YkFmlHbm4dIuVtHQq9rUMH52rFOhSOtfkyoH81CSwz3GAdeMZNjqJQBfL5dAa77oi_0WyDjGaOBWSFFyh-LCYgR1fE2u8QXDGg3LZfI/s320/poppies+field.jpg" /></a>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!<br />
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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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEcqQ9jI1Dr7hVDyzoqGX3gP0Mc5H1jwWKFuBexJVwAKvtHJOtrXbXAqa6v-72TsgzlkqitxyMw-z9Rg1zRek7Zr41wrec8qYJ-bh621luAFQYSM4RxRWC6rL6v-r-WrZtY7AIOo_AGc/s1600-h/future+hist+mission.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEcqQ9jI1Dr7hVDyzoqGX3gP0Mc5H1jwWKFuBexJVwAKvtHJOtrXbXAqa6v-72TsgzlkqitxyMw-z9Rg1zRek7Zr41wrec8qYJ-bh621luAFQYSM4RxRWC6rL6v-r-WrZtY7AIOo_AGc/s320/future+hist+mission.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RFYPXRW-4sOG1RDHtOaRKQLvGBCB_S-GdnRSabR9GW8UlrxvvCL2rOf1WbF3k_tKnleQlcttUwWA8Qyc3ZhQgjlg6MZ-jNbz97QwJX2y4l8kY75nBSn1fN-bLxmA-q5yha8v74kwFNI/s1600-h/future+hist+train.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RFYPXRW-4sOG1RDHtOaRKQLvGBCB_S-GdnRSabR9GW8UlrxvvCL2rOf1WbF3k_tKnleQlcttUwWA8Qyc3ZhQgjlg6MZ-jNbz97QwJX2y4l8kY75nBSn1fN-bLxmA-q5yha8v74kwFNI/s320/future+hist+train.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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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.<br />
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The photo below is of a bluebonnet field, but not the field of more than fifty years ago.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbocGqBT9e8hEsbAAzDQLehqvVMfKnscmbwRhwbbi-cew7aTdSYJH9QVHEinuPBip-ATPHT2E_tEDfP5KLpxF6BhpzVuUa2-eCaZjg4ZXZVpD0FNhN9b7ntRNHaKz3pPYkMDpVMze11GQ/s1600-h/bluebonnets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbocGqBT9e8hEsbAAzDQLehqvVMfKnscmbwRhwbbi-cew7aTdSYJH9QVHEinuPBip-ATPHT2E_tEDfP5KLpxF6BhpzVuUa2-eCaZjg4ZXZVpD0FNhN9b7ntRNHaKz3pPYkMDpVMze11GQ/s400/bluebonnets.jpg" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Going further back in my memory bank, the earliest wildflower I remember is the Mexican primrose. My <i>abuelas</i> called them <b><i>amapolas</i></b>. 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 <i>amapolas</i> that grew way back in the yard, far from the house and far from any water source other than rain.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qtazfar5ojHZ0owkq6nYeVWjAmODxbJAPqF5TP7SetmovUtaAVPMpr5by_z6eQAdSWzg6hSHdXj34Y4-2kzc_UxNdGIY4bDYXEl-2aix4dGEraqKee9B8SGk8qQPThr_AiSxE6642E0/s1600-h/DSCN0709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qtazfar5ojHZ0owkq6nYeVWjAmODxbJAPqF5TP7SetmovUtaAVPMpr5by_z6eQAdSWzg6hSHdXj34Y4-2kzc_UxNdGIY4bDYXEl-2aix4dGEraqKee9B8SGk8qQPThr_AiSxE6642E0/s320/DSCN0709.JPG" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mexican Primrose </div><br />
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To this day one of my favorite songs is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amapola_%28song%29">Amapola</a>. I remember Mom casually singing that song. Today, I especially like the rendition by Andrea Bocelli, but Placido Domingo does it great justice, too.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-60521515696571316712009-03-22T17:11:00.000-07:002009-03-22T17:15:12.811-07:00My Special Olympian BowlerJust 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.<br />
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Yesterday, son bowled with his regular Saturday morning league of Special Olympians. His scores were consistent with his average. Not too shabby.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkjCdTFsDED96kxUZ4-hnAju5bxubwn-mHmQjjVbSfiSYp35nMDAimarkPAmjhEZe5ZfTDrKzKHTyw2DUWKz0RoP3MdP7bPzO5SI0w0rXMk1Nvf3U7gTzEDlsXGW5dH8yPj_1oy0KjXRE/s1600-h/bowlingscore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkjCdTFsDED96kxUZ4-hnAju5bxubwn-mHmQjjVbSfiSYp35nMDAimarkPAmjhEZe5ZfTDrKzKHTyw2DUWKz0RoP3MdP7bPzO5SI0w0rXMk1Nvf3U7gTzEDlsXGW5dH8yPj_1oy0KjXRE/s400/bowlingscore.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div><br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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?<br />
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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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7Z4msJoxQ2hxqIz1NYzCDLqn5UoQiD-vGwme99uGWVIW3qLGj1CTpOCV4RSeQjmwtxH01aPdufRHn5I9ARoVZt3yqgdTXETnqtWoYLGysPSc0dtC_7wZqW-9j5hqCp21OgPB7uU7xK4/s1600-h/bowler1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7Z4msJoxQ2hxqIz1NYzCDLqn5UoQiD-vGwme99uGWVIW3qLGj1CTpOCV4RSeQjmwtxH01aPdufRHn5I9ARoVZt3yqgdTXETnqtWoYLGysPSc0dtC_7wZqW-9j5hqCp21OgPB7uU7xK4/s320/bowler1.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>Notice that the children were started by swinging the ball between their legs to maintain better balance before releasing the bowling ball. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6hVlJar20ZDALIDh4uWX9-MzkICbYYvw_ZYn2l48jVv9hYPWXfVixWSOcjHT8nIzyzWxskcQIf3Ba-YA58OisJckf1wH6TzWk9JlnVKaz2C4WiJ7Uwycqu5X2VWqD3IGo10gn9xVUkQ/s1600-h/bowler2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6hVlJar20ZDALIDh4uWX9-MzkICbYYvw_ZYn2l48jVv9hYPWXfVixWSOcjHT8nIzyzWxskcQIf3Ba-YA58OisJckf1wH6TzWk9JlnVKaz2C4WiJ7Uwycqu5X2VWqD3IGo10gn9xVUkQ/s320/bowler2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKT6OdkoIh0KGJW13c2ZebeCzxqhWHmWWe4orRFOXA5VU0miuCAXTeAVZ9xlzj1zf547lYukVIUpZ-7H0q7kdYVqOdG264bUWqJYQJQwn_O0GMIsRs7f7DiGP3syqkSVo-LcXRF8ttc8/s1600-h/bowler3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKT6OdkoIh0KGJW13c2ZebeCzxqhWHmWWe4orRFOXA5VU0miuCAXTeAVZ9xlzj1zf547lYukVIUpZ-7H0q7kdYVqOdG264bUWqJYQJQwn_O0GMIsRs7f7DiGP3syqkSVo-LcXRF8ttc8/s320/bowler3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtWg-NjVNXdGlW5wmqtbZ2VmCaL8EmkXjKGOttnH4a-Sp74pcBHqzEmIcAGT-hUlc2qoHDg_H28D5lmhjvoVn512vNKMcL18KNOdFuACim3O2vETPGk5dfn_baKSFa1rwC4iP48n1NjTM/s1600-h/bowler4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtWg-NjVNXdGlW5wmqtbZ2VmCaL8EmkXjKGOttnH4a-Sp74pcBHqzEmIcAGT-hUlc2qoHDg_H28D5lmhjvoVn512vNKMcL18KNOdFuACim3O2vETPGk5dfn_baKSFa1rwC4iP48n1NjTM/s400/bowler4.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div><br />
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This last photo shows that he was quite pleased with his effort.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmayhqL44iTGULggl_iV0yv07qU2ZMNA2WmjD08vRLyciv9ijoZWu0iu0IVlgBkgPJHMw719Dp4_Y7_ODR6zz9onZxJqOVtDYBQOVKQXgn_PklERkgv9TRiL90g9N8raRSzGWZ3ZAy78/s1600-h/bowler6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmayhqL44iTGULggl_iV0yv07qU2ZMNA2WmjD08vRLyciv9ijoZWu0iu0IVlgBkgPJHMw719Dp4_Y7_ODR6zz9onZxJqOVtDYBQOVKQXgn_PklERkgv9TRiL90g9N8raRSzGWZ3ZAy78/s400/bowler6.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The <a href="http://www.specialolympics.org/">Special Olympics</a> creed after all is:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Please help me win, but if I cannot, let me be brave in the attempt.”</span></span></b></div>rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-19798119199206993882009-03-15T17:28:00.000-07:002009-03-15T17:28:45.912-07:00I 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. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7SL68ehgRaO2Ei-tOuNYvEVxzezwFKwGzj_FSj5PPZS3s0yGlEmwV1Ueytbg4e5hi1uY0ZH9yrpsZOOfnmvRJ9yrugAUKti0OJ9pwm98D1RGh11ngbNMgP9nlJi_mrh9VfJnJHpSbjY/s1600-h/dark+pink+roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7SL68ehgRaO2Ei-tOuNYvEVxzezwFKwGzj_FSj5PPZS3s0yGlEmwV1Ueytbg4e5hi1uY0ZH9yrpsZOOfnmvRJ9yrugAUKti0OJ9pwm98D1RGh11ngbNMgP9nlJi_mrh9VfJnJHpSbjY/s400/dark+pink+roses.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EFri0TgMbetMD0GNXJ4EZU3DQnJKquGOAlqd8T-CwtX_tX-oR4SNhRobrJnNStJw7ysupISxHRBfxJWZphqtsseK-McXSmcDVjuWLIkAyvhpXxtexHdqRfAdkbOwZYQ5sIj_hLprcbI/s1600-h/nasturtiums.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EFri0TgMbetMD0GNXJ4EZU3DQnJKquGOAlqd8T-CwtX_tX-oR4SNhRobrJnNStJw7ysupISxHRBfxJWZphqtsseK-McXSmcDVjuWLIkAyvhpXxtexHdqRfAdkbOwZYQ5sIj_hLprcbI/s400/nasturtiums.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3KKej8tQUBMqKPLcfmdiijL_6xO12FRknGvbC38_GaI6C2LtuwkhtgY27uzI6yuLY2NvoBHnSkQxuupIfxki3OLtt3v2cjwqXO-vuYOq5f33knYj-bMSyCn6h_s3TuouGmoRA-kLmOg/s1600-h/almonds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3KKej8tQUBMqKPLcfmdiijL_6xO12FRknGvbC38_GaI6C2LtuwkhtgY27uzI6yuLY2NvoBHnSkQxuupIfxki3OLtt3v2cjwqXO-vuYOq5f33knYj-bMSyCn6h_s3TuouGmoRA-kLmOg/s400/almonds.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div><br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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!<br />
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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?<br />
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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!rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-57650823089395232652009-03-06T20:27:00.000-08:002009-03-06T20:27:32.581-08:00Signs in the Rest Rooms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2swbDU7J0I4KAFYRSanaLIpYTeTb6Vm7406taxMQAlYtunSoGAheuJH1uzMJkcAu4FhzO-pxp95r2YM8tzBv_3dGuXtOXR2P53T_NoYEAeZV2G9lbCJARL70Sxyfdq7UP53l1_JO_cA4/s1600-h/decency.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2swbDU7J0I4KAFYRSanaLIpYTeTb6Vm7406taxMQAlYtunSoGAheuJH1uzMJkcAu4FhzO-pxp95r2YM8tzBv_3dGuXtOXR2P53T_NoYEAeZV2G9lbCJARL70Sxyfdq7UP53l1_JO_cA4/s400/decency.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix3OXLxYGMu1b0wvJz-3oHFgFUOYBvWRqmMS29RK8MEObOHBuD3Y7CowiSH4BGam8vnnYePghqyDBEISUTee_8Yrd1jILfoS2YRNBv-EtKeRDcrHihGQSFw3lPKDjd8PVyH7SwFfqqu4k/s1600-h/plz+flush.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix3OXLxYGMu1b0wvJz-3oHFgFUOYBvWRqmMS29RK8MEObOHBuD3Y7CowiSH4BGam8vnnYePghqyDBEISUTee_8Yrd1jILfoS2YRNBv-EtKeRDcrHihGQSFw3lPKDjd8PVyH7SwFfqqu4k/s400/plz+flush.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The “Decency” sign was discovered in a Chinese Restaurant in Garden Grove, CA.<br />
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The “Please Flush” sign was found in a Clubhouse of a Senior Apartment Complex in Azusa, CA.<br />
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I thought they were both humorous, but those signs brought back memories (though now a little hazy) of my two European tours. <br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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I feel very fortunate to have done that traveling--sweet memories of experiences with very dear ones.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-90355392974676321842009-01-20T21:29:00.000-08:002009-01-20T21:36:48.816-08:00Inauguration thoughtsLike millions around the world, I watched the inauguration of our 44th president today. It was quite a celebration.<br />
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I recall the John F Kennedy moment of January 1961: <b style="color: red;">Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country!</b> That was a great moment and a great memory.<br />
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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.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-71602478013634998702009-01-18T12:05:00.000-08:002009-01-19T00:32:22.337-08:00Sunday Music and Old TraditionsWe prefer to call it <span style="color: red;">tradition</span> 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.<br />
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The first CD I picked is one that some people might classify as elevator music, but I enjoy it because it has the <span style="color: red;">traditional</span> Mexican music done with symphonic twist.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_XvkRycS-Jo4-9_bGXjU46jtHxBz8QXdfxrwLLUit8m_AKmSWQ6tHA7VUzPvZzXFXY3cCiMKlVmAuJYFgyMyaM6OyS9dvRQ1Z0ZTQeY9Uf_COseGbyXd13bDWqMndDNuT63Gm8dljIw/s1600-h/cobos+mexi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_XvkRycS-Jo4-9_bGXjU46jtHxBz8QXdfxrwLLUit8m_AKmSWQ6tHA7VUzPvZzXFXY3cCiMKlVmAuJYFgyMyaM6OyS9dvRQ1Z0ZTQeY9Uf_COseGbyXd13bDWqMndDNuT63Gm8dljIw/s320/cobos+mexi.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><br />
I bought this CD in the early 1990s when a professor at Cal State Fullerton introduced me to <a href="http://www.myspace.com/luiscobosmusic">Luis Cobos</a>. Included with the folkloric songs is also the Moncayo themes of "Huapango" which I really love.<br />
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But, it was hearing some of the <span style="color: red;">traditional</span> 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.” <br />
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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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="background-color: #e06666; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppXJz7o62m_UOW2FM3u_mlZi3NRk11i_2Fhsb4is2kRUeZ05ZInrmIFuWw3QwGUhn3z0vnOIfqxCw0x0Sk4GpiMh2N_sBoj7yMFHW9yJFrpQanYU_Et8rKVuxMbpA_1hiOWPsVKXQzO4/s1600-h/st+anthonychinas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppXJz7o62m_UOW2FM3u_mlZi3NRk11i_2Fhsb4is2kRUeZ05ZInrmIFuWw3QwGUhn3z0vnOIfqxCw0x0Sk4GpiMh2N_sBoj7yMFHW9yJFrpQanYU_Et8rKVuxMbpA_1hiOWPsVKXQzO4/s400/st+anthonychinas.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #e06666;">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. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-55800244284960681192009-01-07T21:33:00.000-08:002009-01-07T22:06:37.371-08:00Christmas Tulips in BloomMy 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-m8yHf3CTByWZFr0X1-Lo5D5lwgdckwKOMTtRdmNOod6DbUbU6mgfjcpO8P6j4mFdU2_QVxkpRrCeYTDcUJFiFNilmGQoNqFvzjLotQD227DHPO2ORyDyEc6iOIkk23jAAYKMUXbr9oE/s1600-h/Christmas+tulips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-m8yHf3CTByWZFr0X1-Lo5D5lwgdckwKOMTtRdmNOod6DbUbU6mgfjcpO8P6j4mFdU2_QVxkpRrCeYTDcUJFiFNilmGQoNqFvzjLotQD227DHPO2ORyDyEc6iOIkk23jAAYKMUXbr9oE/s400/Christmas+tulips.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This was on Monday. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQ9n12Mvu1M0rJZ1GYBRryRqvgCQ7UpNxSq_bGJQNKn62W1r9FDttts4A9amozZ4kCsSnu6MMMqGGggJhe9DuuObTTAvk-VmBxMH51YF5vM7_eAmdCi8g7h1KrvqzxYge_Ank0oKLLgs/s1600-h/Chris+tulip2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQ9n12Mvu1M0rJZ1GYBRryRqvgCQ7UpNxSq_bGJQNKn62W1r9FDttts4A9amozZ4kCsSnu6MMMqGGggJhe9DuuObTTAvk-VmBxMH51YF5vM7_eAmdCi8g7h1KrvqzxYge_Ank0oKLLgs/s400/Chris+tulip2.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here is Tuesday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EQ77502ftc1_AIQ4_jKJJS8I2nB-7LR0Jdm981eNw6npOl7mUKOutd6wbLYwkysSrKgJAxRw2NXoo7ycCAimyAS1OeNwj_THvA8sqD26OKFlvQ00wao5yOu387CuYlnr4Q43DdVfXRs/s1600-h/chris+tulip3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EQ77502ftc1_AIQ4_jKJJS8I2nB-7LR0Jdm981eNw6npOl7mUKOutd6wbLYwkysSrKgJAxRw2NXoo7ycCAimyAS1OeNwj_THvA8sqD26OKFlvQ00wao5yOu387CuYlnr4Q43DdVfXRs/s400/chris+tulip3.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And, this one was taken tonight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORTHKhPQJzcS3ZdSIHsNJMg2SXMNDxPSGm_l0IXqKwVoyvHLg2nAk47ItS92rk7eoYoXrMCTOaVmSpAxaMfSsXyu5iF5YzvUtgiyXR64bFJgWzBezKDqxCF-ZmQ-BZ7g-e4k1YAUkwJM/s1600-h/chris+tulip1+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORTHKhPQJzcS3ZdSIHsNJMg2SXMNDxPSGm_l0IXqKwVoyvHLg2nAk47ItS92rk7eoYoXrMCTOaVmSpAxaMfSsXyu5iF5YzvUtgiyXR64bFJgWzBezKDqxCF-ZmQ-BZ7g-e4k1YAUkwJM/s400/chris+tulip1+poster.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><br />
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.<br />
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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.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-65721649498019745022009-01-01T22:30:00.000-08:002009-01-02T01:29:14.105-08:00New Year, New CalendarFirst 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <a href="http://gotexassoccer.com/trips/highpoints/mex_mex/volcano_legend.htm">Ixtaccihuatl and Popcatépetl.</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArkmPCTd0tp2AvdYss9G4fsaUcQgMPkf0p7o3IICpIP5fd-6I0oql9rtos7e-CR7YvaPQUrUUM1fM6l7qe9rm4AGMOxC9RV2SwaEGItNUWVO9PN82OcOYHjAUNBG1UGW3oSY9J1nu94k/s1600-h/leyendapopocatepetl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArkmPCTd0tp2AvdYss9G4fsaUcQgMPkf0p7o3IICpIP5fd-6I0oql9rtos7e-CR7YvaPQUrUUM1fM6l7qe9rm4AGMOxC9RV2SwaEGItNUWVO9PN82OcOYHjAUNBG1UGW3oSY9J1nu94k/s400/leyendapopocatepetl.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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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.<br />
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rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-49544430508758924212008-12-31T20:00:00.000-08:002008-12-31T21:21:20.739-08:00It is the Last Day of 2008It’s the last day of 2008. Looking back on the year I continue to be an optimist. We had our 401(k)s go down the drain, gasoline prices went to heights never imagined, fires in California were devastating, etc. But, as little orphan Annie sang, “Tomorrow, tomorrow is a day away.”<br />
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2009 will start with grandson’s first birthday on the 8th of January. He visited with us for a week during Christmas, and we miss his not being here. He is such a charmer, not yet walking, but can crawl faster than his <i>abuela</i> can keep up with him.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikWLKFRcB7R1uDi8Cr7h1VM1hTfiG_Dzgy8tCdnjDDLMa9mgapDbT-yo48gmNfF1Qovrhhtnq6pDW0pPIAj6zolOg6KciuQtKsOqZjk1X5MuH01qIuBJ2DLEkQ21XWRMasg81QfCph2lU/s1600-h/stocking+holder+nico.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikWLKFRcB7R1uDi8Cr7h1VM1hTfiG_Dzgy8tCdnjDDLMa9mgapDbT-yo48gmNfF1Qovrhhtnq6pDW0pPIAj6zolOg6KciuQtKsOqZjk1X5MuH01qIuBJ2DLEkQ21XWRMasg81QfCph2lU/s400/stocking+holder+nico.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Grandson--all boy!<br />
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For the first time in several years we were able to bring our entire California family together for Christmas day. We did our traditional toast before sitting down to enjoy a repast of ham, turkey and all the sides, salads and trimmings. I am always afraid that there will not be enough food, but, of course, there are always many left overs—glad to have two refrigerators for these occasions.<br style="background-color: #e06666;" /><span style="background-color: #e06666;"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="background-color: #e06666; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJadHcg5yLhQN2ZwYtyL9ee_1_1US1fSX2rSmVPU2RaZVDUXZMbKhrHj0775hpi1ErwKq2-et03_ts9yCbGWu4JZhVzFCS31EPNC0Qp0JAduvdhKSc6ykF6Q_yY0hViWhjeuXXrox1E8/s1600-h/family+together+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJadHcg5yLhQN2ZwYtyL9ee_1_1US1fSX2rSmVPU2RaZVDUXZMbKhrHj0775hpi1ErwKq2-et03_ts9yCbGWu4JZhVzFCS31EPNC0Qp0JAduvdhKSc6ykF6Q_yY0hViWhjeuXXrox1E8/s400/family+together+a.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="background-color: #e06666; clear: both; text-align: center;"> Our California Clan</div><div style="background-color: #e06666;"></div><br />
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So tonight, New Year’s Eve, we will quietly watch the new year come in on television as we have done for many years.<br />
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I remember when I was a child that Mom and Dad always looked forward to celebrating New Year’s Eve by going to some dance in Corpus Christi with a big-name band from Mexico or from the US. Since my dad did not drive, they always got together with one or more married couples. My sis and I would stay home with my grandmother or great grandmother. When Mom and Dad would get home from the dance I would already be asleep, but in the morning we would find the party hats and noisemakers that had been distributed at the dance. What confused me was that in the movies people always made lots of noise as the new year came in, and my sis and I could not make noise even with the newly acquired noisemakers because Mom and Dad were still asleep. Even if I went outside to play with the noisemaker, I could not get excited that it was a new year.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-31319449180869263132008-12-20T10:23:00.000-08:002008-12-20T11:44:54.601-08:00Great To Be Back--Christmases On My MindI am feeling so out of it because I have not posted since Hubby's birthday almost a month ago. I was not well since the day after Thanksgiving, but thankfully I am on the mend. I am certainly looking forward to Christmas because Grandson comes to visit us.<br />
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I have done most of my Christmas shopping. Gift giving this year will be modest--the economy being what it is. We have been to several Christmas parties already, and it was great to see and visit.<br />
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The Retired Public Employees Association Chapter in Orange County collected toys to be distributed to the children of the encarcerated. This is the second year we do this. Our president is a former policeman who works with the charity St Vincent de Paul in organizing the gift-giving event for the children.<br />
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The program Ability First had their Christmas party last Saturday afternoon. The menu was pizza from Costco. I joked that pizza from Pizza Hut was better, but I don't think the organizers thought I was being funny, until I revealed that Son works at Pizza Hut, and has worked there for over 18 years. We left that party before Santa arrived. Two and a half hours of loud music had given me a headache, and we needed to get "refreshed" for the next party.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="background-color: #d9ead3; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2RS2JXZSqvj0Mkrmt3RulLjGAPVheuGCRFEXbyNsXhyphenhyphenjU6S_Rq1SGpjoWU42yzu4sCV91jYldqOD18Gg4eBW5fmo82w8EruFI_RIRDNZVMNxnfVk9tJAVhwN3aXbfmNqxX9oFtwwqDE/s1600-h/ability+1st.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2RS2JXZSqvj0Mkrmt3RulLjGAPVheuGCRFEXbyNsXhyphenhyphenjU6S_Rq1SGpjoWU42yzu4sCV91jYldqOD18Gg4eBW5fmo82w8EruFI_RIRDNZVMNxnfVk9tJAVhwN3aXbfmNqxX9oFtwwqDE/s400/ability+1st.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #d9ead3;">Hubby and Son at Ability First Party </span></div><br />
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Hubby has been retired since 1997, but the math department teachers have stayed in touch since before his retirement. One of the math teachers (who retired several years earlier than Hubby) has been hosting a potluck for the math department teachers and spouses for at least 12 or 14 years on the second Saturday of December. Our group may be diminishing, but we hope to keep the tradition going for as long as we can.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="background-color: #d9ead3; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaz6miGQqKdX5RAkVtOSdJPlVqWamawPamiQtcT_vI1kZCub1qLrVRXhn4JGDWrBPgn_eP6rwuD5ZcX5bcBn6yNU_2eNroyakpmL9uSXNf3lJSw390T5QCgZbdUi_BKD_g-pw0nuu4dmk/s1600-h/greenwds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaz6miGQqKdX5RAkVtOSdJPlVqWamawPamiQtcT_vI1kZCub1qLrVRXhn4JGDWrBPgn_eP6rwuD5ZcX5bcBn6yNU_2eNroyakpmL9uSXNf3lJSw390T5QCgZbdUi_BKD_g-pw0nuu4dmk/s400/greenwds.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #d9ead3;">Our gracious hosts! </span></div><br />
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I have been working on our Christmas newsletter this past week. There are still some I cannot reach by email, so I printed thirty copies to snail mail. Most of the others on my list are on my email address book, so hopefully they were able to read what I sent. Hubby and I have been Mac people since day one. Although we tolerate Windows, we do not really do Windows. My first attempt at sending my newsletter did not go well. My choice for a font was probably not the easiest to translate to Windoz and then I probably had too many photos. Anyway, instead of sending the newsletter as a Word document, I saved it as a pdf file, hopefully everyone has Adobe Reader. If you are still having trouble reading my newsletter, please let me know. The central figure in our year of 2008 was, of course, our handsome Grandson. <br />
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As I think back of Christmases past, I think one of my favorite ones was when Sis and I were attending parochial school at St Anthony's in Robstown. For "Misa de Gallo" (literally the Mass of the Rooster--because of the wee hours) we were angels in costumes of white and glitter. We were two of about twenty girls, but I felt so special in my halo and wings. We walked up the aisle to the altar where the nativity scene had been mounted. The entire church smelled of cut trees that my dad had donated for the altar.<br />
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I remember the ritual of kissing the icon of the baby Jesus. Father Dunne held the baby and we all lined up as if to receive communion. Father had a napkin or handkerchief that he wiped the last person's kiss before the next one came to kiss the baby's leg. Were we fearful of transferring germs? We never gave it a thought. Our faith was so sincere that such ideas never crossed our minds.<br />
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After Mass we went home on Avenue D. I think we all walked home. Everyone used to walk everywhere--neither Mom nor Dad drove a car. Since it was after midnight, Sis and I discovered that Santa Claus had visited our house. We each got a pair of roller skates. Have I ever mentioned that my sister and I always received identical gifts, and we wore identical dresses all the time? Mom's idea of being fair was to be identical. Later, in our teens, Sis and I decided equal did not have to be identical.<br />
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Neither my sister nor I ever had a bicycle. Even though there were "girl" bicyles, Mom assured us that bikes were not ladylike and therefore, not for us. We were happy with our skates, but the street was unpaved (had caliche top), and our front yard had a narrow sidewalk about 15 feet long, at the most. The skates were the kind that had a key to tighten around the sole of your shoe. We learned to skate anyway in our carefree days.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-24827463245205930082008-11-24T09:24:00.000-08:002008-11-24T14:30:27.993-08:00Today is Hubby's Birthday<div class="separator" style="background-color: #ffe599; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnsMkrF9CO31sUO-chAD8ZK00pcA_1d_ToT7C2GUk_04q1M707N-7gOZtXV_JE6tHtr7FF7bzxTXChrVyRWe9rFyXjxgHn6mLH4BoywkUl11pgkXXb1k2TcdZigQB-6Kmv32p7QYfnIfQ/s1600-h/Mammaw+nC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnsMkrF9CO31sUO-chAD8ZK00pcA_1d_ToT7C2GUk_04q1M707N-7gOZtXV_JE6tHtr7FF7bzxTXChrVyRWe9rFyXjxgHn6mLH4BoywkUl11pgkXXb1k2TcdZigQB-6Kmv32p7QYfnIfQ/s400/Mammaw+nC.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="background-color: #ffe599; clear: both; text-align: center;">This cute chubby baby was born in Gainesville, Texas a few years back. His grandmother, holding him and known to him as Mammaw was born in Tennessee, married in Oklahoma when it was still Indian Territory, and passed away in Texas when she was nearly 90 years old. My Hubby comes from good stock. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Even though this is Hubby's birthday, I thought I would write about his Mammaw Zettie. I met her shortly before I was to marry into the family, and I knew her for a very short time, but we hit it off right away. She was already about 87 years old, but wanted to give us a wedding present. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: #ffe599; clear: both; text-align: left;">So she took scraps of yarn and covered coat hangers. We still have and use these coat hangers, and remember Mammaw's loving hands. The picture has only a sampling of the "yarned" coat hangers.</div><div class="separator" style="background-color: #ffe599; clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: #ffe599; clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqXhoTZjg0CmfVJAzt4zFDDt_wEojd8HxroMt-HEIJc5EEmy5DTGbud23S-R5SUB5rEDxzaA-FOXfVYre4ah4inJp2KUWnyQD2_n7fiK-ALNX_Kz-uTkt4cAXpTRO5l8LH3sZctv-cwZA/s1600-h/yarned+hangers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqXhoTZjg0CmfVJAzt4zFDDt_wEojd8HxroMt-HEIJc5EEmy5DTGbud23S-R5SUB5rEDxzaA-FOXfVYre4ah4inJp2KUWnyQD2_n7fiK-ALNX_Kz-uTkt4cAXpTRO5l8LH3sZctv-cwZA/s320/yarned+hangers.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-36996687025205619492008-11-21T21:22:00.000-08:002008-11-21T21:36:13.702-08:00The Good and Bad TamalesYou can tell the holidays are here because <a href="http://www.elpolloloco.com/whatsnew/promotions.html">El Pollo Loco</a> has tamales on their menu. It must be the proverbial optimist in me that each year surrenders to the temptation of the seductive picture on the menu. Every year I have been disappointed. Well, this year was not an exception. I tried the single tamal on a small salad and a splash of sauce on top. I could not even eat half of it. It was too spicy and there was hardly any chicken. Maybe next year will be different.<br />
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One of my very earliest childhood recollections is related to my negative experience with tamales. I don’t know how old I was, but probably a toddler. It must have been Christmas eve or at least Christmas season. I remember being at my grandmother’s house (we lived right next door). It was Mama Mere who handed out tamales to us children, and then she went back to the kitchen, I guess. As I now know, <i>tamaladas</i> were social occasions to gather and chat with the other women while tackling the labor intensive chore of making tamales. <br />
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Anyway, I tried to bite the tamal that had been given to me, but it was too tough. I did not even like the feel of this tamal in my mouth, so I decided to take it back to the kitchen. I announced to the women in the kitchen, <b><i>“A mi no me gustan los tamales con hoja.”</i></b><br />
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Everyone broke out in laughter. Of course that made me feel worse, but it was then that I learned that the tamal needed to shed the hoja—the cornhusk cover—before consumption. Mama Mere then showed me which was the proper way to attack the tamal.<br />
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Growing up, I know I must have heard this story of my experience with tamales over and over again. I know Mom used to repeat it to me anytime that tamales came up in the menu or conversation. <br />
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Funny, though, I found the <a href="http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20060916210023AAlvzTy">question</a> on how to eat tamales on the web. Several years back, I did find myself at a party where Mexican food (including tamales) was being served, and I sensed that some of the guests did not know how to eat tamales. So, I try, with utmost diplomacy, to instruct on the removal and disposal of the covering. <br />
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Probably the worst tamales I have had were some that were wrapped in paper. I don’t even remember where they came from, but they were not good. It might have been in high school cafeteria or summer music camp, or some other such institution. Bad.<br />
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The tamales that I do like are the variety that I grew up with. They were not too big, nor too spicy. The masa was moist, but not extra greasy. Because tamales are usually steamed in large amounts, I remember that Mom always kept extra ones in the freezer for warming later. Not that Mom ever made tamales, but she would purchase them by the dozen, several at a time. She usually had friends who made tamales and they would sell them to her or give her some. I can remember having tamales for breakfast, lunch, and/or dinner.<br />
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Maybe I need to go back to South Texas to get a tamal that I like. Although I did take a class through adult education about twenty years ago where we made tamales as a class, I don’t think I am going to make tamales myself. There are plenty of recipes available out there, but I am only interested in eating a few good tamales!rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-73280264401720652612008-11-19T20:35:00.000-08:002008-11-19T21:11:02.120-08:00The Fires in Southern CaliforniaI have been serving on a jury in North Court, so I have been short on time. But, I feel I should say something about the terrible fires that destroyed so much property last week end.<br />
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Here is a <a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-ocfires16-pg,0,4539268.photogallery?1">photo gallery </a>from the LA Times. <br />
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<div style="background-color: #e69138;">This is the photo that I took as we left a restaurant in Fullerton. You can note that the time was 3:15 p.m. If you look at the lower left part of the sky, you can see where it is still a strip of clear blue. For us the fires were just a discomfort of smoke and ashes, but for the people of Anaheim Hills and Yorba Linda it was a tragedy. </div><div style="background-color: #e69138;"></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: #e69138; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6vACKX5T5_C3yR3H_tShfd_qpOYoNHTqj6QKxobrhoaW6xhunyPvM83oZv0ljSJtLeN5tB4upY0_qWz4cFNyRA9CIAAH1_xtuDFuBg7AhmPNxm-zMFcQLepknpOmvCUA6Pq-G-HNjEw/s1600-h/smoked+afternoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6vACKX5T5_C3yR3H_tShfd_qpOYoNHTqj6QKxobrhoaW6xhunyPvM83oZv0ljSJtLeN5tB4upY0_qWz4cFNyRA9CIAAH1_xtuDFuBg7AhmPNxm-zMFcQLepknpOmvCUA6Pq-G-HNjEw/s400/smoked+afternoon.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I think we will be done with the trial by tomorrow or Friday at the latest. I can't complain about jury duty. I won't be called again for twelve months. I was amazed at the number of people who were excused from serving. Most of them had what sounded good excuses--primarily health or hardship reasons.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-71555167992335070832008-11-15T20:00:00.000-08:002008-11-15T23:17:32.417-08:00The Golden Age of Mexican Cinema<i>La Epoca de Oro</i>--The Golden Age--of Mexican movies was in the 1940s to the late 1950s (mas o menos). Today's LA <i>Times</i> had the obituary of one of the great movie stars of Mexico, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxdjLaVS9z4&feature=related">María Elena Marques</a>.<br />
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I remember as a child I thought she was one of the prettiest women I had ever seen. I don't exactly remember her movies, because they all sort of run together.<br />
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<div style="color: black;"></div><div style="background-color: lime; color: yellow;"><div style="color: black;">She is probably better known for the movie <a href="http://www.movierevie.ws/movies/1051546/The-Pearl.html">The Pearl</a> with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pedro_Armend%C3%A1riz">Pedro Armendariz</a>. </div></div><div style="background-color: lime;"></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: lime; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPrqDfWpVb2WHOxlNs1homBTPvKSq-R2d_Z933uA5Df4qS6H218CqngQYe0QD8g6CDqEKE0we6pnIlisUpEGIntTKLz5wiBjzpZV3nAOasmnn9d51LxSd8wk-SweGoiu3utDB9p4pvy-M/s1600-h/la+perla+movie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPrqDfWpVb2WHOxlNs1homBTPvKSq-R2d_Z933uA5Df4qS6H218CqngQYe0QD8g6CDqEKE0we6pnIlisUpEGIntTKLz5wiBjzpZV3nAOasmnn9d51LxSd8wk-SweGoiu3utDB9p4pvy-M/s320/la+perla+movie.jpg" /></a></div><div style="background-color: magenta;"></div><div style="background-color: magenta;"></div><br />
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Again, I was too young to appreciate the movie at the time. It was later in her career that she made a couple of movies in the U.S., but she went back to Mexico where she was a beloved star.<br />
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I can't remember the earliest movie I ever saw, because the Mexican movies were always part of our culture when I was a child. In my hometown, Robstown, the Mexican movies were shown in a tent--La Carpa Jackson. The owner of the business was Mr. Stout Jackson, who earlier in his career had been in vaudeville billed as "The Strongest Man on Earth." Mr. Jackson's act was long before I was born, so I don't know if there was any truth to his claim.<br />
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I do recall that for some reason my sister and I visited Mrs. Jackson when we were children, and Mrs. Jackson had an aquarium that held great fascination for Sis and me. Mrs. Jackson told us that she liked watching the fish to calm her nerves. She also gave us a couple of guppies to take home with us. Of course, we did not know how to take care of them, and the fish died within a week or so.<br />
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Mr. Jackson would show movies all year long. In those days it was not only the movie that was shown. I remember seeing the newsreels that started with a rooster crowing. Also, I recall that when there was a picture of the American flag that showed on the screen, the audience would clap and shout. These must have been during the war years, but I don't remember a specific time.<br />
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In the winter time, the sides of the tent would come down to keep out the cold air, and in the summer nights the sides would go up to allow a breeze to cool us a bit. There were also times that Mr. Jackson would bring a group of movie stars, musicians, and comedy acts to perform live on stage. They were billed as "Caravana de Estrellas." Some of the actors that I recall performing were <a href="http://www.geocities.com/ajzulic.geo/index6.htm">Jorge Negrete</a> and <a href="http://video.google.com/videosearch?q=%22Luis+Aguilar%22&ie=UTF-8&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&sa=X&oi=video_result_group&resnum=4&ct=title#">Luis Aguilar</a>. I especially remember the singer/actor Luis Aguilar because he had big eyes with bushy eyebrows, and he was making funny faces as part of the act. I continue to be a big fan of old Mexican movies of that era, both the musicals and the dramas.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-45023293810938717752008-11-12T17:58:00.000-08:002008-11-12T18:03:34.774-08:00The Heiress, the playWe went to <a href="http://www.scr.org/">South Coast Repertory</a> last night to see <a href="http://www.answers.com/topic/the-heiress">“The Heiress.”</a> I don’t know why it is one of my favorites because I usually like happy endings. The ending of this play can’t exactly be called happy, maybe avenged. The cast at the Costa Mesa theatre proved very professional, and the audience heralded a few ‘bravos’ and ‘bravas’ at the actors during curtain call.<br />
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This play was based on a Henry James novel and was first staged in New York in 1947, but it was the movie of 1949 that I remember. In my youth I probably saw every movie that was shown in my hometown. But in 1949 I was really too young to appreciate the drama—musicals were more my liking. My dad was not one to give ratings to movies, but I recall that after he saw this movie, he declared it “really good.” I was only impressed that Olivia de Havilland looked sort of plain. Of course she won an Oscar for that role later on.<br />
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Fast forward to my years at Laredo Junior College. Since during high school, I had been in the class plays both my junior and senior years, I became involved with the drama group at LJC. I did not make the casting when Mr. Kielson announced the play was to be The Heiress. I did volunteer to work backstage, and was given the job of assistant stage manager. <br />
My work in high school plays had been light fare, so I expected the students at LJC to be about the same level. I was truly surprised, when I watched the rehearsals and the girl named Rosina in the role of Catherine Sloper was literally crying real tears! She was truly great in the role. I have at times wondered if Rosina continued to exploit her thespian talent. I don't recall her last name, nor do I know what has become of her.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-499886041566382794.post-36733861194124975682008-11-11T09:06:00.000-08:002008-11-11T12:08:01.318-08:00Veteran's Day and Tio GilToday is Veteran’s Day. The banks are closed, and so are government offices. But I will pay tribute to the veterans in my family.<br />
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My father was married and father of two when WWII broke out. He did not volunteer for service as he was trying to raise a young family. He did get a draft notice, I have been told, but the war was over before he had to report for duty.<br />
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The person in my family who did serve during WWII was one of my favorite uncles, Tío Gil.<br />
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<div style="background-color: red;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">I remember his photo hanging in my grandmother’s house. He was a hero to me, and a very handsome hero, too. All of my mother’s brothers were handsome. But a man in a sailor’s uniform was a charmer.</span></b> </div><div style="background-color: red;"></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: red; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8oZl-87-CeO8xuW_ohZ55QneZfTgqw6ja-aANLovnOviDn_B5XTax-CaX3zOFb4ccRhhPLQyVpvdIr0gNG6OJnHQrYYTYO72b4W_hDgK9dKjM2EqdBgHGjuCiwlcIKeuw28E5or0kOs/s1600-h/J216x294-00465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8oZl-87-CeO8xuW_ohZ55QneZfTgqw6ja-aANLovnOviDn_B5XTax-CaX3zOFb4ccRhhPLQyVpvdIr0gNG6OJnHQrYYTYO72b4W_hDgK9dKjM2EqdBgHGjuCiwlcIKeuw28E5or0kOs/s400/J216x294-00465.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The things I remember was that Tío Gil served in the Pacific. My mom would write to him and he responded. I recall Mom crying after she would get a letter from him and asking my sister and me to kneel down and pray for his safe return. <br />
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There was censoring in the correspondence at that time, but I recall Mom pointing out the phrase, “Gil is OK now.” This was probably used by many of the servicemen to indicate that they were in <a href="http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/facility/okinawa-battle.htm">Okinawa</a>. I don’t recall the year when this happened, but I must have been pre-school age. It is amazing that the phrase has stayed with me all of these years.<br />
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On my dad’s side of the family, all of my male cousins served in the US Army, and I salute them, too.rockyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00176583971242598554noreply@blogger.com0