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Saw you in the Ojo
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D IRE C TOR Y PUBLISHER Richard Tingen
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Alejandro Grattan-Domínguez Tel: (01376) 765 3676, 765 2877 Fax: (01376) 765 3528 Associate Publisher David Tingen Graphic Design Roberto C. Rojas Diana Parra Morales
Index...
FEATURE ARTICLES
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COVER STORY
Margie Keane waxes nostalgically about a long-ago visit to the home of her sports-heroes, The Boston Red Sox. 18 ADVENTURE Mark Sconce remembers a long-ago train trip from Calcutta to Nepal when he was a volunteer with the Peace Corps.
Associate Editor Victoria Schmidt Art Critic / Contributing Editor Rob Mohr
28 HUMOR
Theater Critic Michael Warren Book Review Panel Margaret Van Every Margaret Porter Clare Gearhart
Sales Manager Bruce Fraser Carmene Berner Office Secretary Rocio Madrigal ADVERTISING OFFICE Av. Hidalgo # 223, Chapala Mon. thru Fri. 9am - 5pm Sat. 9am - 1pm Tel. 01 (376) 765 2877, 765 3676 Fax 01 (376) 765 3528
38 LAKESIDE LIVING
COLUMNS THIS MONTH 6
Editor’s Page
Rachel McMillan finds humor and off-beat drama in something as prosaic as buying a car.
12 Front Row Center
36 FOOD/HISTORY
14 Yummy
Anna Berlin, a Certified Life Coach, leads us toward what she calls a “divine gift.”
20 Profiling Tepehua
60 LITERARY MATTERS
24 Hears at Work
Carole Bradley tells us more about the upcoming Lake Chapala Writers Conference.
26 Welcome to Mexico
62 NOSTALGIA
38 Lakeside Living
Bernie Suttle fondly looks back at a childhood lived along the once-famous Route 66, in its time the longest highway in the world, going all the way from Chicago to Los Angeles.
Send all correspondence, subscriptions or advertising to: El Ojo del Lago http://www.chapala.com ojodellago@prodigy.net.mx Ave. Hidalgo 223 (or Apartado 279), 45900 Chapala, Jalisco Tels.: (376) 765 3676, Fax 765 3528 PRINTING: El Debate El Ojo del Lago aparece los primeros cinco días de cada mes. (Distributed over the first five days of each month) Certificado de Licitud de Título 3693 Certificado de Licitud de Contenido 3117. Reserva al Título de Derechos de Autor 04-2011-103110024300-102 Control 14301. Permisos otorgados por la Secretaría de Gobernación (EXP. 1/432 “88”/5651 de 2 de junio de 1993) y SEP (Reserva 171.94 control 14301) del 15 de enero de 1994. Distribución: Hidalgo 223 Chapala, Jalisco, México. All contents are fully protected by copyright and may not be reproduced without the written consent of El Ojo del Lago. Opinions expressed by the authors do not necessarily reflect the views of the Publisher or the Editor, nor are we responsible for the claims made by our advertisers. We welcome letters, which should include name, address and telephone number.
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8 Nothern Lights Festival de Febrero
Special Events Editor Sandy Olson
Roving Correspondent Dr. Lorin Swinehart
COVER STORY
VOLUME 35 NUMBER 5
El Ojo del Lago / January 2019
58 Bridge by Lake 64 Imprints
Saw you in the Ojo
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COLUMNIST
Editor’s Page
By Alejandro Grattan-Dominguez
JAMES HILTON—The Man with the Magic
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ome months ago, this column rendered an opinion as to what was the best novel ever written. Our choice was Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables, and we hope we provided enough empirical evidence to support such a selection. This month’s column is far more subjective as it deals with our favorite novelist of all-time. Early on, that author set forth his credo: “Surely there comes a time when counting the cost and paying the price aren’t things to think about anymore. All that matters is value—the ultimate value of what one does.” Over the course of his relatively short life, James Hilton published 20 novels, many short stories, and several works of non-fiction. More astounding is that over an 18-month period in the late 1930’s and early 1940’s, he wrote three international best-sellers in a row and won an Academy Award for Best Adaption for his script of the book, Mrs. Miniver. That film is famous for another reason. In the early 1940s, Britain stood alone against the Hitler Murder Machine, and the film is about one family and what they did to help bring back to safety the remnants of the British (and French) Army stranded at Dunkirk. Greer Garson (British by birth) won the Oscar for Best Actress in the title role in the film, and in accepting the award in Hollywood she made an impassioned plea to those still not totally dedicated to the defeat of the Nazis to come to Britain’s aid. (The United States would not come into the war until the attack on Pearl Harbor.) She spoke for more than forty minutes and not a single soul in the spellbound audience rose to protest. Indeed, when it was over, Miss Garson received the longest ovation in the entire history of the Oscar ceremonies. As for Hilton’s literary trifecta of three international best-sellers in a row, they were Goodbye, Mister Chips, Lost Horizon and Random Harvest. The first novel was about the retirement of a master in a small private school in England in the early 20th century. Hilton’s own father had been such a
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James Hilton
teacher, and that surely helped give the novel its enormous emotional power. Lost Horizon would make the word “Shangri-la” known all over the world, a mythical place high in the mountains of Tibet where peace and serenity perpetually prevail. From that time on, the word was synonymous with Mankind’s quest to find just such a place, if only in its heart. Random Harvest is the story of a British officer, who having lost his memory, ends up in a military hospital after the First World War. Later, he falls in love and marries a young woman, has a son and settles down to a life as a budding writer. But a few years later, in another town where he has gone to be interviewed for the editorship of a small magazine, he is hit by a truck in heavy traffic, and though only slightly injured, the accident serves to restore his original memory, but clouds his most recent background, including his marriage. How he and his wife (again, played in the movie by the magnificent Greer Garson) are eventually reunited is the stuff of “magic” that only the very best story-tellers in the entire world seem to possess. If the novels were enormously popular, the movies made from them only enhanced Hilton’s reputation. (The majestic Ronald Colman starred in the last two movies mentioned above.) Hilton spent his final years working as a top screen-writer at MGM, then known as “The Rolls Royce of all the fantasy factories in the world.” He would also work with
Alfred Hitchcock on the superb Foreign Correspondent, and in previous years had penned the screenplay for Greta Garbo’s most famous film, Camille. Given all of the foregoing, to say that James Hilton remained faithful to his commitment to ultimate value is, we think, an enormous understatement. Alejandro GrattanDominguez
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Things I Did That Summer By Margie Keane
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ometimes I get this undeniable itch to go back to a place that really made an impact on me. This year it was a return pilgrimage to Fenway Park in Boston, Massachusetts with my husband, Tom and 24 family members - five children and their spouses and 14 grandchildren. We paid an obscene price for tickets to the game and because we were traveling to Boston from CT, we chartered a bus and off we went. Boston, Massachusetts is a unique city. Not only is it steeped in history, it has outstanding museums, educational facilities and hospitals. To me, it has all the wonder of New
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York City but also the small town feel that for me only San Francisco can match. Most importantly, it is the home of the Boston Red Sox and Fenway Park. To live in Boston and not be a Red Sox fan is heresy. The only two positives in Boston are Sunday Mass and the Red Sox. Everyone in Massachusetts and people in many surrounding States are rabid Sox fans but the Boston fans are in a class of their own. What other fans would be at a ballpark at 6:00 AM to watch their team on the big screens playing an exhibition game in Japan? Bostonians truly believe that Fenway Park should be one of the wonders of the world. After all, it is the oldest Major League baseball park in the US. The ballpark is so named because it’s in the Fenway section of Boston. It opened in April 20, 1912 , the same day that the Titanic sank. Fenway is one of only a few ballparks that the majority of fans get to by public transportation, in this case on the subway, known as the “T”. Yes, there’s parking near the park for around $30.00 but the “T” is only $2.00 and brings you almost to the door. Next to the ballpark is Yawkey Way. This street was named for Tom Yawkey who owned the Sox from 1933 until his death in 1976. On this
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street, near the entrance to the ballpark, is a plaza just for Red Sox ticket holders. Fans mingle, talk about their favorite players, have some food and fun, and buy Sox paraphernalia or “Yankees Suck” t-shirts. The favorite food of the worshipers seems to be the Italian sausage and peppers sandwiches, served on a hoagie roll and topped with provolone cheese. Delicious! Where else in America would you find an entire street, six blocks long devoted to fans of a team? One of the best known facts about Fenway is its left field wall called the Green Monster. It is 37 feet high and runs 240 feet before giving way to the triangle known as center field. In 2003 premium seating was added to the top of the Green Monster. Seats cost $200 and can only be obtained through the Red Sox lottery. Plus many of these so called seats are standing room only. Some fans I have talked to say it’s worth it for the view. I think of standing through an entire game and say ‘no thanks’. From 1912 until 1933, when Tom Yawkey bought the team, there was a ten- foot high mound that formed an incline in front of the left field wall, extending from the left field foul pole to the centerfield flag pole. As a result, a left fielder in Fenway Park had to play the entire territory running up hill. Boston’s first star left fielder, Duffy Lewis, mastered the skill so well that the area became known as Duffy’s Cliff. Fortunately for the outfielders, Yawkey had it leveled. Legends such as Bobby Doerr, Joe Cronin, Ted Williams, Carl Yastremski and Carlton Fisk are honored on the right field roof where their retired jerseys are displayed. Until recently, in order to have your number retired you had to have played for the Red Sox for 10 years and ended your career as a Red Sox player. There is also a “wall of fame” inside Fenway Park with plaques honoring many more of their great players There are plenty of eateries and bars on Brookline Avenue which runs parallel to the Green Monster. We popped in to one and found a table near a window that looked right out onto left field. We had some snacks and drinks and watched our team warm up. My husband came back from the men’s room with the news that there are also long windows above the urinals so that even if you must answer nature’s call you still can watch the game. How great is that? You don’t even have to like baseball to love Fenway Park. The minute
we arrived in the environs of the Park itself, I was embedded with the Red Sox magic. Walking to our seats the feeling just intensified John Updike called it “the little lyrical bandbox of a ball park”. It’s like walking into the Emerald City. Besides the looming Green Monster, all the seats are green, the walls are green and the perfectly manicured field is a beautiful shade of green. There is one red seat in the right field bleachers. This seat symbolizes the longest home run ever hit at Fenway, a 502 foot blast hit by the legendary Ted Williams in 1946. Standing there, looking out at the green monster, the perfectly manicured grounds, I think about the men standing at the urinals and watching the warm-ups. Suddenly I got a great urge for a big old’ hotdog! The fans are what make this all so magical. They love their team. Four nuns in their modern day habit- black skirt, stockings, shoes, white wimple and a Red Sox jersey! They were yelling for the Sox. The fans cheer them, they boo them, and they can’t get enough of them. The Red Sox didn’t win a world series pennant from 1918 until 2004, but the fans hung in there. Crowds dwindled but the faithful turned out. In the last eight years there has been plenty to cheer about and the Red Sox have sold out every home game since 2003. They also have the highest average road attendance in Major league Baseball. The Sox fans even have their own special rituals. Every team has a seventh inning stretch and Sox fans honor this but they also have their own eighth inning fun, singing along to Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” complete with theatrics, people swaying, snapping their finger—even young kids, boys and girls, get into it. Too soon this perfect day came to an end. The Red Sox beat the Arizona Diamondbacks 6-2. I took one last look around Fenway Park, gathering in all the energy and spirit. It is just a wonderful place. God Bless America, God Bless the Red Sox and God Bless Fenway Park and God bless my grandchildren their parents, all of whom keep me young. Ed. Note: If Margie Keane was enthusiastic about the Red Sox when she first wrote this article, you can imagine how she feels now, that her beloved Red Sox won the World Series against my own favorite team, the Los Angeles Margie Keane Dodgers.
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A Different Kind Of Love Story By Christy Wiseman
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s he here yet? Adoption is a two edged sword. The best of all gifts for the awaiting parents; the greatest of all sorrows for the mother who is making the supreme sacrifice to give up her child in the hopes of giving him or her a home she could not provide. The baby’s biological father in some cases has no idea that he has created a life and if, as was the case during the Vietnam era, he is in the military, he may leave and never know. I bugged the welfare worker, almost daily, I was so eager to get ‘my’ baby, the baby I knew was soon to be born who was destined for me. The baby we were told about several
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months before. Finally we got the call and welcomed little Gregory into our home and into our hearts. He was so beautiful to us, so precious. I had all the latest little baby clothes; I remember the excitement watching him take his first steps, speak his first words. I wanted him to be bi-lingual so I split time in speaking or singing to him in French and English. Until one day, walking at the mall and talking to him in French, he stopped and said, “Don’t speak to me in that language.” I don’t think I ever did again and needless to say, he wasn’t bi-lingual. That marriage did not last, but our love for Greg did. I later married Beau
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Wiseman who told me he considered Greg his son too. That was true until Beau died with Greg, Mark and Thomas by his side. Once when I was ill and needed surgery, Greg was a little guy. My parents took him for six weeks and he cuddled up to my father and they were forever connected. In fact I thought he was more like my dad than any of the children who followed. They both loved the outdoors and hunting and fishing. Greg so admired my father that he named his son Dallas, after him. Greg had a reasonably normal childhood, grew up and married Jenny. Then one day, Jenny found his biomom living in Idaho and Greg and Jenny went to visit. Greg found out he had a half-sister, April, and the two bonded immediately. He went back several times and even went back to attend April’s son’s wedding. Greg and Jenny had two children; Taylor and Dallas. Taylor was always the curious type and one day, thru 23 and Me, she found the woman, Stephanie, she thought was her cousin, but it turned out she was Taylor’s aunt and Greg’s biological father was found. It turns out he never knew about Greg as he had been 19, in the army, and as way leads to way, he just never knew since Debbie had no way of reaching him. Once Greg knew, he was in a state of shock. Greg’s favorite hobby was tying flies. His favorite outing was fly fishing at Pyramid Lake sometimes with his best friends, Jeff, Rich and George. He dreamed of one day being a guide. He had taken the class from his father, Gary, who had taught him to tie them. He knew his dad without knowing the relationship. His dad, now retired, takes people to Pyramid Lake as a guide for fly fishing there. Greg said, “OMG, Mom, I know him!!” It was a wonderful discovery, which isn’t always the case with adoptees. I saw the picture of the two of them together and it made perfect
sense. Gary looked like Greg would have looked in 19 more years. Gary’s wife was also welcoming and Greg and his new family went out to dinner so he could meet his extended family. Gary and Michelle, Gary’s wife, surprised Greg at work one day with a wonderful fly rod and reel. Greg said he told Gary he couldn’t accept such a wonderful gift, but Gary simply said if he wanted to go fishing with him, he’d accept it. He did and they went fishing a couple times together. Then this last Sunday Greg was home texting someone about going fly fishing and the lights went out and he was gone. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday so we gathered and talked and laughed and gave thanks for each other and had a great meal and a great time with our immediate family. Thank God we all made that effort again this year. Little did we know. I’m Greg’s mom. I have recently been thinking how lucky I am. That no doubt sounds strange. Let me explain. I had three sons and each is different from the other and each became a wonderful man. I am proud of all three. I’ve had some time to think about this and while my heart is broken, I am also so very grateful and that needs to be the focus. I am a co-madre with Greg’s biological mother. She carried him and I got to raise him. I am a parent with Greg’s father, and I am so happy Greg had a chance to meet and bond with him. He and his wife are good people as I’m sure are his new found sisters and brothers. Greg is a carbon copy of his father so of course I felt immediately close to Gary and hope all of this extended family will stay close. Life is strange and none of us knows what turns it will take or when it will be over. I’m so grateful for the life my son had; for the friends and family in that life, many of whom are here to share and remember and be grateful for the time we had with him. They all have stories to tell, but the underlying current of all of them is their love for Greg; their understanding that this was a man of character “un hombre en serio” (a man to be taking seriously) and also to be respected and loved as he respected and loved those around him. The word I heard most often in reference to Greg was “kind.” Go to God, precious son. You have enriched so many lives and have shown us that love, fun and kindness really are the answers we need to seek in order to have a life wellChristy Wiseman lived.
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FRONT ROW CENTER By Michael Warren Noises Off By Michael Frayn Directed by Dave McIntosh
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his play, first performed in 1982, is described as a farce. It would more properly be called a lunatic satire. Most of the elements of farce are missing. As Dave McIntosh points out in the program notes, the characters are weak, the situation is stupid and there is no real plot or story. Noises Off is an elaborately constructed theatrical joke. Each of the three scenes contains the first Act of a performance of a play within a play, one of those lewd British comedies called Nothing On. Typically, men lose their trousers and fall downstairs while pretty girls appear in revealing lingerie. Doors open and close, and plates of sardines appear and disappear. In Frayn’s version, the cast forget or ad-lib their lines, the director is close to a nervous breakdown and the play ends in chaos. He also has the clever idea of showing Act 1 of Nothing On from backstage in the second scene. This presents a challenge to the design and construction team, who have created an extraordinary two-story set. Given the craziness of the material, Dave McIntosh and his cast attack the play at a furious pace. They all perform remarkably well and the sight jokes are very slick. No one was injured so far as I can tell. Wayne Willis Waterman, who recently appeared in Proof, was suitably exhausted and sarcastic as the long-suffering director. Meanwhile Suki O’Brien, in her first
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appearance at LLT, has a great time as “Dotty” forgetting her props and leaving plates of sardines on or off stage. “Garry” is the leading man of Nothing On and is very serious about understanding his part. In “real life” he is incapable of finishing a sentence. Mark Donaldson is excellent in the role – his English accent is impeccable. Pamela Johnson is wonderfully absent-minded as “Brooke” who is constantly losing one of her contact lenses. She spends a lot of the play decorating the stage in sexy girdle and stockings. Keith Donner plays shy “Freddie” who has a serious fear of violence and blood, both of which give him nosebleeds. Keith, another newcomer to LLT, does well and survives the play. Linda Freeman plays “Belinda” who is the only normal person amidst the dramatic chaos, while Fred Koesling has a lot of fun as the alcoholic “Selsdon” who plays a burglar when he can remember which window to break in through. A talented cast is rounded out by two more newcomers, Donna Burroughs and Taylor Shouldice, as the overworked “Stage Manager” and “Assistant Stage Manager,” respectively. Dave McIntosh and his team have pulled off a remarkable tour de force staging this comedy. However, I wonder how audiences at Lakeside will respond to this level of British wackiness, and some of the theatrical in-jokes may have got lost in the shuffle. Congratulations to Ruth Kear for designing a truly remarkable set, and also to the entire construction crew. Win McIntosh was Stage Manager and her Assistants were Jeff Kingsbury and Christine Bott. Next up is Ghosts by Henrik Ibsen, which opens on January 11. Michael Warren
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Yummy!
It’s Funny About Writing...
By Sydney Gay Resident Chef, International Cities of Friendship Calabaza Season Is Now
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he history of Calabaza can be traced over 7,500 years from Mexico to the Iran, it’s a winter squash loaded with Vitamin A, postassium, antioxidents and fiber, somewhat bland when baked, so spices like cumin and curry are needed to enhance the flavor. Calabaza puree is often used as a replacement for butter in baking and in Mexico it is used to make “Calabaza en tacha” which is pumpkin candied in sugar, guava, and cinnamon syrup, a traditional holiday dessert. Other names for this squash are auyama, zapallo and West Indian pumpkin. one cup serving of Calabeza contains just 35 calories, 5,460 units of vitamin A, 246 milligrams of potassium, 15 milligrams vitamin C. For a “Four Seasons” gourmet taste, grated
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Sydney Gay raw calabaza is the real deal, 1/4 cup per person added to a mixed green salad is truly “Yummy.” Eat with love. Bio - Following twenty five years as food manager for International Cities of Friendship, Sydney Gay opened an office in Ajijic where she designs radio programs and theater events. E Mail: googlesydney@yahoo.com
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rom now on, ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put. - Winston Churchill * I wrote a few children’s books. Not on purpose. - Steven Wright If Moses were alive today he’d come down from the mountain with the Ten Commandments and spend the next five years trying to get them published. - Anonymous The road to hell is paved with adverbs. - Stephen King * The dubious privilege of a freelance writer is he’s given the freedom to starve anywhere. - S.J. Perelman Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. - Gene Fowler If you can’t annoy somebody, there’s little point in writing. - Kingsley Amis * Real seriousness in regard to writing is one of two absolute necessities. The other, unfortunately, is talent.
- Ernest Hemingway * Writing is so difficult that I often feel that writers, having had their hell on earth, will escape all punishment thereafter. - Jessamyn West * I was sorry to hear my name mentioned as one of the great authors, because they have a sad habit of dying off. Chaucer is dead, so is Milton, so is Shakespeare, and I am not feeling very well myself. - Mark Twain
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The Crusoe Conversion By Carol L. Bowman
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e looked beneath the dock for a canoe, kayak or any water-worthy craft, ready for an emergency escape, but found none. Panic of the coming darkness welled up within me. The boat’s captain pulled the cord and the sound of the 12-foot panga’s outboard motor bounced off the waves as it sped from the dock. The departed, our daytime caretakers, waved ‘adios’ to the stranded, us. My legs wobbled, as I grabbed my husband’s hand and squeaked out my fear, “My God, what if they don’t come back in the morning?” The comforting hum of the generator had fallen silent. Silhouetted in the shadows of the dimming light, six wildcaned cabins with guava branch roofs
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sat perched atop pylons over the Caribbean. Only one balcony door stood ajar, swimsuits draped on the railing, flapping in the warm breeze. The other five bungalows, bare and vacant, reminded us that being marooned on a deserted isle didn’t happen by accident. We researched it, planned it and paid a considerable sum for it, but the excitement I felt during daylight slipped into anxiety as blackness crept around us. The staff, Marco our waiter, Ceci our cook and Ishmael, the skipper, had left for the night. They returned to their homes on Corazón de Jesus, one of 365 Kuna Yala islands scattered along Panama’s San Blas Archipelago. We had selected Kwadule, the 36 year-old tract
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of sand and palm, an infant within the scope of island formation, for our type ‘A’ personality cleansing. We retreated to our cabin, brightened by the glow of oil lamps that Ceci had already lit, and settled into rockers on the terrace that hovered over the rhythmic sea, to reflect. Sparkling stars in the night sky provided the backdrop for our discussion. Recalling Daniel Defoe’s description of Crusoe’s days of desperation, I started with, “Which one of us came up with this crazy idea, anyhow? I know we wanted ‘marooned’ and we ached for ‘deserted’, but now that we’re here, what’s there to do but count sunrises and sunsets?” Going from our usual ‘hit the ground running, grab public transportation, and soak up the local culture’ to total isolation without distractions felt strange, unnatural, even scary. “Well, we have two choices,” Ernie said. “Either we embrace Kwadule’s lure or go mad.” “I didn’t realize that turning off the generator and leaving us alone in the dark would be part of the equation,” I said. “Carol, I think that fits the definition of marooned and deserted.” We reviewed scenes from our morning arrival to ease the tension. Despite the pre-dawn hour, the Paitilla Municipal Airport in Panama City had bustled. We waited with four Kuna women for the daily 30-minute air-taxi, a six passenger Cessna that flew across the Isthmus to the islands. The indigenous ladies wore traditional, hand-sewn mola blouses, brightly colored skirts, gold nose rings and bands of orange beads tightly binding their forearms and calves. Recollections of how our eyes bulged as the plane landed on a perilous, narrow sandbar and came to a screeching stop just shy of dumping us into the sea, brought needed laughter. Ishmael waited in his motor boat to whisk us away to our ‘personal’ island. After loading the allotted twenty pounds of luggage and snorkeling gear, we felt the pump of adrenalin as we skimmed across the turquoise Caribbean. First sight of Kwadule, the cabins, Kuna crafted hammocks strung between palms and the crystalline beach beckoned us to leave the stresses of hectic lives behind. But excesses of ambition and impatience do not dissolve quickly. Urges exploded to explore the island. We raced to our cabin, shoes and watches fell away, bathing suits donned, gear grabbed. The island measured an area smaller than our two acre lot in the US. Within twenty minutes we had surveyed every inch; another fifteen to collect shells on the beach and a full hour to snorkel around the
circumference of this patch of sand. Now what? One look at Ceci’s shocked expression when we popped into the tiny hut designated for meals had revealed that our Crusoe conversion needed work. Thankful that Marco had already dived for our food, two crabs and two warmwater lobsters, she quickly prepared ‘comida’ for this energy-driven duo. A couple of hares had arrived on the island, but anything faster than a tortoise didn’t belong here. Who knew the art of relaxation could be so difficult? After that first night’s fitful sleep, I heard the sweet sound of a sputtering outboard motor and screamed a relieved welcome to the returning staff. Ishmael sensed our restlessness. He offered to take us to El Tigre Island, the central hub of Kuna Indian commercial affairs, where women hand sew molas, wildly-colored layered materials, that they sell to viable markets. As El Capitan tied the boat to the El Tigre dock, the village mayor greeted us. The Kunas’ grasp of capitalism became obvious when the chief spouted off the list of island regulations: $10US to snap village landscape photos, $25US to use a video camera, close-up individual shots cost $1US each. Pay up or relinquish your camera and no bargaining on the price of molas. After a brief trudge through the sandy streets, we quickly tired of the ‘hard-sell’ business of El Tigre. I longed for the solitude of Kwadule and begged Ishmael to take us ‘home.’ Signs of the tortoise emerged from the hare. The staff’s departure that evening proved less traumatic, almost welcomed. Ceci had prepared the national Kuna dish, Tulle Massy for us, using freshly caught red snapper that Marco had speared that afternoon and coconuts just fallen. Feeling completely satisfied with full bellies, Ernie and I lingered alone after dinner, played dominoes by lantern and sipped bottles of Panamanian beer. We didn’t even miss the generator. By day three, we surrendered to slow-motion. We lolled in hammocks, lounged on beach chairs parked in the shallows of the sea, and allowed incoming tides to swamp over us. I even tossed my book in the sand. Licking fingers of warm butter dripping from bowls of succulent she-crab replaced frenzied burdens. The Crusoe Conversion complete, a new panic erupted on the day we had to leave Kwadule. Where did I put that “Type A” personality? Carol L. Bowman
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Calcutta Karma By Mark Sconce
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y friend Richard and I finished our business in Calcutta and decided to take the train home to Nepal where both of us were engaged as Peace Corps Volunteers. Well into our second year, we were seasoned enough to get along both in Hindi and Nepali. Adventurous by nature, Richard and I decided on a lark to travel to the Indian/Nepali border third class. Some would call it slumming; we called it cultural immersion. The overnight trip began in the Calcutta train station whose platforms were crowded with weary travelers and homeless men sleep-
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ing on the bare concrete, families sitting together for a meal of rice, lentils, and chapattis, the Indian bread. A legion of hawkers navigated carefully through the crowd peddling everything from spiced chai to betel nuts and little bidi cigars. Our third-class tickets in hand, we boarded the Lucknow Express at dusk, a train that had seen better days during the British Raj. It was no surprise that we were the only sahibs in third class, but we were welcomed by the ragged, the infirm, and the lower castes. There were no passenger seats, only bunk beds stacked three high on either side of
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the car, and we took the topmost beds for the long night ride. Folks settled in for the night, some with animals, some with bad dreams. Our iron horse sped along at a clickety-clack 60 miles-an- hour into a very black night with no electric lights. Unable to sleep much, I flicked my lighter to study my watch and noted three am. Snorts, snores and wheezes filled the cabin. Richard saw the light and whispered let’s go into the vestibule for a smoke. We made our way into the enclosed space between cars where we could talk out loud without being heard and smoke some ganja, which Richard had thoughtfully purchased in a Calcutta bazaar. A few tokes and we began to appreciate the speed and rhythm of the train careening north and laugh about our silly adventure. Suddenly, Richard’s jaw dropped, his eyes stared, and he pointed to the outside window. I looked behind me and gasped. There hung a man upside down on the outside of the window with a frantic expression and frenzied finger pointing at the door handle. We sprang to the window, threw open the latch and hauled Ram Bahadur into the vestibule.
He was frightened, sooty, thirsty, hungry and grateful all at once. “Namaskar, Sahib! Shukriya! Shukryia!” he blurted, his palms pressed together. We retrieved some water and shared our munchies. Realizing that we saved him from certain death, he felt compelled to tell us his story. He, like many other Indians, can’t afford rail tickets and, as trains leave the station, they climb to the roof where they hitch a ride to towns along the way. Our fellow, whose name was Ram Bahadur Mukerjee, fell asleep on the roof. He awoke just as he was falling off the edge but managed to brake his descent into death by catching a guard rail with his feet and ankles thus explaining why he hung upside down. His middle name, Bahadur, means brave, and we thought, how apt… The engine whistled just then as though to celebrate our victory over death. Richard wondered if Ram’s rescue would increase our Karma. We passed the pipe around and laughed, almost hysterically. Mark Sconce
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COLUMNIST
PROFILING TEPEHUA By Moonyeen King
President of the Board for Tepehua
moonie1935@yahoo.com
J
anuary is a new canvass waiting for a masterpiece to unfold. Every year that excitement of “something new any day I will know right away...soon as it shows!” (West Side Story). Sometimes we create our own happenings, sometimes we wait. The Tepehua Community Center doesn’t have the time to wait...there is a new generation on the move. The doors of education are opening for change. We, the Tepehua Team, wish all our supporters a wonderful year of health and a ‘feel the love’ year. For all our donors we exercise confidentiality and never expose our sources, but a must-tell are some special Christmas Stories, the very best of people and in the business of “changing the world” you meet the best. In the sadness of injustice and oppression and illiteracy that in turn cause poverty, there is a flip side of the coin: you see the care and generosity from the most unexpected sources. This column has covered the unsung heroes before, those who quietly change the world around them whether for only a moment in time or forever. Some have the money or items to spare, others save for the end of the year and then share what they have. Others do it from a commitment to religious leanings. It really doesn’t matter why, but something moves people at this time of the year to reach out to those less fortunate. Still others reach out all year long. A gentleman of approaching years met Moonie on the street and peeled off $500 USD, stating that Tepehua was one of many he would support this year. Another spent a large amount at the Tepehua Treasures store in Riberas buying gifts, paid his bill then donated the gifts back to the wom-
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en of Tepehua. An ageing woman spent her “allowance” in the store because “she believes” in what we do. A woman of little means bought an item and put all her change into the donation “pink pig”....amazing acts of compassion from those who have so little to those who have less. Father Christmas paid a visit to Tepehua on his Iron Horse, along with his merry men from Los Gueros Motorcycle Club, amazing the kids with their huge bikes shining like new pennies. There is a special place for the quiet heroes that Tepehua sees all year round. You may never see the changes you make, but it is awesome. You may not see the smile of the young when they pick up their diplomas for a job well done in education, but we do, and we thank you. A new generation arises to take on the world! At the same time, aroused by the commercial Christmas frenzy, the dark side takes on a life of its own. Security becomes a problem and walking around with valuables or cash leaves you vulnerable. Many people have had frightening confrontations prior to the holidays. Don’t let these incidents take away your trust in people as a whole. There are many more good guys than bad. The Tepehua Team can attest to that. Always be aware of your surroundings all year, and keep the faith. This is an amazing world and its people resilient against all odds. Please visit the barrio of Tepehua this year, and see how far your old clothing, blankets, and donations in general have taken this barrio, not just in a material sense but also the privilege of education. Out of your trash there are treasures. Peace and good health to all. If everyone takes care of their part of the world, we will have it made. Tepehua thanks you.
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For Kathy When the black rider comes with iron fist between the stones of dark and light to stop your breath and blind your sight and take you, bound, into that night: you are not easy in your rest. Not easy seeking out the light and why this dark’s so hard and bright and nothing left to be confessed: you give us all your best, or second-best, whatever you have to stake to fight, your love, your fear, your need to be at least someone who does not want to die, just to please God, or just for spite. It is not easy that last goodnight.
—Michael Warren—
Unnatural
By Kelly Hayes-Raitt HayesRaitt@aol.com
L
ast week, a friend of mine lost her son. “Lost” is such a ridiculous word. He died. “Lost” implies she somehow misplaced him in the deli section in WalMart, when, in fact, he will never be found. I don’t fully understand this loss, this unspeakable, irrevocable loss. While I’ve been pregnant and I grok the deep sense of creating life – the
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merging of DNA that is a one-timeonly opportunity – I don’t know that feeling of feeling a new being growing and developing its own personality in my belly. I don’t know that feeling of birthing a new human, of raising a new human, of launching a new human into the world with the entirely normal expectation that he or she will continue beyond my lifespan. “It’s so unnatural,” my mother always said about her daughter’s and her son’s deaths. It is so unnatural. Yet, my friend lost her son last week. Ed. Note: Kelly Hayes-Raitt writes about refugees. She is an award-winning author of several essays and has written How to Become a Housesitter: insider Tips from the HouseSit Diva, available at Amazon (http://amzn. to/2hlj7UP) or her web site (www. HouseSitDiva. com). She is her mother’s only surKelly Hayes-Raitt viving child.
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Hearts at Work A Column by Jim Tipton
“
W
e are disturbed not by what happens to us, but by our thoughts about what happens.”— Epictetus, Greek philosopher Back in the mid-fifties, in the little town in which I grew up in northern Ohio, I read, between novels about Indians in southern Ohio and in the Rockies, the writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, along with a little pamphlet, As a Man Thinketh, by James Allen. I returned to these authors again and again. They all wrote about how we are responsible for our own lives, and how our lives are literally determined by how we think. In his opening chapter, “Thought and Character,” James Allen writes that “The aphorism, ‘As a man thinketh in his heart so is he,’ not only embraces the whole of a man’s being, but is so comprehensive as to reach out to every condition and circumstance of his life. A man is literally what he thinks, his character being the complete sum of all his thoughts.” One sunny afternoon not so long ago I picked up in a little mountain bookstore in western Colorado, Loving What Is, by Byron Katie, a woman who, depressed and desperate, woke up one morning “in a state of absolute joy.” Byron Katie reminds us of what philosophers throughout the ages have understood: “It’s not the problem that causes our suffering; it’s our thinking about the problem.” The subtitle of Loving What Is is Four Questions That Can Change Your Life. She offers us a few simple principles
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and then proceeds to demonstrate how these actually work in real life with real people who are struggling with all sorts of relationship problems. She suggests people go to her website, “The Work of Byron Katie” (www. thework.com) and download several useful forms, including: “Judge Your Neighbor Worksheet,” “Judge Your Body Worksheet,” and “Instructions for Doing the Work.” Once you have identified a negative judgment you have made about others or about yourself, you then proceed through “Four Questions”: Is it true?/Can you absolutely know that it’s true?/How do you react, what happens, when you believe that thought?/Who would you be without the thought? For example: “Is it true that he should understand you? Ultimately can you really know what he should or shouldn’t understand? Can you absolutely know what’s in his best interest to understand? What happens when you believe ‘Paul should understand me’ and he doesn’t? Do you experience anger, stress, frustration? Do you give him ‘the look’? Do you try to change him in any way? How do these reactions feel? Does that thought bring stress or peace into your life? Be still as you listen. “What would you be without the thought? Close your eyes. Picture yourself in the presence of the person you want to understand you. Now imagine looking at that person, just for a moment, without the thought, ‘I want him to understand.’ What do you see? What
would your life look like without that thought?” Following the Four Questions you turn your statement around in The Turnaround. “For example, ‘Paul should understand me’ turns around to: Paul shouldn’t understand me. (Isn’t that reality sometimes?) I should understand me. (It’s my job, not his.) I should understand Paul. (Can I understand that he doesn’t understand me?)” Do you need a class, a workshop, a teacher? Byron Katie assures us that “No teacher is necessary. You are the teacher you’ve been waiting for. You are the one who can end your own suffering.” As you proceed to clean up your thoughts, remember that “Behind every uncomfortable feeling, there’s a thought that isn’t true for us.” Begin filling out worksheets for people you haven’t yet totally forgiven. (That means if you’ve only forgiven 99% you still need to do it.) Be “judgmental, harsh, childish, and petty. Write with the spontaneity of a child who is sad, angry, confused, or frightened. Don’t try to be wise, spiritual, or kind.” As you go deeper and deeper into the inquiry process you will begin to discover who you really are. Eventually “may notice that you’re meeting every
thought, feeling, person, and situation as a friend.” The Introduction, by her husband Stephen Mitchell (author of The Gospel According to Jesus), begins with these words by Baruch Spinoza: “The more clearly you understand yourself and your emotions, the more you become a lover of what is.” Let’s all work harder to become “lovers of what is.” Jim Tipton
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COLUMNIST
By Victoria Schmidt
B
y the time you read this, 2018 will finally be over. I hope 2019 will bring much hope and joy to the Mexican people. We were looking towards family visitors in January. But after reading advisories from the US State Department that listed Jalisco and Guadalajara as too dangerous to travel in, and also stating that should citizen’s travel against the advisory, if they “got in trouble,” there would be nothing that US could do to help. Thank you very much USA. This was to be the last opportunity for my husband to see two of his brothers and two of his sisters. His illness makes transportation impossible for him. And now they are too frightened to come to visit us in Mexico. I love Mexico. I have felt safer here, than in any of my homes in the USA. I don’t fear a mass shooting here. In the many years I’ve been here, I’ve been burgled twice. Once by an American, who made restitution. Then most recently, by a young Mexican girl who was helping us before we moved. But I was also burgled in the States. I’ve walked at night, and not been afraid here. I did feel fear in the USA. I’ve also used common sense here to make sure I don’t make myself a target. I mind my own business, and keep aware of my surroundings. In the United States, I would rarely start conversations with strangers or ask questions. Here I speak to everyone
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without hesitation…except my Spanish still isn’t as good as I would like it to be, but I learn more every day. Here in Mexico, I never worry about my car breaking down, because people stop and help each other. It has happened with me. I’ve fallen and been picked up, and my husband fell in the States, and no one, absolutely no one stopped to help him. Here he gets help all the time. (He falls frequently.) In Mexico, even as an American, I feel respected, cared for, and accepted, even though I am from the United States. I know that they don’t hold me responsible for the way that certain people in the USA feel about people south of the border. At this point in my life, I’d much rather live in Mexico. I wish our families could experience the life we live, the people we love, and the culture of the Mexicans. It is the loss of our families. I have so much to thank Mexico for. The doctors in Mexico saved my husband’s life the first year we were here. My own health is better. Our neighbors took us into their homes, their hearts, and some even took us into their families. We’ve found a place where what we have is unimportant, but who we are, and who we are with, and who we love is the most important thing. That celebrating life, the moment, and each other makes life special. I’ve learned that things are unimportant, and the people in my life are the only thing that matters. I am so sorry that our families have swallowed the fake news, the fear mongering, and that they will miss out experiencing the wonders of Mexico for themselves. Here, they will miss out on our beautiful lake, the mountains, the rides we were going to take, the theatre, the wonderful restaurants, meeting many of our friends, shopping, and enjoying Mexican fiestas. But mostly, they will miss my husband. All because there are people in the USA who take delight in making people afraid. Victoria Schmidt
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How To Buy A Chicken By Rachel McMillen
T
he man I married was a man of many skills. A chemical engineer by profession, he was capable of turning his talents to any job that needed doing, all with equal success. As an example, when we decided we wanted a larger boat than the twenty-six footer we currently owned, he immediately stated that while it would take too long to build from scratch, he could certainly do all the finishing required — carpentry, plumbing, electrical and equipment — on a pre-fabricated hull, and he did. From melting six thousand pounds of lead for the keel, to installing teak floors and decks, to building mahogany cabinets on the complex curves of
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the hull, he built it all. Not only that, but he built it so well that when we came to sell it twenty years later, the salesman refused to believe that it had been home-built. It should therefore come as no surprise to hear that although I got my driver’s licence when I was sixteen, and was never without a car to drive from that time on, forty years later I had never purchased my own. Nor had I ever taken any car to a garage. My husband had always repaired everything. For the first few years of our marriage we shared a single vehicle, a used car he purchased from a friend. After our second child was born, he bought himself a small truck, and gave me the
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car. The years went by, and he bought me a nicer used car and himself a brand new truck. After our eldest son graduated, he arrived home one evening with a sleek Sebring convertible complete with huge, low-profile tires and an aerodynamic shape that included a steeply angled rear window and trunk. I was, to say the least, surprised – although suspicious that it was not so much a gift to me as it was a devious attempt to satisfy his desire for a sports car. That suspicion was confirmed after the first outing. The car was barely driveable on the highway. The 18” tires that had so impressed him barely fit in the wheel-well making the turning radius so large it needed a football field to turn it, and the steeply raked rearend made seeing out the back window impossible. It caused one of only three arguments we had in our thirty-five year marriage, and it resulted in the sale of his truck and the purchase of a more driveable vehicle for me. A couple of years later he suffered a stroke, and we traded the Sebring for a more sensible van that accommodated his wheelchair. Six months later he was gone. I hated that van. It was practical, sensible, almost new, and a constant reminder of all I had lost. For three years I vacillated between selling it and keeping it, guilty at parting with something that linked me to my husband, yet tempted by the idea of buying something I wanted. Slowly the scales tipped, and I started to research the market. Then came the doubt and indecision. I had never purchased a car. The few times I had gone to a dealership with Bud, I had disliked both the process and the salesmen so much I finally refused to go at all. I had no experience in evaluating anything about a vehicle other than what it looked like. For months I agonized over what to do, and how to do it. I narrowed my choice down to three, borrowed vehicles from friends to test drive two of
them, but was pretty sure that what I really wanted was the third on my list: a Nissan Xterra. I didn’t know anyone who had one of those. Finally, driving home one day, I saw a Nissan dealership. “It’s time,” I told myself. “Just do it.” I straightened my spine and walked to the front entrance, sure I would have to fend off a swarm of salesmen. No one approached me. After several minutes, I became impatient and approached a man I assumed was a salesman. “Can you please show me a vehicle?” I asked. He apologized for my wait, got a key from the office and led me back to the Xterra section. “I like that one,” I said, pointing to a shiny black Xterra SE 4x4. He had the wrong key for that one, and had to go back to the office. He returned, new key in hand, but the black Xterra wouldn’t start. The battery had been “borrowed” by the maintenance department. We moved to a shiny red Xterra SE 4x4 and he went off to get the key for that one. When he returned I said I wanted to go for a test drive on a road that had both a steep hill and some sharp curves. He looked uncomfortable. “It’s empty,” he said. “I’ll have to fill it up.” By now over well over half-an-hour had gone by, and not only had I lost any apprehension, I had gained a fair amount of annoyance. “These are new vehicles,” I said. “Shouldn’t they be ready to show?” Finally, with gas in the tank, we headed out. The Xterra handled beautifully, hugging the corners, and accelerating smoothly on the steep sections. We headed back. “You like it?” the salesman asked. “Seems okay,” I said, determined not to sound too eager. We were almost back to the lot when he turned to me and said, “If you buy it today, I’ll give you a chicken.” It was the closest I have ever come to driving off the road. “A chicken?” I asked. “Live or dead?” “Dead,” he said. “My wife and I raise organic chickens and we’re butchering six today.” I bought the car, and when I picked it up three days later, a perfectly plucked, six pound chicken was waiting for me. “El Pollo,” my bright red Xterra sported her name proudly from a plaque on the dash for the next ten years. Rachel McMillen
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How I Got My Tattoo By Chad Olsen
“
I
have to go to the bathroom.” “Are we there yet?” “I’m hungry.” “Stop hitting me!” I’m sure you have heard this during long trips with the kids—anything over an hour was long to them. To keep from going crazy, or hurting someone, I would tell tall tales of adventures in the Navy. I told them I was in the Office of Naval Intelligence; the CID—stands for the Counter Intelligence Division. My stories would often place
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me in the jungle. They would ask questions like, “What was the Navy doing in the jungle?” I would have to come up with something quick (I was a lot quicker then). “We were on a mission to rescue Navy Seals,” I would respond. “What do Navy Seals do?” they would ask. “They sometimes have
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to blow up enemy headquarters,” I would explain. “Why would the Navy do something like that?” Eventually I found it far easier to talk about my “assignments” rather than try to answer their endless questions. The stories would go something like this: I’m in the jungle staking out enemy camps when a big poisonous snake starts crawling toward me. I can’t make any noise or run off and leave my buddies, so I throw a plug of chewing tobacco in my mouth and spit in the snake’s eye from 10 feet away. I was chewing “Star” plug tobacco at the time so it was somewhat believable. My two younger kids were entertained; the older sons just rolled their eyes. One of the stories they liked the best was about a tattoo. CID agents needed a positive way to identify each other, I told them, so we all have the exact same small fly tattoo. If we met someone claiming to be a CID agent, we could make him (all males in those days) prove it, without having to dispatch him. “Let me see your tattoo,” my daughter is asking. “Where is it?” another wants to know. “Let me see it.” I told them I could get into real trouble even telling them about it and I couldn’t show anyone except another CID agent. They would all laugh in a disbelieving way, but a little later one of them would say, “Come on, dad, show us your tattoo.” This went on for years and eventually I had to make up another reason I couldn’t show them: I told them it was on my backside. This got to be a family joke: no one believed it any more. Many years later, retired and living in Mexico, we are going to have our first ever “family reunion” and as a joke I decide to actually get the tattoo!
Ajijic had no places at the time to get a tattoo and there were only a few shops in Guadalajara. The first is the “tattoo parlor” with garish signage and questionable sanitary practices. The second is a “tattoo art studio.” These people consider your skin their canvas: they call it skin art and it is “by-appointment only.” The “skin artist” sounds right to me and I show up for my appointment. I pick a small colorful fly tattoo out of a giant catalogue. She brings out some tracing paper and traces the design of the fly onto my skin—so much for the artistry part. The tattoo will be on the belt line and she starts to work. I am surprised at how much it hurts—like a constant bee sting! “Where is the tequila for the pain,” I ask. She shakes her head and instead hands me a towel to bite on to keep from screaming. I wonder (too late) if the tattoo parlor would have provided tequila. Everything goes well, but I wear “high-water pants” for a couple of weeks, to the questioning looks of my friends. About a month later, the reunion is going strong and we are on the terrace overlooking Lake Chapala with my sons and daughter having margaritas. I have worked it out with my wife to direct the conversation toward my fabled CID exploits. They have heard it all before and just aren’t too interested. In our effort to convince them that it wasn’t all made up, my daughter says (as we hoped), “OK then: show us your tattoo.” After a little proper reluctance, I lower my pants a little, just enough to show my newly-minted tattoo. The fact that the tattoo should have been 50 years old and faded didn’t seem to register. They were so flabbergasted I felt guilty for the deception. I later told my sons the truth, but to this day my daughter isn’t quite sure what to believe.
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Dear Sir: After the past month or so the American people together with billions of other observant people from around the planet have observed what could only be justifiably called a grossly inhumane, immoral and unethical watershed demonstrated by the present Chief Executive incumbent of the American government and advisory members of his cabinet ‘An Accessory After The Fact’ can be best described as ‘someone who assists someone who has committed a crime’, ‘has knowledge of that someone who committed the crime,’ and, ‘with the intent of helping that person who committed the crime.’ Without going into some of the sordid and questionable political details of the American government’s past relationship with the autocratic government of Saudi-Arabia, suffice it to say, it was a relationship based only on political and commercial expediency. The recent calculated, deceptive and horrendous murder of a significant, outspoken American/Saudi-Arabian journalist inside the Saudi-Arabian Consulate in Ankara,Turkey is a clear demonstration of premeditated evil at its worst and should never be considered as of ‘no Importance’ or as a ‘pawn’ in the machinations of governments. But that is exactly what we find Mr. Trump and his political advisors are doing and because of that he, and his political advisors are by definition, ‘An Accessory After The Fact’ when it comes to the continuing war in Yemen where for years the United States Gov-
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ernments have provided weapons and military supplies to the Saudi-Arabian Government so that thousands of Yemeni adults and parents, and around 85,000 children of all ages would be viciously and remorselessly exterminated by those same weapons and military supplies provided by the American Government which, and this is the grim ironic part, provided by us American tax payers!! To be quite fair, not only Mr. Trump’s Administration but the previous Administration had been supplying weapons and supplies of war to Saudi-Arabia, but the issue today is the cold hearted rejection by the present Trump Administration in excluding any form of moral or ethical imperative when they weigh the human consequences and costs of such political decision making, but still decide on profitable expediency like the present $110 billion dollar arms deal with Saudi-Arabia as against a strong, truthful and moral/ethical condemnation and cancellation of all arms deals such as has been recently taken by the nation of Germany. Mr. Trump continually in some way or form ‘tweets’ he wants to make America great, but sadly his methods and intentions are doing the reverse and are anathema to all ‘free’ men and women who believe and will protect both ‘moral and ethical’ imperatives before political and self-serving expediencies: Bert Slocombe—A concerned American citizen
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Say It With Flowers By Rosemary Grayson
T
he Lakeside Garden Guild is one of lakeside’s oldest expat organizations and it will celebrate its 50th Anniversary this year. The guild was born out of necessity according to Binkie Chater, Margaret Southworth and Olga Spraggett, some of the guild’s early members. These ladies were avid gardeners and started meeting once a month to exchange plants and flowers from their gardens, as viveros as we now have, were non-existent back then. The ladies took turns meeting in their homes, touring and sampling each other’s gardens, followed
by lunch and a discussion of how best to grow the plants they had collected. Since this was prior to the Internet, word-of-mouth was the way they learned how to grow many different types of plants here at lakeside. Later the program was expanded to include simple table centerpieces that were constructed with material from the individual’s garden. The current Grower’s Group was a spinoff from the early Garden Guild. As time passed the Guild decided to have an annual Floral Show in which each member created an arrangement and the event was open to the public. The Garden Guild partnered with the Ajijic Garden Club to publish the first-ever Lakeside Planting Calendar & Garden Guide, which has been republished several times. The garden guild members do a community project each year as the guild believes it is important to give back to our wonderful lakeside community. Benches have been provided to the Train Station and the Ajijic Auditorium and a Memorial to Juanita Reed that was created by Estela Hidalgo was placed on the Ajijic Malecon this year. The guild’s most prominent project has been the Wipe Out Graffiti Campaign, which the guild helped found and has supported every year. The 2018 board will continue this legacy and hopefully make the original founders proud. Leading this effort is: Georgia Barneburg, President; Sharon Smith, VicePresident; Sue Williams, Treasurer; Joyce McNiven, Recording Secretary; Janet Capetillo, Corresponding Secretary; and Bonnie Newman, Past President. Rosemary Grayson
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A Divine Gift By Anna Elena Berlin, Certified Life Coach www.Wisen-Up.Info
T
he myth has a few versions, but the one I heard in my host’s centuries-old olive grove was that Athena threw her spear into the ground and it grew into Greece’s first olive tree. Truly, a Divine Gift to the Greek people from the Goddess of Wisdom. According to Homer this sacred tree has been thriving in Greece for over 10,000 years. Ancient Greeks considered the olive tree a symbol of wisdom, triumph and peace, and crowned their Olympic champions with olive branch wreaths. Greeks consume more olive oil than any other people on the planet; to them it’s the original Tree of Life. There are more healthy old people walking around Greece than any of the dozens of other countries I’ve visited.
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Standing in an ancient grove next to an over 1,000 year old olive tree that’s still bearing fruit is awe inspiring. Especially since I had come to Kalamata in the southern Peloponnese on a quest, well, several actually. On this my 14th trip to Greece I was
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on a healing journey. My aims were to regain the physical and mental wellness that emotional trauma had stolen from me, learn to thrive again, and help others to do the same. These organic trees, it turns out, are the wellspring of health and wellbeing. How is that even possible, you want to know? Many health savvy people have known for ages that a Mediterranean diet rich in olive oil is the healthiest for humans. Olive oil contains the polyphenol oleocanthal which has the potential to reduce cognitive decline, including Alzheimer’s Disease. Its powerful antioxidants stimulate our bodies’ own repair mechanisms. Its anti-inflammatory effects are as potent as taking low dose ibuprofen. Plus it combats: autoimmune disease, heart disease, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, osteoporosis, stroke, depression, cancer, diabetes, and the oxidative stress associated with aging. As if these weren’t enough, this life enhancing oil is a nutrient dense, healthy fat that satiates—helping you to feel full longer, and it blocks an enzyme that creates fat out of carbohydrates, both effective in fighting obesity and diabetes. In an effort to become healthy and keep from sliding further into mental and physical illness through neglect, I challenged myself to be my own top priority— for a change. I knew that eating in Mexico and America had contributed to making me sick because a lot of foods are insidiously toxic. Especially, widely used vegetable, seed, and grain oils which are all omega 6-rich, notoriously inflammatory, polyunsaturated fats. So, I decided to go old school. The traditional vegetable and olive oil abundant foods of Greece always made me glow, and the sunny weather and sea always made me feel vibrant. Both good motivators as I had a lot of health to gain and a lot of weight to lose. Since the highly-lauded book Genius Foods listed extra virgin olive oil as its number one healthiest brain and body food, I made it my mission to find an excellent one. I wanted the finest organic oil I could find, from an honest single source grower that would have no chance of being diluted by those who would profit by tainting it. My daughter, Lacy, and her boyfriend consume a liter and a half of Greek organic extra virgin olive oil a week as a health practice. She’s a Certified Vegan Chef that wants to start a Comfort Vegan Food business using a superior oil. With her really high standards in mind, I set
out to find an oil that would be the best for our family’s health and business goals. Enter—Theion Doron, literal English translation: Divine Gift. Owned and operated by handsome Air Force Captain Panagiotis Georgiopoulos and his family for so many generations that no one really knows how long they have had their beautiful olive groves. Panagiotis is so handson that he not only oversees every step of the growing, harvesting, and oil processing, but he even turns the earth around the trees by hand himself to assure the best water absorption. The conventionally grown trees just across the dirt road bear fruit that is far smaller and shriveled by comparison. Even though Panagiotis is the grower, he was a bit resistant to me coming from Hawaii to check out his operation based on liking his website. But, he invited me anyway to tour his groves, taste his products, and visit the high-tech, award- winning, family run factory where he oversees his olives turning into oil in just one hour. It is the best tasting, and healthiest, olive oil I’ve ever had. His cousin, Maria, even had a pretty apartment I rented, in the historic center of lovely mountains and sea- set Kalamata. It was an easy walk to everything I wanted... coffee culture, family run tavern as with traditional, healthy Greek food, a gym to regain my strength, and nice people to meet. It was perfect. In less than a month I went from barely being able to walk a couple of blocks to walking over a mile and losing 15 pounds. I was also able to get rid of the angst that poisoned my life and kept me stuck. Focusing daily on exercise, delicious high nutrition, inspiring exploration, meditation and praying has healed me more than I had hoped for. Going halfway around the world to accomplish these good goals took me away from the emotional and mental triggers that were keeping me depressed. It got me away from the bad for me foods and no exercise habits that were aging me much too quickly. As a Certified Life Coach I believe that being willing to work these self challenges to fruition breathed new life into me, as I look and feel ten years younger after just one month. With these new insights I am again able to help others to challenge themselves to feel better and do better. If that’s not a Divine Gift I don’t know what is. Anna Elena Berlin
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Sandy Olson
Phone: 331-283-8529 Email: sandyzihua@hotmail.com SUNDAY AFTERNOON ….is the time to go to the 2019 Jewish Film Festival in January and February. As usual, the movies are shown at 1:30 at Cinemas del Lago, Bugambilias Plaza. “Come by after Open Circle and lunch!” says Joe Gottesman, Lake Chapala Jewish Congregation President. January 13 Operation Finale, a somber film about the plan to kidnap Adolph Eichmann. Lovers of history will thoroughly enjoy this true story. January 20 The Life And Times of Hank Greenberg As he was baseball’s first Jewish star, “Hammerin Hank’s” career contains all the makings of a true American success story. January 27 The Producers A startling, stunning, outrageous, and breathtaking movie by writer and director Mel Brooks, to celebrate its 50th anniversary. February 3 Abe and Phil’s Last Poker Game It’s never too late for life -- after moving into Cliffside Manor Dr. Abe Mandlebaum forms an improbable relationship with gambler and womanizer Phil Nicoletti. February 10 Three Identical Strangers Three strangers are reunited by astonishing circumstances after being born identical triplets, separated at birth, and adopted by three different families is a feel good story for everyone. February 17 Crimes And Misdemeanors The poignant, penetrating, and scathingly hilarious film by Woody Allen about the complexity of human choices is one of the watershed films of his career. February 24 RBG At age 85 Ruth Bader Ginsberg has developed a lengthy legal legacy while becoming an unexpected pop culture icon. This film presents her journey to the U.S. Supreme Court. OPEN CIRCLE Sunday morning finds Lakeside residents at the Lake Chapala Society and Open Circle, a forum on a variety of stimulating topics. A social hour with coffee and snacks at 10 am is followed by an interesting lecture and discussion at 10:30. January 13 The Half-Opened Door Presented by David Bryen The deepening conflicts and chaos that are dividing our culture may not be signals of impending catastrophe, but signs of an approaching paradigm shift. Humans have always lived in the tension between the stability of the known and the evolutionary demands of human consciousness. It takes time for individuals and cultures to accommodate the influx of ideas that drive us forward. Emily Dickinson said, “The truth dazzles gradually, or else the world would be blind.” How shall we decide whether to open or close the door when we are pulled to preserve and to advance? David will present a model of how to live with the unavoidable paradoxes that arise when change and traditional values collide. David was a psychotherapist and motorcycle safety instructor before retiring to Ajijic nine years ago. He is a motorcyclist, woodworker, poet, writer, and Open Circle’s coordinator. He promises to make us think. January 20 The Inner Game of Tennis Presented by Chris Wilshere The Janus Quartet is preparing for a major national string quartet competition in Mexico City. Come and learn what’s involved in that preparation. The similarities between how an artist prepares for a competition and how an elite athlete prepares are striking, such as the thousands of hours of repetitive physical work required and the mental and psychological preparation. At Open Circle we will discuss the rigors of disciplined practice and the kind of mental games we play before an audition, competition or performance. The talk will conclude with a performance of Hayden’s string quartet Opus 20 #4 in D Major, which the Quartet is preparing for the Concurso Nacional Para Cuartetos de Cuerdas in Mexico City. Chris Wilshere is the founder and artistic director of both the Northern Lights Festival del Febrero and the Festival del Lago, an intensive two-week workshop in August for advanced musicians. He is one of the most sought out violin teachers in Mexico and also teaches in Canada and the US. The Janus Quartet has performed multiple times for the Jalisco secretary of culture and at the Northern Lights Music Festival. They have gone on tour twice in Canada and are an Ajijic favorite. They have studied full time with Christopher Wilshere for the past three years.
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January 27 The Art of Keeping Vigil Presented by Loretta Downs In our modern world, loved ones often live far apart. The frail among us are moved to long term care institutions. The unprepared die in hospitals. Consequently, few of us experience the gift of meaningful presence while dying. Learn about the social significance of this sacred ritual and the benefits it provides long after a death. Loretta will share creative ideas for manifesting this final gift of love and compassion, whether near or far away. Loretta Downs has a Master’s Degree in gerontology. She is Past-President of the Chicago End-of-Life Care Coalition and is a Certified Senior Advisor, Advance Care Planning Facilitator and Death Doula. She’s been a companion to the dying for 30 years and created the Chrysalis Room concept for nursing homes and hospitals to provide private rooms for loved ones keeping vigil with the dying. She raises Monarch butterflies in the summer. www.endoflifeinspirations.co February 3 The Future of Food Production Presented by Morris Schwarzblat The Food and Agriculture Organization estimates that by 2050 the world will have nine million inhabitants. Natural resources will not be enough to produce the amount of protein required, in addition to the high environmental damage that such production would produce. We will review the different alternatives available to feed our increasing population while maintaining a healthy environment. Dr. Schwarzblat is a nuclear physicist with ample experience in academia, research and industry. He has worked in Mexico and in Canada, where he lived for 16 years. Morris represented Canada as a member of the Coordinated Research Program on Artificial Intelligence at the International Atomic Energy Agency in Vienna. He recently finished his work at the Ministry of Innovation, Science and Technology and is now an entrepreneur. Morris Schwarzblat CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THIS DIRTY DEED The next Lakeside Little Theatre production is Ghosts by Henrik Ibsen. It’s directed by Peter King. Show dates are January 11-20. Critic’s Notes: “Considering it was written in 1881, it’s amazing how Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts can still shock. Dealing with such issues as free love, euthanasia, sibling incest, religious hypocrisy and venereal disease, it’s no wonder that the drama was greeted in its early years of production with such damning descriptions as ‘a dirty deed done in public’.” The plot: Ghosts is the story of Helen Alving, a widow who is haunted by the many mistresses of her deceased husband and by her son who has inherited syphilis from his philandering father. Ghosts is a scathing indictment of Victorian society in which Ibsen refutes the notion that if one simply fulfills one’s duty rather than following one’s desires then a good and noble life will be achieved. Scandalous in
The cast from left to right: Ken Yakiwchuk, Monnie King, Roger Larson, Johanna Labadie, Peter King
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its day for its frank discussion of venereal disease and marriage infidelity, Ghosts remains to this day an intense psychological drama and sharp social criticism. Tickets are $250 and are available at LLT’s Box Office from 10 to noon, every Wednesday and Thursday, also one hour before curtain. The evening shows are at 7:30 pm and matinees are at 4 pm. The first Saturday and both Sundays are matinees. For email reservations, email tickets@lakesidelittletheatre.com or call 376.766.0954. A PURPOSEFUL LIFE A successful Denver stockbroker one day realizes he’s stuck in a life that doesn’t fit him. He quits his job, leaves his family, and retreats to the high mesa desert of Western Colorado to live the solitary life of a beekeeper. Here he searches for answers to life’s most pressing questions regarding the purposeful life and what matters most. He stays for 13 years and emerges as the Jim Tipton we remember. There will be an intimate reading of beloved Lakeside poet Jim Tipton’s last book, The Alphabet of Longing and Other Poems, at Café Montaña on Wednesday, January 16, 2019, from 3:30-5:30 pm. The slim book is the product of 13 years Jim Tipton in the high desert mesa of Colorado where the author sustained himself as a beekeeper while seeking answers to life’s most pressing questions, namely what matters most and how to live a purposeful life. The poems will be read by veteran actor Fred Koesling. The book’s editor, Margaret Van Every, selected Koesling as having affinity with the material and the dramatic interpretive style closest to Tipton himself. For close to 60 years Koesling has acted, sung and entertained in countless shows on both U.S. coasts, and for the past 14 years at Lakeside with Lakeside Little Theatre, the Naked Stage, and My, My How Nice! Productions. “Jim Tipton was a friend,” Koesling says. “It is singularly gratifying to give voice to Jim’s thoughts through his poetry.” The event is free and open to the public. Arrive early and enjoy an artisanal beer, wine, coffee, or pastry before the reading begins. La Montaña will extend their hours after the reading for supper and socializing for those wishing to stay. MUSIC! SONG! DANCE! The 11th rendition of the everpopular Lip Sync show opens at the Auditorio on Friday, January 18 at 4 pm. Other performances are Saturday January 19 at 6 pm and Sunday January 20 at 2 pm. A cast of 45 this year performs dance acts with everything from tap, ballet and modern along with a large variety of song numbers. Tickets at $250 are available at Diane Pearl Colecciones, Mia’s Boutique and online at ajijictickets@gmail.com. ALBERTINE LOOKS BACK The next reading at the Bare Stage is Albertine In Five Times by Michel Tremblay. The show runs January 25, 26 and 27. It’s directed by Lynn Phelan. The play begins with Albertine at 70 moving into a senior citizens’ home. It’s not the best of places (“It smells of death in dribs and drabs”) but she seems ready for it. After a harrowing life, she has developed a composure and wisdom as she tries to mediate between her explosive earlier selves. She remembers herself at 30, 40, 50 and 60. Albertine is a classic play by Canada’s most celebrated and produced playwright. It’s been said that he is their Tennessee Williams. We hear that this is the first time Tremblay has been performed here at Lakeside. The theatre is at Hidalgo #261 on the mountain side of the carretera in Riberas del Pilar, across from the Catholic Church. Parking is available in the parking lot of the Baptist Church, behind the theater. Donation is $100. The Box Office and bar open at 3 p.m. Reservations are by email
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at: barestagetheaatre2018@gmail.com. For those who use Facebook, look for Bare Stage Theatre 2018 for breaking news and updates. IF YOU DON’T LIKE POLITICS…. …..you’ll want to come and hear comedian Will Durst talk at Lakeside Little Theatre on January 31 and February The Cast, bottom left to right: Michele Lococo and 1 and 2 at 7:30 pm, or Peggy Lord-Chilton February 3 at 4 pm. Top, left to right: Barbara Pruitt, Roseann Wilshere, He offers “political Lynn Phelan (Director), Jayme Littlejohn and Diana comedy for people Rowland who don’t like politics.” Durst is a five time Emmy nominee, received seven nominations for stand-up comedian of the year, and has made numerous appearances on major TV shows. Tickets are 500 pesos and are available at the LLT Box Office every Wednesday and Thursday from 10 to noon. For online reservations, email tickets@lakesidelittletheatre.com. CARMEN WITH VIVA LA MUSICA Viva la Music is running a bus trip to a Live at the Met production of Carmen by Georges Bizet. The performance is Saturday, February 2. It features Clementine Margaine as Carmen the ultimate seductress, and Roberto Alagna as her lover Don Jose (200 minutes). The bus leaves at 10:30 for the noon show. Viva bus trips to the Met Opera are $450 and $550 for non-members. Tickets are available at the LCS ticket area Thursdays and Fridays from 10 to noon, or by calling Rosemary Keeling at 766-1801. OUR OWN KENNETH SALZMANN The 7th Annual Beverly Hills Book Awards® recognized The Last Jazz Fan and Other Poems by Ajijic writer Kenneth Salzmann as finalist in the Poetry category. The Last Jazz Fan and Other Poems was released in May by Gelles-Cole Literary Enterprises and has garnered accolades from such leading writers as poet and novelist Marge Piercy, who said, “Salzmann is a rare poet who can draft excellent and moving poems about nature and politics, about love and place, about old age, and friendship….you can feel in the poems the intelligence of the mind that created them and the compassion and wit of the poet.”
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COLUMNIST
BRIDGE BY THE LAKE By Ken Masson
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ifty years ago the Beatles told us they could get by with a little help from their friends. The same philosophy sometimes applies when you are declaring a tricky bridge contract and you can’t manufacture enough tricks - you can call upon your opponents (your new friends!) to help you out. A good example was the illustrated deal which was played at the Lake Chapala Duplicate Bridge Club in Riberas. South opened the bidding 1 heart, West passed and North bid Jacoby 2 NT, a conventional call showing four
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or more hearts and at least game going values. South bid game in hearts, showing a minimum opening bid with no singleton or void, and all passed. The queen of spades was led and South counted his losers: three diamonds and one club. Something had to be done to condense these four losers into three. Declarer saw that if he could get the opponents to open up the diamond suit there would only be two losers there, so he set about an elimination play. Winning the opening lead in hand, declarer drew trumps in three rounds, played his seven of spades to dummy’s king, ruffed dummy’s last spade in hand and played the ace, king and a third round of clubs, allowing the defence to earn its first trick. It didn’t matter which defender won the club trick - that defender would be end played and would have to lead diamonds, or lead another suit and give declarer a ruff and sluff. In either event declarer was sure to make the required ten tricks. Questions or comments: email: masson.ken@gmail. com Ken Masson
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By Carol D. Bradley
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torytelling –whether you are a novelist, playwright, a memoirist or non-fiction writer, we are all, first, storytellers. March 6th, 7th, and 8th, 2019, the LCWC is bringing inspirational, dedicated speakers to raise your storytelling to new levels. A literary agent, educators and professional editors will be here at El Jardin Eventos Salon in Centro Ajijic, Jalisco, Mexico. Your fee includes two days of fast-paced programing with lunches, non-alcoholic beverages and hors d’oeuvres at two social events for you to mingle with like-minded individuals sure to inspire and encourage you. Wednesday, March 6th at 5PM, a welcome reception (cash bar) to meet your presenters and other attendees. Thursday, March 7th - registration and coffee/tea at 8:30 AM. Presentations from 9 through 4:30PM with lunch and breaks. Friday, March 8th check-in with coffee/tea at 8:30AM, a full day, lunch and breaks, ending with a Wrap-Up Party (cash bar). Eric Witchey is presenting four talks; Fiction Fluency: The Story of the Story, Fiction Fluency: EmotionDriven, Vertical Story – Horizontal Story and Write the Story – NOW! An award-winning writer and teacher, Eric draws from his experience teaching at two universities, a community college, and countless conferences. Kali Van Baale – Revision Strategies, Points of Entry in Storytelling and The In’s and Out’s of Publishing. Kali holds an MFA in creative writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts and is a faculty member of the Lindenwood University MFA Program. Rosemary Grayson – Not What but How You Do It. From her first interview as a young British journalist - Hugh Hefner, and throughout her career at the BBC, Rosemary mastered the art of asking questions. If your genre is memoir, non-fiction or articles, she will share her witty, spot
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on interview style. Rachel (R.J.) McMillan – The Art and Craft of Storytelling. An International award winner, Rachel talks about incorporating personal beliefs into your story as she does in her Dan Connor mystery series. Rachel’s message and writing techniques are universal. Roberta Rich – Unleashing the Muse. Roberta, author of the awardwinning trilogy; The Midwife of Venice is a compelling speaker. Roberta will not only be presenting, she will be available to critique a sample of your manuscript. (500 pesos) Mark Boyer – What Can You Do in Ten Minutes. Mark received his M.F.A. in Theatre Directing at Yale`s School of Drama. He says, “Regardless of your genre, writing a ten-minute play will sharpen your overall writing skills.” We have not had a playwright at the LCWC for a while, so this is a real treat. Angela Renaldi Literary Agency has been opening publishing doors for writers since 1994, representing an eclectic list of passionate storytellers and writers. The first 50 registrants are eligible for a pitch slot at no additional cost. Polish up those pitches! Sandi Gelles-Cole, a past Senior Acquisitions Editor for Dell/Doubleday will be here. You have an opportunity to have Sandi critique (an extra charge) part of your manuscript. Registration Forms are available at Diane Pearle’s on Colon in Ajijic or from the organizing committee: Herbert Piekow at windsorcottage@ juno.com, Victoria Schmidt at victoriaAschmidt@gmail.com, Mel Goldberg or Carol Bradley at Ajijic Writers Group meetings (1st and 3rd Fridays of each month at 10AM) in the garden at La Nueva Posada. “Like” our Facebook page for more info. The fee is $2,300 pesos until January 18 and $2,600 pesos after. Join Us! Learn how to better tell your unique story.
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Closer To The Tracks By Bernie Suttle
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aunt and bent, he wore a torn, dirty, felt hat and bib overalls over a dirty long john shirt. His feet were encased in white and brown sport shoes with slits cut to ease painful toes. He looked like he hadn’t shaved since when and a scab on his upper lip ran up to his nose. Standing back from the door with his head down he mumbled, “Haven’t e’t in two days. Commin’ from Wichita on 66 and Santa Fe rails goin’ to LA. Have any leftovers?” Mom replied, “This house doesn’t have leftovers. You sit on the curb out front. I’ll see what I can get you.” She closed the front door. The cold air beneath a hostile grey sky pushed into the house making the curtains
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dance. Our house was twenty miles east of Los Angeles on Route 66. Mom always gave the hobos that came something to eat even though it wasn’t sure we had enough for ourselves. She turned to me and said, “Keep your eye on him. Don’t want him goin’ back of the house with Dad not here. I’ll close and lock the garage door. You bring him what’s left of your birthday cake, then get right back into the house.” She stopped on her way back from locking the garage to bring in the dry items off the clothes lines. Reluctantly, I gave my cake to the hungry man; I had planned to eat it myself, but what Mom decided was the law. He said, “Thank ya, son,” as he turned to go
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back to the curb. Our front door opened directly into the living room. It was furnished with a Mohair couch and easy chair, each with white linen doilies carefully placed to prevent hair grease from staining the tapestry. We had two lamp tables and a fireplace we used for heat by burning the contents of the wastebasket. It smouldered but the egg shells never burned. There was a dining area next to the living room with a builtin buffet where Mom kept the good dishes. Our Philco radio standing atop the buffet set on station KFI presented the babble of Sam Hayes as he rasped out that early morning 1939 news. “A German Blitzkrieg” had hammered Poland and a ship of Jewish refugees was turned away by the US. Mom was always busy. She started the day by getting Dad off to work with a farmer’s breakfast of bacon, eggs, tomato slices, toast and coffee. Although he had grown up on a farm, Dad always dressed in a three-piece suit that was tailored by Mr. Licznik, a refugee from Poland. Dad wore an Arrow shirt with complimentary necktie and Florsheim shoes as he drove away in our dull, brown, 1937 Plymouth sedan at sunrise to his tiny real estate office in Eagle Rock. After working each weekday he was home driving down the driveway at ten minutes after six. We would all gather at the back door to greet his entry hoping for but never mentioning our desire for his news of some income. Being an uptight engineer, Dad’s life was scheduled. He would enter the kitchen door, kiss Mom and head for the bathroom where he would disrobe while the tub filled with hot water. Mom had lit the gas water heater in anticipation of his arrival. Then she’d sit on the closed commode and they would visit while he bathed. Each member of our family used the same tub of water. We took turns in age sequence from high to low. Being the youngest of our four family members, I had the honor of bathing in tepid water and then scour-
ing the ring around the tub with Dutch Cleanser. Another of my enjoyments occurred while Dad was disrobing. I was allowed to pick up his discarded dress shirt, button it, put it over my head and scamper around the house with its bottom edge trailing along the floor. I still recall a sweet scent from his shirt. His perspiration. One day I asked, “Mom, how come we moved off of Maple Street down here to Highway 66? I don’t have my own room anymore and we’re on a main highway close to the Santa Fe trains? All the kids I know live on Maple Street.” “Dad sold the house, Son. We’re living off the few hundred dollars that came from the sale. We’ll get used to it. I can feed the family on a dollar a day. Here we have space for chickens and some vegetables. And Dad is building a room on the back for you.” “I still don’t like that we had’ta move,” I grumbled. “Son, the people of this world have been moving forever, some because they wanted to, like your Dad and me. We moved out here when we married because we wanted to raise our family here. But most people move because they have to so they can stay alive. Now that you’re five-years-old you can help us live. Bring the card table out front, sit there and sell my pies. Wear the big sombrero to protect your head from the sun. Before you go out front, get the eggs from the back yard before the dogs do. Dad will be proud of the pie sales you make.” As I sat beside US 66, I watched the flow of mud-splattered, exhausted trucks and tired sedans with Desert water bags hanging from their radiator caps. Dirty, worried faces searching for sanctuary stared out at me. None of them ever stopped at the hand-painted sign, Fresh Baked Berry Bernie Suttle Pies, 35 Cents
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IMPRINTS By Antonio Ramblés antonio.rambles@yahoo.com
Rivera’s Roots
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iego Rivera was a prominent Mexican painter whose large scale wall frescos dealt mostly with social and political themes arising from Mexico’s 1910 revolution. He painted in Mexico City and in the U.S. between 1922 and 1953, and was instrumental in establishing the Mural Movement in Mexican art. Guanajuato’s Museo Casa Diego Rivera is located in the house where the artist was born, and where he lived until the age of ten, when his family moved to Mexico City. Living quarters on the ground floor are furnished in period antiques. The upper floors house a permanent collection of nearly one hundred original works and sketches that span
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more than forty years. Rivera was a man of contradictions. Born into a well-to-do family, he became an ardent Marxist and his politics made him a persona non grata in Guanajuato for much of his life. Born the son of a Catholic father and a Converso mother whose Jewish ancestors had been forced to convert to Catholicism, he was
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a lifelong atheist. A year after his twin brother died at the age of two, Rivera began drawing on the walls of the family house and his parents installed chalkboards and wall canvasses to encourage his talent. He was already studying art in Mexico City at the age of ten, and continued his studies in Madrid and then in Paris, where he lived and worked among the Montparnasse artists and where his friend Modigliani painted his portrait. Rivera also traveled extensively through Italy, studying Renaissance frescoes. His early work embraced the emerging school of Cubist art, but by 1917 he began to adopt a new style that emphasized simple forms and large patches of vivid colors with an Aztec influence. He painted his first significant mural, “Creation,” at the National Preparatory School in Mexico City in 1921. During the work he carried a pistol to protect himself from right-wing students. His murals at the Secretariat of Public Education in Mexico City were painted between 1922 and 1928, and soon afterward he produced works for Cuernavaca’s Cortés Palace. Rivera arrived in Moscow in 1927 to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the October Revolution. Also attending was Alfred Barr, later the founding director of New York’s Museum of Modern Art, where a retrospective exhibition of Rivera’s works was held in 1931. While in Russia, Rivera received a commission for a mural in Moscow’s Red Army Club, but was expelled from the country because of involvement in anti-Soviet politics, and the next year he was expelled from the Mexican Communist Party. Following his return to Mexico City, he produced a series of murals in the National Palace. In 1929 he married his third wife, artist Frida Kahlo. He was 42 and she was 22. Their mutual infidelities and his violent temper would lead to their divorce in 1939 and remarriage in 1940. In 1930, after completing a commission for murals in the National School of Agriculture at Chapingo, and the Palace of Cortés
in Cuernavaca, Rivera accepted commissions from the City Club of the San Francisco Stock Exchange and from the California School of Fine Art. The work he produced there is now on display in the Diego Rivera Gallery at the San Francisco Art Institute. Between 1932 and 1933, Rivera completed the twenty-seven panels of his work “Detroit Industry,” commissioned by Edsel Ford, on the walls of an inner court at the Detroit Institute of Arts. His 1933 mural “Man at the Crossroads,” commissioned by John D. Rockefeller, was removed from the Rockefeller Center following a furor over its inclusion of the image of Lenin. When Diego refused to remove it, Rockefeller ordered Rivera to leave and the mural destroyed. The censorship became a cause celebre among New York’s artistic community. While Rockefeller detested Rivera’s art for its politics, Edsel Ford saw the art separately from the politics, and was a staunch defender of the artist’s talent even during the McCarthy witch hunts of the 1950s. The negative publicity over the Rockefeller Center mural, though, lost Rivera a commission for the Chicago World’s Fair. In 1934, Rivera repainted the Rockefeller Center mural in Mexico city’s Palacio de Bellas Artes. He returned to the U.S. for the last time in 1940 to paint a ten-panel mural for the Golden Gate International Exposition in San Francisco titled “Pan American Unity.” The mural and its archives now reside at City College of San Francisco. There’s plenty more to see on a future visit, but it’s still been a great day trip from San Miguel de Allende. Ed. Note: Much of Diego Rivera’s life with Frida Kahlo was depicted in the magnificent movAntonio Ramblés ie, Frida.
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Ghost Of Dubie Past By Henri Loridans henri.loridans@gmail.com
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n the early 1960s I began my law practice in Northwest Louisiana in a town of approximately fifty thousand. We were in a much larger metropolitan area but our municipality retained much of its small town atmosphere. I won a couple of difficult cases and was invited by the primary real estate lawyer in town to join him. His real estate practice consumed all his time and he needed someone to take care of the miscellaneous legal problems of his clients and friends. My new partner was a lifetime native of the town, and was approximately twenty years older than I was. His secretary was Dubie. Dubie had a weathered complexion, a scar on her cheek and rusty red hair that seldom visited a salon. Her explosive temper and colorful language required that her office be located in the far back corner of the building. I quickly learned what would set Dubie off, and we got along fine. The established routine was that regular clients, the District Attorney, the bank president and other town dignitaries would frequently stop by to say hello around closing time. Someone would produce a bottle of Jim Beam or similar beverage, and all would congregate in Dubie’s office. She would dominate the conversations. There was great risk in contradicting her opinions. She would continue to draft real
estate documents and at the same time she would consume her share of the Jim Beam. As an unworldly young lawyer I was at a complete loss to understand. That is, until Dubie’s birthday came around. The office was filled with well wishers, birthday cake and upgraded Bourbon. Then someone produced some big photos of an eighteen year old rodeo queen. My puzzlement over Dubie’s mystique was solved. There was a ghost in the room, and it wasn’t Casper. It was the vision of an eighteen year old rodeo queen. After looking past the crusty veneer I found a gem. I had a valued friend; a beauty with an acerbic but erudite wit. I learned much from her. I am frequently rewarded in finding more jewels by looking past superficial exteriors I now live in a community with many ladies beyond retirement age. Those of my acquaintance have been touched, but not marred, by the years. They are beautiful and their conversations engaging. They radiate these qualities from the outside as well as the inside. I say this because it is true, not just because I happen to be married to one, a Southern Belle at that. Henri Loridans
CORRECTION, PLEASE! In our December issue, the article What a Mess, or Mass! (page 22) was published without the name of the writer. We apologize to Mr. Paul Allen and regret having made the error. The Editor 66
El Ojo del Lago / January 2019
Saw you in the Ojo 67
VIVISECTION: The Horror Continues By Dr. Lorin Swinehart
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“
ome people talk to animals. Not many listen though. That is the problem.” —Winnie-the-Pooh Long ago, in the 1970’s, CBS anchorman Walter Cronkite reported the US military’s plans to use beagle hound puppies as guinea pigs in nerve gas experiments, a plan that sparked outrage among animal welfare groups and dog lovers across the spectrum, prompting Senator Hubert Humphrey to introduce legislation to forestall the practice. The world could heave a huge sigh of relief. Well, not necessarily. The human propensity for cruelty seems to be without
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limit, and, like the many headed Hydra of Greek myth, when one issue is resolved, another rears its ugly head. When the subject of vivisection, animal experimentation, arises, more troubling images than that of lab rats scampering about in Skinner boxes come to mind. Rather, the term recalls dark tales of bunnies trapped in head braces while the corrosive ingredients in cosmetics are sprayed into their helpless eyes, all in the interest of providing one more facade with which to adorn or exaggerate the visages of the dissipated and the vapid. Perhaps dark tales of monkeys bolted into Stryker chairs while their skullcaps were removed and replaced by electrodes in order to somehow better understand the functions of the brain haunt one’s nightmares. The history of man’s treatment of his fellow creatures is an ugly study, with the outrages in the Roman arenas perhaps occupying center stage. In more recent times, in his attempts to discredit Nikola Tesla, Thomas Edison electrocuted large numbers of cats and dogs, even a horse, in order to prove that his favored DC current was safer than his rival’s AC current. Edison even paid small boys to capture stray dogs for his experiments. Most horrendous was his connivance in the electrocution of a tragically
abused elephant named Topsy, who was roasted by 6000 volts of electric current before an audience of thousands. One wonders what would motivate an audience to view such a grisly sight. Perhaps we have not evolved beyond Rome’s policy of providing a daily diet of “bread and circuses” for the frenzied, mindless masses. One would like to believe that such horrors remain in the past, that enlightened legislation and modern means of investigation and enforcement have put an end to such outrages. Nothing however, can ever be taken for granted. It has recently been reported that the Veterans Administration is engaged in invasive neurological experiments on live dogs. Sections of the dogs’ brains are surgically removed in order to experiment with neurons that control respiration. After the completion of such procedures, the dogs’ agonies are ended by lethal injection. Other tests involve the use of electrodes attached to dogs’ spinal cords in order to understand cough reflexes before and after the cords have been severed. Some experiments involve stimulating artificial heart rhythms while the animals are forced to run on a treadmill after pacemakers have been installed. Afterward, the dogs are killed by injection, or, more in the tradition of Count Dracula, their blood is drained from them. Paralyzed Veterans of America now supports legislation introduced by Representative Dina Titus, D-Nevada, and Representative David Brat, R-Virginia, to end the practice. The House of Representatives unanimously passed legislation to defund the project, but, like many good things, it remains stalled in the US Senate. While some officials in the VA attempt to justify such macabre activities as necessary to the development of new treatments for veterans suffering from spinal cord injuries that affect respiration, many veterans themselves oppose the practice, citing the cruel irony of treating the very same creatures that they rely upon as service animals in such an abominable way. Sherman Gillums, Jr., the chief strategy officer at American Veterans, has stated that dog experiments no longer produce medical advances for humans. A photograph published in the November 2 edition of USA Today, showing the VA laboratory in Richmond, Virginia where these procedures are reputed to take place recalls the scenes of pain and terror perpetrated by Nazi “Angel of Death” Dr. Joseph Menguele and all the apparatus of a cruel and odious science unrestrained by any humanitarian or ethical concerns. Like serial killers who begin their careers by tormenting and killing small
animals before working their way up to their fellow men, perhaps societies, too, pave the way for holocausts and wars of aggression by feigning ignorance, denial, acquiescence or false optimism when confronted by the brutal realities of slaughter houses and animal laboratories. In his celebrated volume God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics, C.S. Lewis observes, “The victory of vivisection marks a great advance in the triumph of ruthless, non-moral utilitarianism over the old world of ethical law; a triumph in which we, as well as animals, are already victims, and of which Dachau and Hiroshima mark the most recent achievements. In justifying cruelty to animals we put ourselves also on the animal level. We choose the jungle and must abide by our choice.” Perhaps it can be argued that modern medical and surgical techniques, including those in veterinary medicine, would not exist without animal experimentation. Yet, while VA spokesmen argue that such breakthroughs as a cardiac pacemaker and successful liver transplants have resulted from dog experiments, the VA’s own website traces those tests to fifty years ago. The controversy involves man’s basic confusion regarding our relationship with our fellow creatures. There are some that we regard with fear and revulsion—rats, sidewinders, black widows—and others that we consider only as sources of food or clothing. Some, like man’s oldest best friend and helper, we love. Can we, as Lewis suggests, reduce such creatures to the level of mere objects of our convenience, even as machines, and do so without demeaning ourselves. One cannot but wonder if the intended victims of this latest scientific horror meet their torturers with a wag of the tail, a paw extended in friendship, perhaps a lick of the tongue on the hand that plans to return the greeting with needless agony and death. Perhaps such actions fail to move the hearts of the soulless ghouls who routinely perpetrate such crimes against nature. Should this latest outrage come as any surprise as the world rushes onward toward a mechanistic, nightmare future? Ed. Note: There was an error in the last paragraph of Lorin’s The New Madrid Earthquake column in the December issue. The Treaty of Ghent, signed on Christmas Eve, 1814, ended the War of 1812, not the Treaty of Paris, which ended the Revolutionary War. It was my mistake, not the writer’s. Lorin Swinehart
Saw you in the Ojo 69
WHEN THEY GO LOW...we go to political comic Will Durst By Ed Tasca
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ho doesn’t like a good political satire, especially these days, when millions of dazed North Americans are actually part of the satire and don’t know it. Will Durst, acclaimed comedian, has been ragging politics, “left and right” for decades now. Followers are legion. In a brief interview I had with him, he told me in his sincerest, dusky voice that he calls himself “a cross between an editorial cartoon and a pundit.” Which to me is not much of a mixed marriage. So, for an exhilarating, live gig at Lakeside Little Theater, as political truth’s “stand-up guy,” Will has agreed to bring his views of the irrational and absurd aspects of politics, democracy’s future and whatever topics are topping the headlines. He also offers his various takes on human behavior (especially when it isn’t), and weaves it all into an evening of laughs and lampooning. His
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Will Durst mantra, “You couldn’t make this stuff up,” (also the title of one of his five audio recordings) pretty much sums up his style of telling it like it is – an homage to some of his idols, Will Rogers, Lenny Bruce and George Carlin. Like most comics, Will’s work is, in a personal sense, a therapy, but Will also considers himself now half comic and half therapist—which naturally puts him in the same category as my last therapist. Will believes it’s also a form of therapy for his audience as well, who
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come to comic shows and clubs for the relief, for that often-unspoken sense that the world is farcical, especially the world of politics and that any personal suffering can be anesthetized for a brief two hours or so by listening to a damn good comic indulgently take on the pompous and pretentious. Wherever common sense is being bullied by the outrageous and the bizarre, Will is there. He even bills himself as a therapist, but, in this case, the one who does all the talking, while we get to laugh instead of cry. So the healing can begin. “The only way you can control people is to lie to them,” L. Ron Hubbard said famously. And Will’s out to troll all and any who believe such. The New York Times calls Will “possibly the best political comic in the country.” Fox News agrees “he’s a great political satirist,” while the Oregonian hails him as a “hilarious stand-up journalist.” He’s done it all: books, shows, radio and television commentary, acting, articles, podcasts, but is still best known for his stand-up performances. He also writes a weekly political humor column and has co-hosted a monthly talk radio show, which aired on a progressive talk radio station, KQKE, giving you an idea of where his political sympathies may lie, even though he wrote a book
on the “art of bi-partisan bashing.” His popularity ran so high, Will actually ran for mayor of San Francisco several years back. His resume is too extensive to record here. The Ojo would have to sell even more massage parlor ads to balance it. He’s contributed to Independent Media Institute’s Alternet.org and the Huffington Post, as well as serving as contributing editor to National Lampoon, George, and the New York Times. He’s appeared on television over 800 times including Late Night with David Letterman, Comedy Central, HBO and Showtime. He’s a 5-time Emmy nominee and 7-time nominee for the American Comedy Awards’ Stand-Up Comedian of the year. A truly great comic is defined by his capacity to keep the jokes coming. And Will answers that qualification big time by staying on top of the news. So let me recommend that you don’t miss this. “Because when they go low, Will straightens them up.” Dates for his four shows are February 1st through the 3rd at Lakeside Little Theater. Ed Tasca
Ballet School By Anita Lee
B
ehind the Auditorio de la Ribera in La Floresta, there is a second building that most people do not know exists. This building houses a music rehearsal room on the ground floor with a dance studio above. The dance studio has become home to the School of Ballet and Contemporary Dance of the Auditorio de la Ribera. Adriana Fernandez, owner of El Granero, started a dance school here 12 Years ago, but, almost 4 years ago, she found she was just too busy in the store to continue teaching and asked her cousins to take over the school. Adriana’s cousins are Hector Hernandez and Laura Fernandez who met and married while dancing together in the Houston Ballet. They had left the Houston Ballet to open a dance studio in Monterrey Mexico, eventually moving to Guadalajara where they taught their 11 children ballet on the patio of their home. Among those children is Isaac Hernandez, who is a principle dancer with the London Ballet and has become considered one of the top male dancers in the world. Last week his photo graced the cover of Forbes Mexico. His brother Esteban is a principle dancer with the San Francisco Ballet and the rest of the children are involved in dance, in some form or other, as well. Eventually the parents opened a school in Tlajomulco and then later in the center of Guadalajara. The Ajijic school is their third school.
We are extremely lucky to have this prestigious dance school in Ajijic. It is doing very well with 40 students, most from disadvantaged families, who normally would not have had access to such excellent instruction. Hector and Laura have found various sponsors to enable these dance students to attend classes. Maestra Yoko, formerly of the Holland Ballet comes 2 days a week to teach and Daniela Hernandez teaches on Saturdays. Local Canadian dancer Heather Hunter had been asked by La Ola supporters Joni and Carl Ribera to start a class with girls from the La Ola orphanage. When Heather connected with the Hernandez family, Daniela agreed to bring them into the school and let Heather continue instructing. The class has since grown with more disadvantaged girls joining. Attendance is only limited by finding sponsors for the girls. Some of these girls have shown a great deal of promise and one 11 year old has moved up into an advanced class, rehearsing several days a week. If there are any dance supporters reading this, they will always welcome any further sponsorship. If you would care to, you can get involved by emailing Daniela Hernandez lacasadedani@outlook.com. Soon, you will have a chance to see some of these girls dance in several of the many dance and song numbers in the upcoming LIP SYNC 11 show at the Ajijic Auditorio Friday, January 18th at 4:00, Saturday 19th at 6:00 and Sunday 20th at 2:00. Tickets are 250 pesos andcan be bought at the auditorium office, Diane Pearl, Mia’s and online at ajijictickets@gmail. com. Proceeds go towards remodeling the auditorium.
Saw you in the Ojo 71
Green City In The Sun By Sally Asante
T
he usual snarl of traffic was today almost belligerent. Drivers blasted horns, shouted profanities, and gestured rudely from open windows as the logjam of cars snaked its way through the verdant neighborhoods overrun with pedestrians. Max checked his watch, his frustration mounting. Ten days earlier, his brother, Willie, had been Medevacked to Kenya, having been found unconscious in his Lake Victoria villa. The doctors believed the intestinal knotting he had suffered would prove fatal. Max had immediately rushed to his side, hoping he would regain consciousness at least long enough to say
goodbye. “This traffic is insane,” Cole grumbled, pressing the brake. Again. “Well, this is Nairobi,” Max said. “Look, sweetheart, sorry to abandon you, but I think I’d make better time on foot.” “You go on. I’ll see you inside.” She rolled her eyes. “Eventually.” When Max crested the hill, through the crowd he saw that the hospital gate, previously open, was now closed, and armed policemen stood guard. Catching the eye of one of the officers, he shouted, “I need to get in.” The guard adjusted his rifle in a display of authority and shook his head. “Only authorized vehicles,” he
shouted back. Max’s eyes traveled over the hysterical mob and met those of a young man holding a child. “What’s going on?” he hollered. “It’s the bombing.” “Dear God! The hospital’s been bombed?” “Not the hospital, the U.S. embassy. Bombed this morning.” Stunned, Max made his way back to the car. “Cole, it’s utter chaos ahead. The U.S. Embassy was bombed this morning. They won’t let us through.” In search of comprehension, Cole’s mind fought through this staggering report. “Hang on,” she managed to say. “Let’s give it a try.” At the gate, when the guard ordered her to turn around, she pled, “But I’m UN,” gesturing to the front of her car. He stepped around, saw the instantly recognizable license plate, and motioned for assistance. While two guards held back the mob, he eased the gate open just enough for her to pass through. Nowhere else to park, she pulled onto the lawn, and they got out and headed inside. Behind them, wailing from the morgue filled the thick air. The broad hallways were lined with gurneys, two deep, where the wounded lay, some silent, others moaning, clutching injuries. In the ICU the aide Max had hired to sit with Willie was nowhere to be seen, and squeezed into the cubicle were two additional beds occupied by survivors of the explosions. One’s entire head was wrapped in gauze. A breathing tube was threaded through its folds and attached to a machine that soughed rhythmically next to his bed. The other, his chest bound in blood-tinged dressings, strained for air. Tenderly, Cole stroked his brow while a nurse explained that many had suffered injuries when they rushed to windows to see the source of the blast, only to have been blinded as glass shards ripped into faces and skulls when the second explosion went off. She said
that the death toll already exceeded two hundred. Max shook his head in commiseration, then turned toward his brother. “Any change?” he asked. The nurse said no, and added that a priest was in the building, administering last rites. Without a whisper, Willie died shortly before midnight. Max’s eyes spilled over as he clung to Cole in what seemed utter defeat. When he turned to leave, she hesitated. “I can’t go, Max. They’re here because they worked...” Her voice cracked. “...because they worked in my embassy. I’ll catch up with you.” Max tended to bureaucratic paperwork and was returning to the ICU when he met Cole. “They’re gone,” she said. “Their loved ones never came.” “So sorry, sweetheart. What an awful day for us all.” They spent a sleepless night at the Norfolk Hotel, with Max recounting fond “remember-whens” of his big brother. Then, over breakfast Cole said that although she wanted to stay, she had court the next day, and she hoped he understood. Max said he did, shaking his head yes-no in that way only Indians can, and that he’d come home once the necessary arrangements had been made. In the porte-cochere they shared a lingering embrace, then he watched her drive away. Cole rode past Uhuru Park, a sparkle in its winter green, then joined the open road. She had just passed Jomo Kenyatta Airport when she pulled offroad beside a bus stop. “Jambo, Sister. Would you like a lift?” The obsidian-black nun grinned, revealing teeth as flawless as honesty. “And a fine hello to you, child. I’m most grateful.” She placed her valise in the backseat and climbed in. Once settled, she asked, “Are you a Christian, dear?” “I am not,” replied Cole. “Ah, but you do believe in God, yes?” The question hung as Cole’s thoughts drifted to the hospital, then to the UN tribunal, in Arusha, Tanzania, a four-hour drive south, where her days were spent in the courtroom, mere feet from men accused of masterminding the 1994 Rwandan genocide that claimed the lives of almost a million, nearly all by machete. Then, her gaze found the fearless equatorial sky and the unparalleled African landscape, gifts of immeasurable proportions. “Yes,” Cole said, “I suppose I do. On a day like today, it’s hard not to.” Sally Asante
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Saw you in the Ojo 73
A Lady’s Edge By Rico Wallace
H
e dipped a strawberry in the whipped cream and put it to her lips. “You poor fool,” Lucia said. “I told you I would murder to keep my freedom.” High up on the side of the mountain the dining patio was laid out on the ledge of a cliff with an unobstructed view overlooking the lake and the distant, misty hills and peaks. Humphrey laughed. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said. “If we didn’t keep running into each other this never would have happened,” she said. She dipped a berry and put it to his mouth. “A little town in the mountains, on the shore of a lake without a boat. I swore this
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would never happen again. So you think you’re big enough.” “Good things come in small packages, Lucia, if you know what you’re doing,” he said as he flagged the waiter. “Two more Martinis, please, and we are both going to have the Salmon with vegetables. You’ll love it, Lucia.” “That’s the thing about you, Humphrey,” Lucia said. “When I tell you my car is messed up, you bring a mechanic over to fix it. When I tell you my sink is dripping, you show up with a plumber.” “That’s why I asked you to dinner tonight,” Humphrey said. “I told you I worked as a salesman before retirement, but truthfully, I was a profes-
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sional nice guy.” “What!” Lucia exclaimed. “You must be joking. You’re a gigolo? I’ll kill you.” “Hold on, I’m not a gigolo,” Humphrey said. “I was a funeral director. Some people are turned off by the thought, so I say I was a salesman. I was taking care of people during a very stressful time of their life. So I got pretty good at being a nice guy.” “That super nice guy act is what intrigued me. So a professional you are,” Lucia said. “But you might be a control freak. I need my space. The Salmon is delicious. How did you know I liked it?” “I asked the waiter, while you were in the ladies room. Networking – a professional, remember? He said he knew you, and you loved the Salmon. Now I want to hear about your secrets. Where do you disappear to for days and sometimes weeks?” Lucia raised her eyebrows, took a breath and looked around. She sipped her Martini. “Well Mr. Professional,” she said mockingly. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” She smiled and raised her drink. “A toast to you and me, Humphrey. Here’s to getting to know you.” They clicked glasses. “And I, you,” Humphrey said. “Tell me where the mystery lady disappears to.” “I like to travel,” Lucia said. “I go to
Europe, sometimes. I go to the Pacific in January. I love the beach. I keep a horse across the lake. A very secluded, very quiet ranch. That’s my healing passion.” “Horse poop is your raison d’etre,” Humphrey asked sarcastically. Lucia tilted her head and frowned. “Just fooling, Lucia. But you’re cute when you pout like that.” He called the waiter over and ordered two more Martinis. “Do you think so,” Lucia asked. “Let me show you a picture of me, the future serial killer, when I was ten years old.” She got her phone and pulled up a family picture. She was wearing a pink dress with a pink cap and elbow length white gloves. She had a sour expression. “You look good in pink,” Humphrey said. “I hate pink,” Lucia snapped back. “Let me take your picture, Humphrey. Go over there by the end of the patio. I’ll get a nice shot of you with the lake and mountains.” “Ok,” Humphrey said. “Then I’ll take you home.” He downed his Martini, leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. He walked to the end of the patio. “How’s this,” he asked. “That’s good,” Lucia said. “Do you think you can take another step back?” Without thinking Humphrey stepped back and twisted his ankle on the lip of the patio. He started to fall and the strong gravity pulled him over the cliff. Nobody heard a cry for help, a groan or a scream. The waiter saw what happened and went to Lucia. “I’ll pay the check,” she told him. “I feel so bad for you, Miss Lucia,” the waiter said. “This is the third time in as many years that this has happened to you.” “I warned him not to get so close to the edge,” she said. “They never listen. Call me a taxi.” Rico Wallace
TRANSFORMATION: A Dance Short Story by Rob Mohr
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e reached cruising altitude, when, seated in my refuge-window seat, I was focused on the fields and forest as they peeked through surrounding cumulus clouds that formed the front edge of an approaching hurricane. Each glimpse revealed land and foliage painted with variable shades of gold and orange flames created by the rising sun. My view was framed in part by the black silk hair of a girl I had noticed earlier in the gate area. She had looked at me and smiled as we stood waiting to board the airplane. She now lay, by the hand of providence, nestled against the aircraft bulkhead in the seat in front of me. As we boarded she had been impossible to not notice, slim, dressed in slacks and an offwhite silk blouse. Her clear, brown, handsome face, intelligent eyes, soft mouth with just the right red lipstick had reflected all of the qualities of a well-groomed Latin woman. She exuded the fresh, alive qualities, a female, keenly aware of herself, can. Now, clearly asleep, she made the soft sounds of dreaming. While focused on the jewel like fragments of land and foliage shielded in part by the front line of clouds, I suddenly realized that the substance of the young woman’s dream had begun to invade my senses—a faded cloth without the clarity possible in my own dreams—but intriguing all the same. Without warning her dream surged, then spread—a matrix—cancer penetrating my mind with ancient Coptic power. In that moment I was inside her dream, a part of her fabricated, illusionary world. Somehow I had been pulled into her consciousness. Aware of the aroma that saturated the space around us, unknown forms began to take shape, as sounds new to my experience filled the air, and substances with taste unknown to my pallet were being consumed by the two of us. The nerves along my spine exploded with activity never before experienced. All she felt and understood and sensed were incorporated into my being, my consciousness. Her dreams, mine now, were fully in place, developed, and inhabited whole cloth, woven, within both of us. Transformed, I became aware of my subtle, soft, rounded form, with just enough breast volume, and lift, to entice.
My skin, brown with a natural glow as a result of the work of the early morning and late afternoon sun, the only light allowed to touch it, was in every way wholesome, and I suspect, a delight to touch. My hair was black silk, hung in a curve around my face that highlighted its perfection. And as I licked my lips the realization that my mouth, a perfectly shaped, deep soft red, made me the object of every male mouth I passed. The dream continued to expand, now filled with the sounds and smells of an Oceanside village. As I, we, walked men’s heads turned and women showed envy of the package the gods had allowed me to be. A man, quite handsome, tall, broad-shouldered, narrow hips moved in my direction. Was he someone I had met? He extended his arms in what was clearly an invitation to dance. My arms slipped gently around his shoulders as we began the slow turns of a classic waltz in harmony with music drifting from a twelve string guitar being strummed by a young man seated legs crossed on the sand of a beach to the right of the Malecon, the stage upon which we had been placed. At that moment the airplane shuddered and bounced as we passed through the leading edge of the encroaching hurricane. This violent jarring motion forced us to awake. With a sense of knowing, she turned in her seat, and rose up on her knees, with eyes, glistening in the low light, intense in their focus, she looked back at me. Her spreading smile pulled me into the whole of her being. “I’ll wait for you at the end of the ramp.” She whispered, her intent clear. “Yes,” I replied, realizing that we had entered a new and unexplored world. “Oh,” she asked, “was that a god playing the guitar?” Rob Mohr
Saw you in the Ojo 75
“Get The Point” By Ron Knight
T
he velvet curtains open to spot light a well lit wood planed floor, white oak glazed in a golden pecan finish, with a central high podium centered just stage right, its iridescent lime green paint job screaming of a carnival bark show. A bench of panel guests sits at a well finished show desk, the highly audacious curved angles and engraved scroll work mirroring the angles in the highly stylized podium. Seated with high plumed pink and purple high back chairs with equitably ridiculous and audacious curved angles, the entire set seems comprised by a Lewis Carroll opiate stoned designer, none of the stage furnishings which have been measured
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with any sense of plumb or level balance. An amazed audience sits in awe as the announcer cries out, “Ladies and Gentlemen; it’s time to play Get The Point! The game where everyone Sharpens their Thinking! And now here’s your host, Ned Powell, your bright eyed, brilliant piece of work!” The audience goes wild upon the electronic sign cue, and out steps Ned Powell, the consummate Game Show Host extraordinaire, who claps his hands and thanks everyone for being here tonight. And of course, now he goes on to introduce Larry Pitts, and the In the Pits Time Game Show Band! Pa da! Da Rump ba Bump ba bump! Pa da da Rump ba Bump ba Bump! Ba Bump ba bump, pa Da! Which sounds a lot like Pop Goes the Weasel, only backwards. Which sounds like the George Martin Horn Band Section to Yellow Submarine, only backwards. Which sounds like Over Under Sideways Down, only backwards. Today our panel of judges is a goggle of Psycho-Analysts, who have finished their visits with their goggle of Psychotherapy residents recently holed up in an old Chateau just outside of Paris, a gaudy restored power house which used to belong to the Rothschilds. All in the entire cast were deported from Brazil, that is, all of the residents as well as the psychoanalysts themselves. It’s also
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only kind to note, that none of these people who sleep on cots, have ever been to Disneyland Paris. Not only have they all been deported from Brazil, they had made it to New York City, where they thought they could live the American Dream, until they in turn were deported from the USA. Ooooohhh, the audience whinnies, and all wait with baited breath. After an extreme and incessant “needling” in the Group, where questions and answers between the therapists and “therapeers” have amounted to pin-pointing, cutting, tearing and slicing each other apart, standing in the sideline I could see this all looked a fairly family good game, which then summated to Ned’s steady game show hand rising to punch his buzzer and asking the by now Royalty Rich game show query line, heading to ask: “Do you GET THE POINT?” A few of the goggle of gang of “therapeers” in the center of the stage stand, thinking about it, as they circle the newbie, as Special Guest. Ned then says,” Ah, think carefully. We have plenty of sharp objects in order to help you Get the Point!” The newbie rolls what he is thinking over the knuckles in his mind. But for now, he keeps it under wraps. The Game Show Judges’ panel splits open in the middle to separate on motorized platforms to reveal a show girl stepping out from between the now separated two part judges’ panel desk. Her significant chest is covered by the two cantaloupes she is holding that feature ice cream sundaes and mounted nipple cherries as their heads. With this quite orderly distraction, the sudden sound of switchblades ratchet in the studio. The audience gawks wide eyed at the gangliest set of hose mounted knives and cleavers launched forward from the rear of the stage set rigging box, vaulting out to circle and strike the game show player, just missing by inches from his sweating head. “NOW do you get the Point?” Ask the panel of Psycho Analysts, using their well proven and very analytical theories. The ones based in Catholicism that has met Communism. Now a singular salty drop of gelatinous sweat trickles down from my brow, the suspense heightening as the sting in my eye times well with Larry Pitts and the In the Pits Game Show band, who now begins to play a dark, but campy melodic refrain of “The Fire Down Below.” Dr. Dorothea, the judge in the center who was once a glamorous fashion model says she doesn’t think he gets the point. To which Dr. Claudia, who wishes that she was once as beautiful as Dr. Dorothea, says, “Well, I don’t think he will ever get the point. So we must climb down every Saturday morning into his
marital bed, and see if we can operate the puppetry of his wife, so they both see how inverted they are. To Which His Highness, the Master Psycho-analyst Dr. Head, the Master Head, says. “No, that will not be enough. We need to climb into his marital bed, into his and her head, and then we need to climb into their family agenda, their inheritances, and as quickly as possible we need to also climb into their businesses to make sure the enterprises are all being very well served.” This of course is also very well analyzed by the analytical theories. The ones based in Catholicism that has met Communism. “And please,” Ned the host cries out before we go to Commercial break, “No one leave the room. We have these commercial messages for you. Nobody go away, and don’t go anywhere where the analysis says you should not go. We’ll be back right after this.” The In the Pits Band plays us out as the stage fades away. When we return, the judgment is in, and they tell our special guest that he must peddle his way on a bicycle, endlessly. As he mounts the bike and peddles, the stage revolves beneath his touching tires. The faster he peddles, the faster the revolution of the stage so everyone on the stage spins round and round, faster and faster, as Larry Pitts and In The Pits plays Pop Goes the Weasel, only backwards. And since the Buzzer and Horn have farted the failing X of a gong off, it’s deemed our guest does not Get the Point, as so often many guests will not, and so the stage spins round and round, to his endless cycling. And last, as a grand game prize, it’s decided our lucky non-winner will have to GIVE to the Psychotherapy fund pool basket, and come back again next week, and the next, and the next, as for this the judges decide the player must pay to play, and rather than win the cash prize, he must pay the cash price, for this and every session; as the Psychotherapy judges have mortgages to pay, and bills to pay, and taxes to pay, specialty car payments to pay, and deferments and other judgments to pay, and meals to enjoy. And so, Larry Pitts signs us off with our by now enjoyable exit theme song as Ned Powell calls out “That’s our Game, Ladies and Gentlemen! Come back and join us again next time” and wishes everyone a good, but worrisome night. The ”therapeers” and audience have just loved it… and can’t wait to return and see who will then be NEXT, and may never well Get the Point. Ron Knight
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Mexican Maze By Iris Slocombe
T
ime and motion study or ‘making the most of our time’ Early in our training at Main Base on the much smaller Santa Cruz river, and now at Advanced Base on the mighty Rio Jatate the need to occupy our time in the most profitable manner was stressed by the Survival staff. We were required to keep a close check on everything we did – and how long it took! We were to check our watches every fifteen minutes, and to make a brief note on what we had done in that time, even if it was just going to the bathroom which was a literal ‘hole in the ground’ covered in with
‘banana’ leaves covering all sides and a roof! The survival staff divided up our days into three categories: sleep, daily maintenance & work, and ministry. For my readers understanding ministry meant how much time did I set aside for meditation and prayer which was part of our daily life as Christians: It was simple to know how much time I spent in sleep or resting, but I needed to know what was included in daily living and ministry. Daily living was time spent on ourselves such as cooking meals, gathering firewood, carrying water to and from the River Jatate,
building or repairing our ‘champas’ (jungle homes) which often needed re-thatching to stop leaks. We also had to consider the time taken in ‘personal’ hygiene: Ministry was time spent in Bible studying, prayer and meditation. Language study included Spanish for those of us who would be working in Spanish speaking nations. We were also expected to review what we had learned both in the U.K and in the U.S. at the University of Oklahoma in Norman like general linguistics, Phonetics, Phonemics and Morphology and we were all expected to continue working on our individual projects….mine was on ‘The differences between American and British English’ while my husband Bert chose a much more exotic, but to me, repugnant project, ‘The Birthing Behaviors of Pregnant Female Tarantulas.’ I still remember and shudder when one day Bert mentioned that for reasons of arachnid protection he had to bring all his live specimens safely closeted in large jam jars into our champa where we slept! This was too much for me, and with much love, but reluctant assertiveness, gave him the choice that it was either ME or the Tarantulas but not both who would occupy our champa any day or night!! Needless to say my husband agreed! This article would not be complete without mentioning one of our fellow survival campers whose name was Lucy. A single lady who had aced all her subjects up at University and was intent on fulfilling every instruction to the letter. Lucy went so far as to carry with her for this entire excruciating week for most of us campers, a large (and I mean large) alarm clock which was timed to ring every 15 minutes on her campers web belt. It was a source of great amusement for the rest of us campers including me, but to give Lucy due credit, on no occasion did she ever take of-
fense at the sniggers from her fellow students when her alarm clock continued to ring loud and clear for the next several days or so. For the rest of us we would just average out the time as keeping a record every 15 minutes of the day became tedious for most of us, but Lucy kept rigidly to the instructions and we admired her for her commitment. Bert and I because of our nursing background were responsible for the ‘medical’ clinic and on more than one occasion I was called away to attend a sick person in one of the adjacent Indigenas villages so keeping to the 15 minute note taking became quite difficult: Cooking food was a real problem for me. I found it almost impossible to prepare food that did not have an appetizing smell: Our surrounding Indigenas friends survived mostly on tortillas and beans. In the mornings if I just happened to be cooking bacon there would be a row of little noses pressed against the opening of our champa and that completely finished my desire for bacon! From then on we bought all our tortillas from the local Indigenas women and they in turn taught me the art of tortilla making. I learned to first soften the corn with a ‘lye’ solution, then grinding the corn to ‘masa’ on a ‘metate.’ At first I failed miserably in making the small balls of dough and patting them in my hands into round, beautifully even tortillas. But practice did the trick and I was soon competent in making acceptable tortillas for our daily meals: I was never one for too much structure so to be quite honest I found this one week of “time and motion” 15 minute time checks most onerous, and yet it did teach me that I only had one day (roughly 8 hours) to do what I had to do and that procrastination was no excuse not to do what I needed to do.
MID-MONTH BONUS! Ken Hunt goes far into the past to recount a devastating moment that has remained unforgettable. Losing a parent is doubly painful when it happens for any reason other than death. And I Never Saw Him Again can be found at http://chapala.com/ elojo/index.php/mid-month-articles Each mid-month, we offer superb articles that while a bit too long for our print version are perfect for our digital format. Check it out!
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The Ojo Crossword
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ACROSS
DOWN
1 Delay decision 6 Sliding toy 10 Yearn 14 Threaded nail 15 Celebrity 16 Narrow minded 17 Tight at the top, flaring at The bottom (2 wds.) 18 Horse gear 19 Chinese secret society 20 Carpets 21 Cactus 23 Flurry 24 Looked 26 Break 28 Decisive moment 31 Took to court 32 Blemish 33 The Mind 36 Abbreviate 40 Pros 42 Utilize 43 1.6 Kilometers 44 Inclined plane 45 Communion tables 48 Toll 49 Lazy 51 Irate 53 Winged 56 Irritation 57 Swindle 58 Ended 61 Mystery info 65 Spoken 67 Egyptian river 68 Use with others 69 Grain 70 Walked 71 Jeopardy 72 Did well 73 See 74 Additional
1 Russian Ruler 2 American Civil Liberties Union (abbr.) 3 Guardhouse 4 Glasses part 5 Female sheep 6 Grate 7 Dregs 8 Little Mermaid´s love 9 Phil__(Talk show host) 10 To the point 11 Someone from Croatia 12 Large eastern religion 13 Kellogg´s waffles 21 Dining hall 22 Tell a tall tale 25 Shrill bark 27 Eve´s husband 28 Tyrant 29 Costa__ 30 Detail 31 Popular stadium 34 Christmas 35 Central Standard Time 37 Punch 38 Type of dressing 39 Stagger 41 Skewer 45 Cooked until chewy (2 wds.) 46 Peel 47 __Lanka 50 Christmas month 52 Engraved 53 One hundred of these make a shekel in Israel 54 Writer´s emotions 55 Swiftly 56 Unkempt 59 Ventilates 60 Swill 62 Fat 63 Canal 64 Join metal 66 Headed 68 Resort hotel
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Calling All Playwrights & Aspiring Playwrights By Mark Boyer
I
am excited to join the esteemed team of presenters for the 14th annual Lake Chapala Writers Conference on March 6-8, 2019. The focus of this conference is on Storytelling, and I have been invited to present a session on playwriting. Since playwriting is a huge lifelong topic, this session will focus on two areas that have potential sustainability beyond the conference: 1) writing the 10-minute play and 2) the option of participating in a Lake Chapala playwriting group. Why 10-Minute Plays? The 10-minute play is a legitimate play form. The 10-minute play first emerged from the Actors Theatre of Louisville (USA) when producing director Jon Jory was looking for ways to build relationships with prominent writers, provide opportunities for new writers, find acting roles for an apprentice company, and to build special projects into an annual festival. “Holidays” was a theme for their first year in 1978 of 10-minute plays that featured work by playwrights such as John Guare, Marsha Norman, Israel Horovitz, Douglas Turner Ward, Megan Terry, and Lanford Wilson. What followed from there in 197980 was the America Project, featuring commissioned 10-minute plays from non-USA playwrights about America. The result of these creative efforts with a new theatrical form was that The Actors Theatre of Louisville became recognized as a leading professional regional theatre in the United States and many
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excellent playwrights emerged from this experience. There are now 10-minute play festivals in theatres around the world and there are several publishers for 10-minute plays. Typically 6-10 plays are performed for an evening of diverse entertainment, which extends opportunities to several playwrights, actors, directors, and production teams. The hallmark of a 10-minute play is that it cuts through exposition and quickly gets to the conflict and moment(s) when characters are forced to confront something that will change them or not, and yet does this in a way that is coherent and not contrived. These are not sketches or skits, but rather are succinctly developed plays that utilize all of the recognized theatrical elements. The writer’s challenge is how to show (not tell) a good story that is interesting, thoughtprovoking, and compelling in only 10 minutes. Ray Domenech of Domenech Restaurant in west Ajijic has offered to host “cafe theatre readings” at his restaurant of selected 10-minute plays that emerge from the playwriting session at the Lake Chapala Writers Conference in March of 2019 or from a new group of Lake Chapala Playwrights. Jayme Littlejohn, artistic director of Bravo Theatre, has offered to help with the selection of plays and with the coordination of the readings. Amaranta Santos (actress and singer), Ray Domenech, and I will also support the selection of 10-minute plays to be read at Domenech Restaurant. It is our interest that these cafe theatre readings can grow into 10-minute play performances in theatres locally and elsewhere. Why a Playwriting Group? A new Lake Chapala Playwrights group will provide an additional option for writers who would like to further develop their skills within this genre and explore various options for theatre readings and performances. Participation in this group is not contingent on attendance at the Lake Chapala Writers Conference, but is encouraged. A playwriting group offers support, feedback, and networking for people who write or aspire to write for the the-
atre. Playwriting is a great way for writers in all genres to develop their writing skills. It can be like cross-training for athletes in that development of skills in one area tends to enhance skills in others. Good playwriting is always about good storytelling, and includes elements of plot, character, theme, language, rhythm, and spectacle. Whether a person is writing a novel or a memoir, these elements are commonly present in quality writing. The added plus to playwriting is the experience of having one’s work read or performed to better sense what most powerfully connects with an audience. While writers may first be attracted to the idea of playwriting, many people who have been involved in various capacities of performance or production (e.g., acting, directing, media, advertising, music, dance) may be surprised to find that their sensibilities are already sharpened for creating interesting theatrical experiences. Others who may be ready for playwriting are people who have been avid audiences of the arts or who are simply motivated to write for the theatre. The beauty of theatre is that it is a highly innovative art form. While some theatres tend to be relatively mainstream, there are also theatres that encourage experimental types of expression. In short, whatever you can imagine has the potential of being shaped into an intriguing theatrical experience. The desired participants for this playwriting group will be: 1) mix of Spanish and English writers who have written for theatre or who aspire to write for theatre 2) writers who are interested in mutual development of writing skills 3) people who enjoy the arts as participants and/or as audiences 4) year-round residents of Lake Chapala The logistics of how the playwriting group functions and grows will be determined by the members of the group. Since it is helpful to start with a common focus, the initial work of writers in the group will be on writing 10-minute plays with potential opportunities for public readings and performances. The first meeting of the Lake Chapala Playwrights will be scheduled after the Lake Chapala Writers Conference, and interested writers can contact me directly for more information at mboyer888@gmail.com. Conference Information: Conference information is available on Facebook at Lake Chapala Writers Conference. Conference contacts are Herbert W. Piekow (windsorcottage@ juno.com) and Victoria Schmidt (victoriaaschmidt@gmail.com). Registration forms to attend the Lake Chapala Writ-
ers Conference are available at Diane Pearl Colecciones in Ajijic. Theatre Bio for Mark Boyer: M.F.A. Director at Yale University’s School of Drama; Theatre instructor at University of Illinois, Actors Lab Arizona, Scottsdale Community College, CentralHower Magnet Performing Arts School; Theatre Consultant for Ohio Department of Education; Artistic Director for Chrysalis Repertory Theatre Company (sponsored by University of Illinois where half of productions were company-created plays); Playwright of 11 plays produced by university, children’s, and professional theatres; Play script reader of original plays
for university and professional theatres; Coach for playwrights; Actor & Director of 100+ plays, which frequently involved collaborations with playwrights; Served in various professional theatre capacities for The Eugene O’Neill Theater Center, Lenox Arts Center, John Houseman’s The Acting Company, Yale Repertory Theatre, Scottsdale Conservatory Theatre; Executive Director for Arizona Film, Theatre & Television. Mark Boyer
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* SOCIAL ORGANIZATIONS - FAR Tel: 331-321-6969 - LOS NIÑOS DE CHAPALA Y AJIJIC Tel: 765-7032 - NIÑOS INCAPACITADOS
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* WATER - PURE HYDRATION Cell: 315-115-0312 - TECNO AQUA Tel: 766-3731, 688-1038
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* SOLAR ENERGY - OPIERE SOLAR Tel: 766-6148, 01-800-099-0736 - SUN QUEST ENERGY Tel: 766-1761, Cell: 33-1603-9756
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* SPA / MASSAGE
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- HOTEL BALNEARIO SAN JUAN COSALA Tel: (387) 761-0222 Pag: 75 - LA BELLA VIDA Tel: 766-5131 Pag: 32 - TOTAL BODY CARE Tel: 766-3379 Pag: 26
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* STREAMING TV
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- 7000 CHANEL TV Tel: 387-761-1101
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The Ojo Crossword
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* RETIREMENT/REST/NURSING HOMES - CASA ANASTASIA Tel: 765-5680 / 33-3452-5864 Pag: 22 - CASA LA VIDA REAL Tel: 108-2506, Cell. 33-2804-3892 Pag: 71 - EL CHANTE ASSISTED LIVING Tel: (387) 763-2555, Cell: 332-163-2309 Pag: 67 - HAPPINESS - Care Residence for Elderly Cell: 33-3137-9604 Pag: 78 - LA CASA NOSTRA Tel: 765-3824 Pag: 03 - NURSING HOME LAKE CHAPALA Tel: 766-0404 Pag: 24 - OHANA Tel: (01387) 761-0403 Pag: 28
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CARS
WANTED: Toyota 4 Runner. Email: joanmlandry@gmail.com. WANTED: I want to buy a map book of Mexico. GUÍA ROJI POR LAS CARRETERAS DE MÉXICO EUA GUATEMALA BELICE 2015. Email: mike.a.maloney@gmail.com. WANTED: Need: US Plated Car and/or Trailer. For a move to the states. Call Mike at : 331-330-1050. WANTED: ISO Jalisco plated smaller car or jeep, 2008 or newer, automatic, maintenance records, a/c, 4 door. Email: rollrcoaster1999@ yahoo.com. WANTED: Look to buy Jalisco Licensed Small to Med Size Car, Please share any vehicle information and contact details. Later model year preferred with low mileage and maintenance history. Email: etumoe@gmail.com. FOR SALE: Harley Davidson 2003 Dyna Limited Edition low rider. $100,000 Pesos. In very good condition. Has windshield and saddle bags plus other modifications. Was serviced and made road worthy by SS Auto about a year ago. I have the title but it will need to be nationalized. Located in West Ajijic. Email: jausten09@ yahoo.com. FOR SALE: 2009 Renault Magane, Automatic Transmission, Air Conditioning, Radio/ CD player, 4-Doors, great gas mileage, Mexican Plates, only 83KM, very clean & great condition. For more info and pictures. Email: benlindywhite5@gmail.com. FOR SALE: Toyota minivan 2015 year, 4 cylinders. 22,400 kilometers. 7 passengers. One Owner. Perfect immaculate condition. Automatic air conditioning. Very good price. English: 33-3676-5897. FOR SALE: 2010 Camry, in excellent condition, low Kilometers, well maintained, Mexican Licence with all papers in order. Well built to last under conditions here at lakeside. Please contact Rob an 331-755-0078 for details and fair price. Must be a cash sale. FOR SALE: 2015 Italika GSC 150 Scooter. Excellent condition, low mileage. $17,000P. Cell: 333-722-4457. WANTED: I am looking to buy a tow dolly in good condition, if you have one or know of one, I already have a good tow bar; I am wanting to change to a tow dolly, preferably one with brakes, electric or surge activated. Please PM me or call or send text to me at 331-6925187. WANTED: Does anyone have a golf cart they would be willing to rent to me? I have a security enclosed garage. Email: ann.dalsin@ dalsinlaw.com. FOR SALE: Universal roof bars to fit rails up to 44 inches apart (112 cm) No tool necessary to fit. Cost about $3000mx (I think), make me an offer. Iain 788-0847 or 331-793-2625. FOR SALE: Selling banks turbo kit for 6.9 diesel, this is a Banks turbo kit that costs $3,000 u.s. dollars, asking $1,000 u.s. or peso equivalent for the kit. Email: schraderlarry@rocketmail.co. FOR SALE: Motorcycle 2017 Pulsar 200 AS, black - perfect condition, 18,700 Km, $38,000 pesos firm. Mexican title (factura) paid and clear. cglane2007@yahoo.com – 376-7661218 “Chris”
COMPUTERS
FOR SALE: HEWLETT PACKARD 21 INCH LCD MONITOR. Model f 2105 Excellent condition. $950 pesos. Ajijic Centro, near LCS. (Bought larger screen for graphics work.) PM if interested. Email: vamostwo@yahoo.com. FOR SALE: Lowepro Portable Office, padded computer bag for 2 computers plus or full
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portable office. 400 pesos. Call: 766-4360. FOR SALE: Zoom 16 Channel Recording Studio with carrying case, nearly new, paid $400 USD Sell for $4000 pesos OBO. 766-4360. FOR SALE: Logitech Wireless Keyboard k270 - brand new still in package - never used. Spanish keyboard. Retails on Amazon.mx for $539.83 plus $49.00 shipping. Asking price $250 pesos. Please email arjay333@gmail.com or phone 376-766-3103 and leave a clear message. FOR SALE: Compact desk. Room for tower, keyboard, and printer. 33 inches wide. Email: elzear.swain@gmail.com. WANTED: Shaw cable TV. I have space on my account to add 2 more receivers. This is for the 600 to 800 series. Email: sandraspencer@ gmail.com.
PETS & SUPPLIES
FREE: Beautiful Female Dog Needs Permanent Home. Email: Rueann42@gmail.com. FOR SALE: Skudo Airline Carrier, 27 inches long, 22 inches high, New, airline approved $70 US or equivalent, PM if interested. Email: ms1cbtheone@gmail.com. FOUND: A beautiful young black cat has adopted us. She is very affectionate and we assume someone must be missing her? If not she is ours!! Please phone 766-3170. We will need proof that you know her. WANTED: I’m looking for day care, maybe three days a week, for my 18 month lab. She is very social. Well behaved, gentle. Somewhere where she has an open area with several other dogs, not contained in a crate. Email: kaycnevin@gmail.com. FOR SALE: I need a dog trainer. Does anyone know how to get in touch with A. Hess or someone who can help me?? Email: richernow@hotmail.com. MISSING: Our black tuxedo cat is missing. He’s very friendly. Please call if you have any information. There’s a reward if he’s returned to us. 376-766-2559, 551-796-3897, 332-8035402.
GENERAL MERCHANDISE
FOR SALE: I have a nice occasional chair, $2500 pesos; a bamboo desk that could also be used as a sofa table $1200 pesos, a big 6 ft tall, 30 inch wide white bookcase $2000 pesos, a long mirror for $800 pesos and another long mirror for $1000 pesos, a nice painting with dark green background/seated woman with backside facing viewer holding big bunch of calla lilies $2000 pesos, large agave painting in blue-green/pale turquoise tones $6000 pesos, several peace lilies for indoors or out, 2 bouganvilia in nice outdoor pots, and a couple other potted plants and a gas heater for sale, $3700 pesos with tank, new. Email: is4916@ protonmail.com. FOR SALE: Two sets of 6 silver plated coasters, each with its own stand. Good condition - they just need a bit of cleaning or polishing. Please email me at arjay333@gmail.com or phone 766-3103 and leave a clear message. FOR SALE: Barely used skateboard in excellent conditions for sale, $400 pesos. Email: es336011@gmail.com. FOR SALE: 3 Pullman sized (largest allowed on airlines) suitcases. Used once. As new. Ultralight, Delsey ‘Featherlite’, American Tourister. $100USD each. Ajijic Centro. 376-766-1175. FOR SALE: MAN’S KILT WANTED - good condition. Must fit 6’ man. Phone 766-3170 and leave message if no answer. Email: rmswinburne@gmail.com.
El Ojo del Lago / January 2019
FOR SALE: Fireplace Grate and Screen, Prefer to sell as a set for 600 pesos. But will separate $300 for the grate; 400 for the screen. Dimensions: Screen: 31 inches wide; 22 inches tall. Grate: 24 inches wide; 5 inches tall; 18 inches deep. Email: theruleof80@yahoo.com. WANTED: We need to purchase washer and dryer, large capacity. I know about Electro Venta. Looking for on line sources where they can be ordered and delivered. Email: zebra@cryptogroup.net. WANTED: An empty house needs furniture, if you have anything try to sell, please contact me. Here is what we need: bedroom set, washer and dryer, mirrors, living room furniture, Indoor plants and outdoor plans, dining table and chairs, patio furniture. Email: tomorrew@hotmail.com. FOR SALE: Brand new Daewoo microwave never used still in box. Received as gift and cannot use. I want to sell for $1200. Email: carolina4071@yahoo.com for more info. FOR SALE: 2 wicker chairs in new condition. Original price $10500 sell for $8000. Contact carolina4071@yahoo.com for pictures or more info. FOR SALE: Brown vinyl reclining sofa. Almost new. Original price $14000 sell for $10500. For picture or see send an email to carolina4071@yahoo.com. FOR SALE: BAGKING red, black, grey, lots of pockets Back pack with wheels $600p. BRAND NEW Coleman Hydration 14 L back pack with 2 litre bladder $600 pesos. Roots back pack (one broken small zipper) black on wheels. $600 pesos. Black 2 wheel suitcase 29x18x10 inches $400 pesos. Black leather money belt $200 pesos. Pictures available on request 376-7664032. FOR SALE: Tassimo Bosch coffee maker, 5 pkg of coffee (20) servings, 1 pkg of tea (16) servings FROM Canada $800 pesos, 5 cup blender, glass, 1.25 litre 10 settings, $600 peso. Pictures available on request. 376-766-4032. WANTED: I am looking for a gas stove. Could be apartment size, but prefer a bigger model. Looking to pay a more reasonable price than in the used appliance places. If grungy, I can clean it up. Email: italianindian2003@yahoo.com. WANTED: Need a small patio table (no umbrella needed) and 2 chairs - probably made of plastic to weather being left out in the sun and rain. Good condition. First preference would be white but open to other colours. Please respond here or phone 766-3103. FOR SALE: Swarovski Spotting Scope, 20x60 eyepiece, 15mm eyepiece, 85 mm lens, Bogen 3036 tripod, 3130 crank $1500 US. Email: vivtomh@hotmail.com. FOR SALE: Talavera Ceramic medium sized bathroom sink $400 pesos OBO. 766-4360. FOR SALE: Professional Microphone Audio Technica Cardioid Condenser Mic with phantom power box. Rarely used $2000 pesos. 7664360. FOR SALE: Bedroom Suite, the suite has a KING -Queen size Head Board two Night Stands and Double Dresser with large Mirror asking $3.500.00 pesos. High Gloss finish Red Mahogany. Phone: 376-106-2160 or Email: sanbt69@live.com. FOR SALE: We purchased a new double recliner 6 months ago, it has storage compartment in middle, dark brown color, asking $6,000.00 pesos, phone: 376-106-3160 or email sanbt69@live.com. FOR SALE: 16 inch Parabolic HeatDish keeps you warm in your chair. Three adjustable settings. $600 pesos. 766-4360. FOR SALE: 24 inch by 36 inch computer
desk, on roller wheels. $350 pesos. 766-4360. FOR SALE: Slightly used twin mattress and box spring for child, but can support an adult weight. Transportation included. MXN$2500 OBO. 322-1826439. Email: javier_abud_1000@ hotmail.com. FOR SALE: Excellent condition. Mauve vinyl electric lift recliner. Perfect for aging bodies or people needing help getting out of a chair. You will need to arrange moving. West Ajijic. $12,000 pesos. Contact miendo@yahoo.com. FOR SALE: Nicely finished wooden trundle bed frame. $3000 pesos OBO. 766-4360. FOR SALE: King Size 1000 thread cotton set, new, $100US. Call: 333-399-4825. FOR SALE: Golf balls, Titleist pro v1 packs of three(3), dt tru soft packs of three(3) , next tour, dt tru soft, dt carry, dt solo, next tour many more of this brand Nike many more of this brand, power distance high, dunlop, ddh lady, many more of this brand. Email: ssnnkenn7@ aol.com. Call David or Susanne 376-766-4456, Cell: 331-824-5205. FOR SALE: Twin sheet set: “Tribeca Living” 300 counts Egyptian cotton. This set cost me $1,675 to get here ($85 US). The price includes what I paid for Alex Peterson’s shipping and 16% IVA at the border, so a savings of $475. Email: mike@ajijiccomputing.com. FOR SALE: GOLF is all year round here in Chapala we have an amazing selection of golf balls. Titleist packs of three and by the dozen. Provix prov1 velocity dt solo next tour tour soft Nike other Nike balls. Amazing prices ranging from $30 pesos (3pack) and by the dozen. Call David or Susanne 376-766-4456, Cell: 33115245205. FOR SALE: DELTA TWIST GRIP SHIFTERS. 3 X 7 - 21 SPEED. Used for only two weeks and in good condition. Price: $200 Pesos, Buyer Collects. Email: louis.solo@live.com. FOR SALE: 8Ft. Tall Xmas tree ($2.000 MXN); 11 clay Nativity Figurines 2Ft. Tall (500 MXN); other Xmas decorations. Slow cooker (350 MXN); ladies cocktail dresses and other Size 12; home decorations; men’s clothes Size 42L inc. Tuxedo; speakers; wigs; misc. fine crystal inc. punch bowl w/cups; Wedgwood china setting for 12; suitcases; hard cover books (English authors); arm chair and many other items. Email: aivarsamy@gmail.com. Tel: 766-2225. FOR SALE: Santa Fe Advanced Basement/ House Dehumifier. Pumps 90 pints of water per day and covers 2200sf. Includes pump which is normally $120US. This is the best in dehumidifiers but am moving and cannot lug it around. Asking 20,000 pesos or best offer. Normally 1500US without the pump. Located in West Ajijic. Email: jausten09@yahoo.com. FOR SALE: General commercial meat grinder GSM50 as new, used only once. $10,000 Pesos. Email: jausten09@yahoo.com. FOR SALE: We have to move back to Canada and need to sell our home furnishings and appliances. All items are only about a year old. This includes LG French Door fridge, 18 kilo LG washer/dryer (Lavadora/Secadora) single unit as well as livingroom and bedroom furniture. We also have a woman’s (used) and man’s (brand new) bikes for sale. Please contact me via email: shireen_stangl@yahoo.ca. WANTED: I would like to buy a dehumidifier, i prefer a smaller unit for a bedroom but will consider any size. Email: schraderlarry@ rocketmail.com. FOR SALE: Sunbeam Heated Throw Blanket, twin size (60”x50”), beige colour, automatic 3-hour shutoff. Hardly used - like new condition, perfectly clean in a smoke and pet-free home. Asking $300 pesos. Please email arjay333@gmail.com or phone 376-766-3103 and
leave clear message. FOR SALE: C MAX Extruded Carbon Filter Cartridge, Model MAXETW-975 (Economical Thick Wall). I also have a filter wrench to fit this cartridge. $100 pesos. Please email me at arjay333@gmail.com or phone 766-3103 and leave a clear message. WANTED: Wanted used 50-65 tv. Call Kim 333-496-8417. I am in San Antonio. FOR SALE: Compact computer desk, 33 inches wide. A place for tower, screen, keyboard and CDs. On wheels. 333-723-0376. $200 pesos. FOR SALE: Thule roof carrier, 14.5 cubic feet of storage. Excellent condition. $175.00 USD. Call 376-108-2518. WANTED: I´m looking to buy a tow dolly in good condition to tow a car behind my motorhome, if you have one or know of one, please PM me or call or send text to me at 331692-5187. FOR SALE: Sundolphin KAYAK never used almost 8ft long $6500 pesos. VELOCI ARKON BICYCLE $4000 PESOS. Several brand new leather jackets sizes med and large prices range from US $200 to US $950. Great selection of Italian made shoes price ranges US $150 to US $300, must see to appreciate. L shape Green sofa $600 pesos. Restored wooden trunk $4000 pesos. Call 33-2257-1104. FOR SALE: Shaw 630 PVR complete with remote, power cord and HDMI cable. Free and clear to be activated. This is the one that records. $4500 pesos. 376-766-4032. WANTED: I wish to buy good used lawn and garden equipment. Gas mower; electric
bougainvillea clippers; weed wacker; and all sorts of hand tools. If by any chance you have same for sale, please give me a call? Carrol 7664338. WANTED: Want to buy a table saw or chop saw, Ether one in good condition. Email: wolfsburg4wd@gmail.com. FOR SALE: GE Profile 30” gas wall oven like new. Model # GE5500HO - gas with digital display - installation opening measurements: 76cm wide, 69cm high, 53.5 cm deep - door measures 79.5 cm wide, 70cm high x 4 cm deep. Two shelves. Price: $14,000. Email: robbinmoore326@gmail.com. FOR SALE: Fabric Sofa (chesterfield) 7 inches wide. I don’t know the name for the fabric but it is a complex pattern. Maroon, green, yellow and blue. Good condition. Price: $4,000 pesos OBO. 333-723-0376. FOR SALE: Shaw 600 receiver with remote and power cord. Free and clear to be activated. Price. $2500 pesos. 376-766-4032. FOR SALE: WARREN HARDY flash cards & 501 verb book, make an offer, Iain 766-0847 or 331-793-2625. WANTED: I have space to add to additional receivers. They need to be in the 600 to 800 series. Please PM me for additional info. Email: sandraspencer@gmail.com. FOR SALE: Small pump 4.5 watts, max 80 gal p hr. Paid $25 USD Asking $300 pesos OBO. 766-4360. WANTED: The Joco police dept. needs office chairs. Donation greatly appreciated, but have a small budget to buy, can anyone help?
send a PM if you have even one available. Email: chapala45900@prodigy.net.mx. FOR SALE: Hunter 140 Daysailer. Fully equipped and re-finished Hunter 140 (14 Ft) daysailer sailboat. Asking $1,950 US. Location: San Juan Cosalá on the lakefront. Includes hull, all fittings - lines - mast with top float - mainsail - roller furling and jib - Honda 2 HP outboard trailer with spare tire AND new cover made of weather resistant Sunbrella material. E-mail me at hw4310@yahoo.com or call 954-288-4541. WANTED: Anyone have a table saw for sale at a reasonable price? 10” blade would be fine. must have a good fence. Will be ripping plywood. Nothing crazy. Email: daviesgareth@ gmail.com. FOR SALE: Todo Bueno resale shop just got in two king bedroom sets, one with two side pieces and dresser. Hidalgo 231 Riberas next to S&S auto 331-016-0619. 4 blue doors, next Have Hammers carpentry school. WANTED: Looking for the following Nikon prime lenses in excellent condition: 35mm f/1.8G AF-S DX. 50mm f/1.8G DX. 85mm f/1.8G AF-S. FX. Please reply with condition and asking prices. If you have additional Nikon or Sigma lenses (for Nikon mount) please let me consider them also. Email: pohlmanjb@gmail.com. FOR SALE: Outdoor Coffee Table, Resin (stone lookalike). 43” W x 26” D x 20” H. Perfect Condition. $2500 pesos. Call 766-5856 or tucantalk@gmail.com. FOR SALE: 4 and half Bikes, Yellow trek bike, $5000 pesos (see bike #4.5 for special offer). Blue and silver trek bike, $3000 pesos. Adult
Tricylce workmen brand, Tandem attachment bike, Canadian made. This bike is for a child to attach on the back of a full adult bike. Both bikes are $6500. Text or call or Whatsapp Evan 333-174-0397. FOR SALE: Beautiful bowl style hanging swing chair. It is only 7 months old. Has an extra-large cushion in periwinkle color. It is made of light bamboo and comes with the black metal support stand. It was special made for us in Chapala. Serious buyers only. $4000 pesos. New $7000. Evan 333-174-0397. FOR SALE: Large Bernhardt sectional, Comfortable, Caramel color, leather, excellent condition. Includes ottoman. $21,000 pesos. Email: zebra@cryptogroup.net. FOR SALE: 14 foot sunfish with center board and trailer. $500.00 US. Email: ianandjen88@gmail.com or 766-5896. FOR SALE: Original Prada Shoes, size 24.5 mexican, Only 1 time was used, price $3000 pesos. Call to Alma 331-005-3109. FOR SALE: Individual Brass Headboard, Price $2,200.00 pesos. Call to Alma 331-0053109.
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El Ojo del Lago / January 2019