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z D I R EC T O R Y z PUBLISHER

Richard Tingen

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Alejandro Grattan-DomĂ­nguez 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

3K\OLVV(ZLQJSDVVHVRQDVWRU\WKDWZDUQVXVDERXWWKHGDQJHUVRIHYHUIRUJHWWLQJWKHSDVWHVSHFLDOO\ZKHQLWFRPHVWR The Holocaust.

16 RECREATION John Commando looks humorously at one of Lakeside’s most enjoyable activities... No, not that one!

COLUMNS THIS MONTH

44 BOOK REVIEW

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Editor’s Page

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Child Of Month

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Welcome To Mexico

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Focus On Art

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Lakeside Living



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)UHG 0LWWDJ UHPLQGV XV WKDW7KRPDV -HႇHUVRQ RQFH VDLG WKDW WKH VXUHVW VDIHguard for guaranteeing democracy is an educated and informed citizenry. That admonition is especially important now.

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Front Row Center



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70 FICTION

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Bridge By The

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Lcs Newsletter

Associate Editor Victoria Schmidt Contributing Editor Mark Sconce

Clare Gearhart reviews John Thomas Dodds’ new book, A Sneaky Twitch of an Itch DQG ¿QGV LW D VXUH¿UHFXUHIRUKROLGD\PHODQFKROLD²DQGDJUHDW gift for grandchildren.

Theater Critic Michael Warren Book Review Panel Margaret Van Every Margaret Porter Clare Gearhart

Art Critic Rob Mohr Sales Manager Bruce Fraser 2ႈFH6HFUHWDU\ 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

50 LAKESIDE LIVING

30 POETIC JUSTICE Karl Homann writes about what he plans to do ZLWKZKDWHYHUKHKDVZKHQWKHHQGÂżQDOO\DUULYHV Some might describe it as “completing the circleâ€? while others might term it “paying it forward.â€?

40 CIVICS

Rob Mohr softly spins a lyrical, romantic story that tells us just as much between the lines as do the sentences themselves, which can only be described as beautiful.

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 dĂ­as de cada mes. (Distributed over WKHÂżUVWÂżYHGD\VRIHDFKPRQWK) &HUWLÂżFDGRGH/LFLWXGGH7tWXOR &HUWLÂżFDGRGH/LFLWXGGH&RQWHQLGR Reserva al TĂ­tulo de Derechos de Autor 04-2011-103110024300-102 Control 14301. Permisos otorgados por la SecretarĂ­a de GobernaciĂłn (EXP. 1/432 “88â€?/5651 de 2 de junio de 1993) y SEP (Reserva 171.94 control 14301) del 15 de enero de 1994. DistribuciĂłn: Hidalgo 223 Chapala, Jalisco, MĂŠxico. All contents are fully protected by copyright and may not be reproduced without the written consent of El Ojo del Lago. Opinions expressed E\ WKH DXWKRUV GR QRW QHFHVVDULO\ UHĂ€HFW WKH 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 Northern Lights Festival de Febrero

Special Events Editor Sandy Olson

Roving Correspondent Dr. Lorin Swinehart

COVER STORY

VOLUME 34 NUMBER 5

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018


Saw you in the Ojo

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COLUMNIST

Editor’s Page %\$OHMDQGUR*UDWWDQ'RPLQJXH]

The Mexican-American Soldier in WWII

W

hen the U n i t e d States first entered WWII in December of 1941, there were more than two and a half million people of Mexican descent living in the US, eighty-five percent of whom resided in five states: New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, California and Texas. But in early 1941, an order had already been issued by the commander of the 36th Infantry Division that a new unit be formed, comprised only of Mexican-Americans. The mandate included both officers and enlisted men. Whether the order was discriminatory cannot be easily judged. What is indisputable is that it gave rise to what later became one of the most highlydecorated fighting units in American history. The new unit, called “E Company,” became part of the 141st Regiment of the 36th Division, later known as the Texas Volunteers. The all-Hispanic rifle company quickly drew many recruits from every part of the Southwest, including many men who had long been members of the National Guard in their home-states. The rifle company soon became noted for its excellence. The remaining question was how well it would do in actual combat, a doubt resoundingly settled when the Texas Volunteers stormed the Italian beach at Salerno and began blasting their way up toward the Eternal City of Rome. But then came several elements which in combination dealt the American forces a stunning counter-punch. The Germans held the high-ground at Monte Cassino, from where they could shell the US troops below with shattering accuracy. The terrain had also grown steep and rocky, and with the driving sheets of rain, the entire area became a swamp. Hundreds of Sherman tanks sat stalled alongside washed-out roads. The Italian campaign had boiled down to that most basic element in any army: the foot soldier. It was now his war to either win or lose. The first major objective was to successfully cross the

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raging Rapido River. To accomplish this, 156 men of E Company were ordered to make the crossing first, though it was known they would be facing more than 3000 Germans on the other side, armed with heavy machine guns, mortars and even light cannons. Why such a pitifully small group of men, all of whom had been in combat for three straight weeks and some of which could barely walk, was sent out on such an impossible mission is something that even now, some 75 years later, is still hotly debated. Of the original striking force, only 23 men made it back to their own side of the river and of those, a dozen later died. Even so, by the end of the war, E Company had won more medals for bravery than some entire  regiments, while overall, Hispanic soldiers had been awarded more Congressional Medals of Honor (in ratio to their numbers) than almost any other ethnic group. Yet despite their outstanding combat record, these same heroes were initially denied membership in both the Veterans of Foreign Wars and the American Legion. But that history of outstanding achievement has had its way over the past several decades and today every branch of the US military is packed with high-ranking MexicanAmerican officers. Moreover, the top leadership of both the VFW and the American Legion has often been held by Mexican-Americans. The philosopher who once said that “the wheels of fate grind slowly but they grind exceedingly Alejandro fine” was not wrong. GrattanDominguez


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We Must Not Forget Our Past &RXUWHV\RI3K\OLVV(ZLQJ

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he following is an e-mail sent to me from a retired military ex-pat now living in Arizona. With his permission I am sharing it with you. PE) He wrote, “At this time, it is very important to remember a whole new meaning to what history is all about. When I was a kid, I couldn’t understand why Eisenhower was so popular. Maybe this will explain why General Eisenhower warned us, “It is a matter of history.” When the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces, General Dwight Eisenhower, found the victims of the death camps, he ordered all possible photographs to be taken, and for the German people from surrounding villages to be ushered through the camps and even made to bury the dead. He did this because he said in words to this effect, Get it all on record

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now - get the films - get the witnesses – because somewhere down the road of history some bastard will get up and say that this never happened. This week, the UK debated whether to remove The Holocaust from its school curriculum because it offends the Muslim population which claims it never occurred. It has not been removed as yet. However, this is a fright-

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

ening portent of the fear that is gripping the world and how easily each country is giving in to it. It is now more than seven decades after WWII ended in Europe. This is being sent as a memorial, in memory of thesix million Jews, 20 million Russians, 10 million Christians, and 1,900 Catholic priests who were murdered, raped, burned, starved, beaten, experimented on and humiliated while many in the world looked the other way! Now, more than ever, with Iran, among others, claiming The Holocaust to be a myth, it is imperative to make sure the world never forgets. For 15 years my late husband and I traveled with groups lead by a U.S. Military History Professor focused on the Allied campaigns. We scoured Europe, but oddly he emphatically refused to lead a trip to Germany. This fall my husband and I traveled via river cruise from Budapest to Amsterdam. I now understand the professor’s aversion to this side of the war. Our rooms provided a variety of movies including historical glimpses of what we were about to witness. Since I am a history buff and have a fairly good WWII background, I wanted to watch The Eichmann Show (2015) and The Diary of Anne Frank (1959). Otto Adolf Eichmann was responsible for the murder of millions of Jews, Gypsies and Poles, all of which Hitler deemed inferior. Young Anne Frank, her family and other Jews were hidden in an Amsterdam attic for three years before being discovered and sent to their deaths in Nazi camps. The Eichmann Show is a blend of Hollywood and actual trial film footage which took place in Ramla, Israel after his capture in Argentina by Israeli Mossad agents and indicted by the Israeli court on 15 criminal charges including crimes against humanity and war crimes. The trial was televised around the world because many people refused to believe the atrocities actually occurred. Eichmann denied all 15 charges, sat calmly in a glass enclo-

sure without facial expressions, as eyewitnesses testified. This particularly touched me because they witnessed their families being murdered before their eyes. The film producers wanted his reaction and confession. They finally decided to show him and the world actual film footage of what the death camps produced; piles of worked-to-death, starved, skin-stretched skeletons being pushed by a front loader into burial ditches. Their heads shaved, teeth pulled for the gold. The Russians arrived at the camps before the Allied Forces and discovered a room piled high with 70 tons of neatly-bagged human hair. These films finally struck a nerve with Eichmann who admitted that these atrocities were his idea, but he did not order their execution. He was quoted as saying, “To sum it up, I must say that I regret nothing.” The three judges deliberated for four months and Eichmann was hanged, a sentence too good for someone so evil. In Budapest we visited a synagogue. On the property of this holy place is a small graveyard with ten graves containing 3,000 Hungarian Jews. It was overwhelming and hard to comprehend. Nearby is a stainless steel willow tree, a Tree of Life, each leaf inscribed with an individual’s or a family’s name, buried just a few yards away. There were many memorials to remind us of this horrid period in human history. On the river banks, Nazis tied Jews together. To save ammunition they shot the person on the end who then dragged the entire string into the river to a watery grave. The memorial left there is a collection of shoes. Another memorial was of one person in a building throwing a rope to another on the ground trying to pull them to safety. On a bus tour through Nuremberg we passed Hitler’s rally stadium where he delivered his fist-pounding, screaming messages to thousands of brainwashed believers. Remarkably it has been left there as a reminder for all to see. This brings me to what is going on in the U.S. today with groups wanting to destroy statues and memorials of our Founding Fathers, Civil War memorials and even a statue of Christopher Columbus. This is a modern day attempt to erase our history. By contrast the Mexicans are proud of their heroes and honor them with statues and celebrate their struggles with days of remembrance. I go back to what General Dwight Eisenhower said when he ordered the documentation of the death camps of Germany, “It is a matter of history.”


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y grandmother used to come home from her wanderings with her pockets full of little treasures she had found along the way. Cracker Jack prizes, stray rubber jacks balls, lost skate keys, jar lids, rubber heels from boots. These findings were carefully sealed away in old canning jars—preserved as she had once preserved chokecherries or tomatoes. When she died and they bulldozed her house to build the new hospital, those jars were buried under the South Dakota gumbo soil. I often dream of them, now that I have developed my own proclivity toward found treasures.

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As an assemblage artist, I have a better excuse for amassing small objects than my grandmother did. For me, it is sea shells, heart-shaped rocks, sea-rusted bits of metal, seasmoothed glass. Friends have taken to saving for me things they might otherwise have thrown away: tin boxes, bits of broken jewelry, bent rusted nails. One dentist friend gave me a small box of pulled teeth—the most macabre of my idiosyncratic gifts. I have a room filled with these strange valuables—cabinets labeled with the category of finds. Dried rhinocerus beetles and cotton-swathed praying mantises share spaces with tiny rubber ants and scorpions intri-

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

cately formed of woven wire. Dried seed pods join silk flowers or paper flowers or flowers I’ve made from painted and glued egg cartons. My grandmother’s ivory flower brooch is nearly obscured by a cellophane envelope of tiny plastic multi-hued daisies. My friend Joe’s old army pocket watch lies nestled within a nest of old watch parts— wheels and sprockets and springs and winders. The offspring of a thousand yard sales or garage sales or sidewalk sales, the finds of walks through neighborhoods or up mountains or along lakefronts. Crops gleaned from junk drawers both of my own and of friends and relatives. Fast food prizes and bags of tiny plastic animals from carnival booths. Swizzle sticks and liquor labels, old calendars and play money. Ancient bobby pins and miniature perfume bottles, tiny manicure scissors and my grandmother’s glasses case, wheat from my dad’s last wheat crop, charms from old charm bracelets, tiny plastic tables that once held up the lids of pizza boxes, protecting the cheese of pizzas. What is the value of things formerly hidden, cast away or lost? Is it a stubborn insistence that beauty

can be made of anything, given the correct combinations of ordinary things? Or is the beauty in each individual object and their combining into an assemblage merely a type of artistic hoarding? Certainly, there is a certain zen beauty to be found in simplicity, But for a certain type of person such as myself, there is glory in massed, organized excess Judy Dykstraas well. Brown


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COLUMNIST

CHILD

of the month

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zel and her sister Kayra joined Niños Incapacitados back in 2011. Mom had just received distressing news that her husband was leaving her. She told him she was expecting another child but that did nothing to change his mind. Mom named her new daughter Izel as she said it means, “unique or one of a kind.” Niños Incapacitados accepts two children per family. At birth Kayra was diagnosed with heart and lung problems which would require surgery when she was a little older. For the time being she was being monitored closely and prescribed a cocktail of medicines. Shortly after birth, Izel was diagnosed with hydrocephalus, which was once referred to as “water on the brain” but is actually cerebrospinal fluid. The most common treatment is the surgical insertion of a drainage system called a shunt to route the cerebrospinal fluid to other parts of the body. Izel will probably need this shunt system in place for the rest of her life. Symptoms of normal hydrocephalus include problems with walking, impaired bladder control leading to urinary frequency and/or incontinence, as well as progressive mental impairment. At age three Izel started having severe abdominal pains and after consulting with a specialist it was determined that she had an impaired bladder. Doctors operated and installed a

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urinary diversion and inserted a tube below her navel to urinate. A special diaper allows her to live a somewhat normal life. At the same time she started to fall and after a visit with an orthopedic surgeon, she has been outfitted with orthopedic shoes with inserts which have corrected this problem. To date, Niños Incapacitados has reimbursed 171,310 pesos for consults, surgeries, therapies, medications, orthopedic supplies, diapers and transportation. As Director of the Jocotopec Clinic, thank you again for the opportunity of presenting some of our children to you. Niños Incapacitados has changed their format in that we will not be holding monthly meetings. Please join us for our Meet the Children to be held on February 15, 2018 at the Real de Chapala Hotel with social hour starting at 10:00 am. If you would like to learn more about Niños Incapacitados, please visit our website at www.programaniños. com or call Nicole Sergent 376-7664375 or Barb Corol 376-766-5452.


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%\5REHUW-DPHV7D\ORU Hudson River Railroad Terminal August 27th 1871.

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porter was about to finish his shift, after loading the luggage bound d for the evening train to Chiicago when he became aware re of a putrid stench that seemed med d to emanate from a heavy trunk unk that had been delivered to o the Depot that morning. The station master was summoned who had the trunk moved to a nearby empty office; when the trunk was opened the sight was sickening: underneath a quilt and bloodied sheets was the body of a young woman in the fetal position. She had long golden curls that draped over her white porcelain skin. This grim discovery would set in motion a series of events that would have widespread ramifications across the nation. Within minutes the police from

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18th the Precinct arrived at scene. Upon questioning the the scene porter it was ascertained that a woman earlier that day, prior to buying a ticket to Chicago, had used a local truckman to collect the trunk from an address on Second Avenue- the truckman was a local man, named William Pickett. All local Precincts were immediately ordered to locate him. The body of the young woman was sent to Belleville Hospital, where Dr. Cushman, the coroner, performed the autopsy; he confirmed the victim died as the result of a botched abortion.

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

Paterson, New Jersey. Walter Conklin was the son of a wealthy industrialist and Alderman to Newark, and was regarded locally as a ladies man, with his good looks and immaculate attire; often seen at parties with a young lady on his arm. His family lived in the upper class neighbourhood of Paterson. A few blocks away, across the river, amongst the working class, lived Caroline Bowlsby, who rented a house after her drunken husband left her; here she had taught her three daughters the skills of dressmaking. Alice was the eldest daughter, endowed with exceptional beauty, a sweet innocent women, aged 25, who taught at the local Sunday school. It was at this dressmaker’s shop that Walter Conklin met Alice Bowlsby- a romantic attachment ensued. Alice’s mother, eager to see her daughter married, was pleased, yet, after six months, it was doubtful the Conklin family were aware of the affair. During August 1871, Alice became pregnant with Walter’s child, such a predicament he was desperate to remedy: within days he had responded to an ad in the New York Herald’s medical columns that read “Ladies in trouble guaranteed immediate relief, sure and safe, no fees required unless perfectly satisfied”.

Wednesday, August 23 rd 1871 Alice left Paterson that morning, having told her mother she was going to a matinee with a friend. She wore a white lawn dress with a blue sash and ribbons, and in her purse was an envelope with cash, a train ticket, and the address of a Dr. Ascher, 687, Second Ave, New York. That evening she did not return home. Wm. Pickett, the truckman at the railroad terminal came forward and confirmed to the NY police that he had in fact picked up the trunk in question- the address was 687 Second Ave. The police sergeant recognised it immediately; it was the home of a Dr. Jacob Rosenzweig, a known abortionist whose credentials were fake. Only a week before the NY Times had featured an article named “The Evil of the Age,” condemning the prolific practice of abortionists in New York: Rosenzweig was exposed as one of the leading perpetrators. He advertised his services in the medical columns under the alias Dr Ascher. The police raided his house, arrested Rosenzweig on suspicion and in their search they found a handkerchief with the name ‘A.A. Bowlsby’ embroided together with some blue ribbons. The newspapers were quick to publish the news of the gruesome trunk


discovery and Caroline Bowlsby, now distraught with anxiety, sought advice from her family doctor and dentist in Paterson, who decided to visit Dr. Cushman at Belleville hospital in order to dispel the dreadful possibility. Vaccination marks and dental work revealed the truth: the body was that of Alice Bowlsby. The revelation devastated the family, but even more so Walter Conklin, who knew the truth would ruin his reputation, and shame his family: the next day he went to his office where he took out a pistol and shot himself in the left temple. They found a note addressed to his parents that expressed deep remorse, and another note, on which there were instructions from a Dr. Ascher, 687, Second Ave, New York. Now there were two deaths; the press did not miss the irony: two lovers who sought to abort their child, ended up dead themselves. Rosenzweig now named “The Fiend of Second Ave,” was vilified in the press. At his trial he was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to seven years, yet, through a legal technicality he served only a year in captivity. Alice Bowlsby’s death triggered widespread anger and condemnation in New York State, which eventually led to rallies against the rampant growth of such malpractice. Medical institutions across the USA galvanized

their support which resulted in new medical licensing legislation outlawing the illegal practice. The New York Times had lead the crusade for months against the ‘butchery’ and wrote of Alice Bowlsby- “She was the victim of her circumstance, born in poverty, yet with inherent beauty which can be more ruinous than any other gift bestowed on her—such women fall prey to the scoundrels that surRobert James round them.” Taylor

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stood in front off th the he co ccomomputer screen wi with ith it a microphone in n my hand. It was Tuesday night – karaoke night – at Mama’s Bar. The hour wass late, I had had a few too o many m y glasses of wine, and the e place p e was almost empty. Some friends riends sat at the table I had just left, l f waiting in anticipation for my karaoke debut. With so few people present, it felt safe. I stood there detached from myself and anaesthetized from fear. Chris, the “karaoke DJ,” looked at me. His eyes looking for acknowledgment to one of two questions: “Are you ready?” Or possibly, “Are you sure

you want to do this?” I nodded in the affirmative. And so began my new past-time as a karaoke singer. Some people retire here with plans to pursue a long put-off dream or continue, with earnest, a passion developed in their former life. It might be

painting, writing, tennis, golf, bridge, or any number of pastimes. Others, like me, view their retirement to Mexico as a voyage of discovery and a chance to redefine themselves. It usually means trying a lot of new things, or just doing whatever you want. Believe me, karaoke wasn’t one of them. My first real exposure to karaoke was at a Japanese restaurant in Massachusetts. On Thursday nights, 20 and 30 somethings would drink themselves silly, and compete to see who could butcher their chosen song the most. It was pretty pathetic. Karaoke at Lakeside has been elevated to a more mature level than what I saw up north. On any Tuesday or Friday night, Mama’s Bar entertains an eclectic clientele. Sure there are singers worthy of the Gong Show. But there are a number of very good singers who, at one time, sang in bands, performed on stage, and in church choirs. And then there are those of us whose musical talents entertained the walls of a shower stall, or “sing-alongs” with the car radio. The thing we love is to sing, and karaoke lets us explore. For several minutes on a Tuesday or Friday evening we can vicariously be a rock, Broadway, or country and western star.

Before that fateful night, when I threw my hat into the ring and cast aside my inhibitions, I had never sung in public. When I moved down the street from Mama’s a few years ago, I started going to karaoke on Friday nights. I observed for almost two years. Secretly, I knew I could sing. But, I just wasn’t ready. Before I ever contemplated singing in public, I sang along with YouTube videos. Without YouTube, I don’t know where I would have found such a broad spectrum of musical genres and styles. The problem was that many of the songs I wanted to sing were in the wrong key, and singing in my living room had to be restrained lest my neighbors complained. So, it was liberating to have the words in front of me, microphone in-hand, and Chris, the DJ, magically adjusting a song’s key to my voice. When I first visited Lakeside, I asked an expat resident of 15 years, “What do you do here?” He replied, deadpan, “Whatever I want.” And sometimes that means just having a beer, as so many expats are known to do. One day I happened on a fun song by Kenny Chesney. He appropriately captured that retired expat attitude in a song called, “Beer in Mexico,” part of which goes like this: “…Too old to be wild and free still Too young to be over the hill Should I try to grow up? But who knows where to start. So I just Sit right here and have another beer in Mexico. Do my best to waste another day. Sit right here and have another beer in Mexico. Let the warm air melt these blues away…” And I’ll just sing a little karaoke once in awhile, too. John Comando

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Why Did The Chickens Cross The Road? %\/L]0RXOGHU

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peaking of Spanish,” I told my neighbor as we strolled to a restaurant, “here’s what happened to a friend of mine who just moved to Ajijic. She bought a gorgeous house near the plaza with a swimming pool nestled into the back patio, made a lot of friends, and settled right into village life. She was especially pleased with the patio, perfect for her two enormous Newfoundland dogs with the combined weight of more than two hundred pounds. She was delighted, almost enchanted when she was awakened her first morning in this new house by the crowing of a rooster. ‘Now this is Mexico!’ She thought as she blithely slid out of bed. In her new kitchen, she made coffee and gazed with admiration and awe. Bright sun slanted through the patio door as she fed the dogs, who looked around every bit as pleased as she was. The second morning being awakened by the rooster was still fairly delightful. By the third morning the routine was beginning to lose its charm, and by the fourth morning she wanted to ring that rooster’s neck. However, after a few weeks she was able to sleep through the early morning wake-up calls and their morning ruckus faded into what we know and love as the general cacophony of

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Mexico. Living nearby was an old Mexican man who kept a large number of chickens in his yard, including the rooster. She was amused by the chorus of ‘squawks’ when she passed his house and tried to differentiate the particular squawk belonging to her rooster. One morning as she opened the patio doors to let the dogs outside she was surprised by the sight of two fat scruffy chickens blatantly swaggering around in circles in her patio while letting out an occasional squawk of disorientation. The way she later described it to me was, ‘I had visions of the dogs devouring said chickens… I knew that fessing up to the responsibility of murder wouldn’t bode well. If the dogs ate them and I tried to hide it, with my luck I’d get caught. I’d take the dogs for a walk and one of them would have a chicken feather in its teeth or the other one would belch and out would float a feather.’ All of those complicated scenarios ran through her mind in an instant, but the dogs, upon spotting the chickens thought only two words, “one apiece! After she quickly locked the patio door, securing the dogs inside, she assessed the situation. First, she figured that the chickens had somehow flown over the wall,

maybe several walls. They had gotten in by hop-flying up the tree branches in the neighbor’s yard. Secondly, she was pretty sure they belonged to the old Mexican with the yard full of poultry, poultry of all sizes and shapes, ages and temperaments. He spoke no English, but she had to return the chickens before they fell in the swimming pool or were eaten by the dogs. Karyn was smart and creative, so here’s how she proceeded. Leaving her two dogs, who were lunging at the patio door and shaking the house, securely locked inside, Karyn crossed the road and knocked on the chicken guy’s door. What she wanted to say was, “Two of your chickens have gone AWOL, and are partying it up in my backyard,” However, her Spanish classes had not yet progressed to the level that would cover that particular situation. So, when the chicken guy answered his door, she put her hands under her armpits, flapped her elbows in a wing-like motion, and let out a series of squawks. To his further astonishment, Karyn pointed to her house and said in the one relevant Spanish word that came to mind: “casa,” meaning “house.” His look of complete amazement was replaced by an expression of comprehension, rapidly changing to amusement. He followed her across the road and out to her patio. He scooped up his chickens, awkwardly tipped his hat, nodded his thanks and returned through the living room, a chicken tucked securely under each arm. He slipped out the front door and across the street to his poultry yard. When the Newfoundlands took in the unusual sight of the three interlopers crossing their living room territory, they went wild. But the stoic old man just kept walking, and the chicken’s just kept squawking. The dogs looked at each other as if to say, ‘What a blast!’ I wonder what Karyn has planned for tomorrow.”


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A Sneaky Twitch Of An Itch h %\-RKQ7KRPDV'RGGV %RRN5HYLHZE\&ODUH*HDUKDUW

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ere’s a real grandparent’s delight for the Holiday Season! It’s hard to read all the way through this book without feeling the urge to scratch or rub some spot that wasn’t tingling a moment ago! Sneakily, the Twitch of an Itch, romps onto the pages, full blown and recognizable by all, but few of us have taken the time to visualize an itch. Perhaps they are like dogs, and come in many breeds, sizes and temperaments. Could it be that their colors span to breadth of the rainbow? They simply can’t be all the same color! And where, WHERE, do they go when they seem to be gone and yet reappear within moments in a whole different place? This book, suitable for all ages, except perhaps some of the more cynical years of adolescence, is both a joy to read and a visual pleasure to explore due to the whimsical illustrations on most every page. It blasts open the doors of the imagination, and invites the reader to create his own images, to make up her own stories. What could be more delightful than to join in the quest to identify the illusive Sneaky? And after you have an idea of what Sneaky looks like, you may want to figure out how he, or is it she, moves. Does it creep? Does it crawl? Does it prickle or tingle, or chafe and annoy? The co-creators of the book John Thomas and Candis Flescher-Dodds are both accomplished in their cho-

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sen fields. John has written more than 14 books in his career. He spans a wide arc from poetry to novels to children’s books, and not infrequently articles in the Ojo del Lago. Likewise, Candis has been a painter for some years now, and works in a variety of media including acrylics, and in this book, watercolor. The way their styles harmonize in this book is a real delight. Each creates a sense of whimsy, and impish childlike enthusiasm. I strongly encourage you to get this book, round up some wellscrubbed kids at bed time and tuck them all on a couch so you can read it aloud to them. I can’t imagine a happier and more joyful way to create memories of this holiday! The book is available on Amazon and also locally at Yves Restaurant. It’s yours to enjoy! Clare Gearhart


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COLUMNIST

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The Streets of Mexico

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veryone knows how much I love Mexico. After living in Mexico for a while now, I have to confess to having developed a few pet peeves. Mostly about the streets in Mexico that are as bad as some of the driving I’ve seen. First, let me explain something to the “gringos” who are new to Mexico, or they have been here, but haven’t figured this out. 16 de Septiembre, Niño’s Heroes, Ramon Corona, Hildago, Colon, Independencia are names of streets in almost every single village in Mexico. I cannot begin to tell you how often people have given me directions and not told me the village they live in! “The town square” doesn’t help either--because there is one in every town and village. Today, I had a driver turn right from the left-hand lane in front of me, as I was also turning right, and the other driver nearly hit the pedestrians in the crosswalk. Then he illegally passed the car in front of me on the right, and ran two red lights. Since it is Friday, and he was driving so fast, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that he was a tapatio confusing Lakeside with Guadalajara! Lately, we have all experienced complaints due to road construction. The first comment I heard: “Why do they do this during High Season, don’t they realize how much more traffic High Season brings?” I laugh, and bite my tongue, thinking, “Don’t THEY realize how impossible this road repair would be if it would

be done during the rainy season?” While construction is going on, one must be familiar with alternative routes, allow for more time, and just be patient. Getting to my house is a real challenge, as two of the main streets are undergoing major repairs. So I must go right two blocks to go left instead of straight. This avoids two different projects. One of the longest streets in Chapala is Zaragoza. It is undergoing some major work. Of course, not being very fluent in Spanish and not being able to read the local papers, I don’t know how much of Zaragoza will be, or how long this project will take. But I was very concerned about getting my smog check completed before the deadline. Yet, the official location had the street torn up. But, the center of the road seemed drivable. Braving everything, I drove the wrong way down the sand road, and was able to get my car into the service center. The next day was a challenge to get to the Ultra Sound facility to have some tests done on my husband…also on Zaragoza. We were able to park two blocks away and walk through the street. In Ajijic, we had a problem getting to the lab for tests, because the street and sidewalk is torn up and there is a very deep hole filed with workers and big machines. A vendor we know moved overnight because the construction was making it impossible for customers to get in. But the point of all this “inconvenience” is that after the work is finished, things will be better, right? The work going on isn’t patching a road, it is repairing infrastructure, i.e., sewer systems, pipes, and then putting in a better road. Meanwhile, I get to see different neighborhoods and practice driving in reverse, or finding alternate routes in a moments notice. I’ve found a few new shops, and a few new neighborhoods to admire. So the “inconvenience” has led me into a wider understanding of these neighborhoods, and a few new stores! Victoria Schmidt

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IT’S THE HOLIDAY SEASON

—Time to go over once again just what is Yin and what is Yang %\%LOO)UDQNOLQ

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anta of course is yang but if he were a saint, that would be very yin of him. Saints tend to be filled with yin though it’s just a pinch beyond our reach here to explain why. (Though pinches in and of themselves are yang) Santa’s reindeer, even if they have horns, are very yin and especially Rudolph. But Rudolph’s nose is yang.  Anything lighting up a sky or leading the way is yang. Bambi, by the way, is the most yin movie ever made.   Crying when a deer gets shot is yin.  Shooting a deer is yang. We all know that the moon is yin but most of all in its relationship to the yang thrust of the sun.  All suns are yang and generative while the reflective qualities of moons are forever yin. The fact that someone walked on the moon made the moon more yang that it was ready to be but that’s life.  Having visitors is very yin but having yang things walk all over you is yang inducing. Diamonds, being reflective, are yin, and are best shown in candle light which is yang. Candles, despite their general shape are yin but once lit they are yang.

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El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

Heaven, by the way, is yin but getting there is yang. The right angles on Christmas boxes are yang, round is yin. Women’s bodies are circular and therefore yin while male bodies are angular and therefore yang. Stability is yang.  Flexibility is yin. Yin rolls with the punches, yang stops them.   Women, by the way, live longer than men as sticking around longer is very yin. There was a scene in The  Grapes of Wrath where Grandma is riding in a truck explaining why Grandpa died.   She was from Oklahoma so she didn’t bother with yin and yang but she knew what she was talking about. Grandchildren are yin but wanting things at Christmas is yang. Fighting over parking places will be yang but parking after finding one is yin. Sending Christmas cards is yin as is reading them. Throwing them away without looking at them is yang. If the only cards you get are from your realtor and your dentist and accountant, that’s yang. Having seasons is yang, your inner jolly is yin.


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PARA SIEMPRE (Always) %\+LOGHJDUG+LQW]

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ay I have t h i s dance?” Mitzi looked up from her plate. Apprehensive about going to the Pequeno Paraiso Restaurant on DoWop boogie night, she had decided that, after the death of her husband of forty years, having a meal by herself was the act of an emancipated woman. Her shoes pinched her toes and the white gaucho pants, she purchased this afternoon at the local thrift store, felt tight. The sales lady had assured her that it enhanced her slim figure and after she had her hair cut and her toenails done in a beautiful shade of coral, she felt pretty. The gentleman looking down at her, had a halo

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around his head and she closed her eyes for a moment. After she reopened them, the aura, which had been the setting sun behind his head, had disappeared. It had been replaced by a fleshy bald skull. “Yes,” she said and held out her hand for him to take.

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

After a smooth, come hither yank, he held her close, as intimate as his belly would allow. Mitzi got a whiff of his potent cologne. “Whew,” she said and almost held her breath. “Ver-sage Eros,” he answered, pronouncing it wrong, while spinning her around. As he pulled her back, he added, “The little ladies love it.” “Mitzi,” she introduced herself as they swayed side to side. After they locked eyes she glanced away, feeling shy. “Bob,” he said and dipped her. When her leg kicked up, the painful shoe went with the motion and though he held her down longer than comfortable, the loud cry from one of the fellow dancers, forced him to snap out of their Fred and Ginger moment. The petite blonde, who was rubbing her skull didn’t look a day over seventy, after several face lifts. Her partner, dressed in a white Elvistype, sequined one- piece, must have had at least one adjustment. It was his long mane of purplish hair that impressed all the more. They were holding hands and through her pain, the dainty damsel smiled. “Oh,” Mitzi said and hoped that the taut, translucent skin would not rupture. Visions of the head of an alien reptile bursting through, prevented her from forming a coherent sentence. She was taken aback when Bob said, “She’s a wild one,” as he patted Mitzi’s behind. The two nodded and the dashing gent placed his right arm around his companion’s waist while her sinew hand covered with age spots, rested on his padded right shoulder. Off they went to the music in a coordinated front shuffle. “Drink?” Bob wanted to know. Before she could comment on it, he had plummeted into the chair at her table and helped himself to a cold french-fry. “Beer,” he yelled at the waiter who hurried over with two bottles. “I prefer red wine,” Mitzi mentioned in a quiet tone. Her dancing partner took a swig. “That’s okay,” he said and burped. “They’re for me.” He winked and another belch propelled the built-up vapours of something that died in his intestinal tract, into her direction. “So, “he said, “Haven’t seen you here before. Looking for a good time?” His Hawaiian-print shirt was stained down the front and she shuddered. “Cold?” he asked and put one big hairy arm around her shoulders, while starting on his second brew. She hadn’t noticed the

smell of old sweaty arm-pits before. A rotund woman, with long, salt and pepper hair, was approaching their table while her eyes threw daggers at Mitzi. “You didn’t pick me up,” the woman screeched. Bob’s head swivelled in several directions before he decided that emptying the bottle was his best bet before facing the approaching Tsunami. “Pumpkin,” he drawled after he finished. The waiter seemed to be a mind-reader. He rushed over to deliver two fresh beers plus a Margarita. Pumpkin sat down while glaring at Mitzi. The Hawaiian motif of her moo-moo matched her boyfriend’s shirt. “You’re leaving,” she announced, not bothering to frame it as a question. Instead of pointing out that they were sitting at her table, Mitzi grabbed her half empty wine glass and stood up. Bob was busy smothering his paramour’s plump hand with noisy kisses. Certain that everybody had witnessed her humiliation, she forced a smile while walking toward the bathroom. “Remarkable,” a sympathetic, male voice said and as she turned around, she tilted her glass and spilled the content on his shirt. “Dammit,” she exclaimed as her grin dissolved and tears formed in her eyes. “That’s it, I’m done,” she hissed more to herself and marched towards the bar to pay her bill. “You can’t leave now,” the man said beside her. “I’ll wash your shirt.” Mitzi said exasperated, while avoiding to look his way. “Okay,” was his answer and a few moments later he dangled his top in front of her face, which made her laugh. “Now?” she asked as she noticed his lined face, his sagging skin over his skinny torso and friendly smile. “I could buy you a glass of red wine first. Maybe we’ll dance and then I’ll drive you home.” “A bit presumptuous,” she said. “You expect me to do it tonight?” “I’ll pick up my laundered shirt when I’ll take you for lunch in a couple of days. I’m Max, by the way.” They danced all night and he refused to give her the stained garment when he dropped her off. For their first anniversary he presented her with the encased, stained shirt, under glass with the encryption: Para siempre. Hildegard Hintz


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PERCY WITH THE PURPLE PENIS %\/LEE\&ROWHUMRKQ

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ercy was just st on o one ne e of Duncan’s chalcha halllenging patients, but the results of Percy’s treatment had the foreign comcommunity in Kuala Lumpur mpur mp e. EEvvlaughing for some time. eryone underestimated Perc Percy’s rcy’ y’s ability to turn every negative into a positive and Duncan’s treatment had the opposite effect intended. It’s a funny story so I will save it for last. My husband, Duncan served for 12 years with the British Royal Air Force as an extension of his National Service. In 1959 he was seconded to Malaya,shortly after Independence, to start the medical service for the Royal Malayan Air Force in Kuala Lumpur, and I and our children went with him. This was a family posting so his practice was not only with military personnel, but with women and children too, both local and British. This provided

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plenty plen pl enty en t o ty off vvariety and some very unusual challenges, to his u un nus delight. Duncan was a highly intelligent man, man ma n an excellent doctor, and a real people-person. had been born and He h broughtt up in Shanghai until the age of 11, so had a good understanding of the Asian mind, and this served him well on many occasions. He found that many simple medical complaints led to some very intriguing situations, like the following: One day, a Malay officer came in to see Duncan to say “good-bye”. He explained that he had been cursed by a local bomoh (witch doctor) and that he was going to die that night. He was quite calm and totally convinced that this would happen. Duncan managed to persuade him that his magic was stronger than the bomoh’s and that if the officer came into the hospital for the night, he would be alive in the morning. When the officer arrived, still not convinced, he took the strong sleeping pill he was offered and went to bed. In the morning, Duncan woke him up with a copy of the morning paper and all was well. This was the first time that Duncan had challenged a local bomoh, it greatly enhanced his reputation, and produced some interesting situations from time to time. One afternoon, 2 blankets disappeared from our washing line while we were taking a siesta. Strangely, they reappeared on the line the next day. Our amah told us that the thief had dis-

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

covered that he had stolen from the famous Scottish bomoh and did not wish to tempt fate! Another time, a young English corporal’s wife came to Duncan’s office with a lung infection and a very itchy rash. Neither of these responded to normal treatment, so Duncan suggested that he visit their home to investigate a possible cause of allergies. An inspection suggested nothing unusual until their little girl rushed in complaining that “Polly” had bitten her finger. The wife tried to silence the child, arousing Duncan’s suspicions, so he insisted that they take him to see Polly. The home backed onto jungle and they took him to a large wired-in area hidden amongst the trees. To his astonishment, there were about 20 exotic birds there. The corporal and some friends had been catching these parrots and other beautiful birds in the jungle and selling them for large sums of money. Needless to say, this was illegal but they were also the source of the wife’s medical conditions. Another day, a patient came into the office with a large animal bite on his hand that was badly infected. The English airman refused to say how he got this, so Duncan contacted the commanding officer, and they both visited the man’s home. There they found a large cage containing a brown bear who they were keeping as a pet. The couple said they had bought the bear from a pet shop, and further enquires proved that this was true and that they had paid a great deal of money for it. As the airman’s pay was not high, and they didn’t appear to have other visible means of support, the C.O. decided to investigate. It turned out that the extra income came from the wife’s very lucrative visits to a Chinese coffee shop while her husband was at work, where she freelanced as a call-girl. In fact, this led to the discovery of a huge Chinese-run prostitution ring with many young foreigners participating whenever they needed a little extra cash; and all

because of a bear bite. Duncan was constantly kept amused and on his toes with incidents like these, but none more so than with the case involving Percy. Percy had been orphaned during the war and joined the RAF when he was only 16, finishing his education at a military school. In spite of a hard up-bringing, he was a happy, intelligent, young man with a great sense of humour. These characteristics endeared him to everyone he worked with, enabling him to avoid reprimands for misdemeanours that others would have been punished for. Malaya was Percy’s first overseas posting and he embraced it with an enormous amount of enthusiasm, especially with regard to the beautiful girls in the local brothels. Unfortunately for Percy, this necessitated regular visits to sick quarters as he refused to take precautions. Duncan treated him discreetly several times before reporting him to the Commanding Officer, as was required by military law. Neither Duncan nor the C.O. wanted to see Percy sent back to England in disgrace, so Duncan came up with a plan that he thought would discourage Percy from consorting with the ladies of the night. Percy was told that he had to attend sick quarters every week before he received his pay, where Duncan painted his penis with gentian violet – an anti-sceptic with a very strong purple colour that took about a week to wash off. Duncan thought Percy would be too embarrassed to show this vital part to the girls. How wrong Duncan was! Instead of hanging his head in shame, Percy went straight back to his favorite brothel and displayed the offending article with much pride, telling the girls that it certified that he was “clean.” He not only got free sex from then on, but all his friends went to Duncan to ask for the same treatment. Percy was sent back to England, leaving Kuala Lumpur laughing!


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She Cannott—Butt I Can! %\.DUO+RPDQQ

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o you know where and how the woman who cleans your house lives? After hiring Maria eight years ago, a single mother of two, I asked her to show me. She lived at the outskirts of Chapala in a shack made of plywood, a tin roof, and black plastic bags, with a dirt floor and in the middle of a dusty field. When it rained, the water ran right through it. When the wind blew, the dust covered everything inside. No running water, no indoor toilet. No wonder, she had chronic bronchitis and allergies, according to my doctor to whom she has free access.

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I said to her: “I do not want anyone who works for me, live in such wretched conditions. Find yourself a real house, small, with stone walls and windows, with a secure door, running water and indoor plumbing.” She did. Can she afford the rent? No, she cannot; but I can. Cleaning two or three houses a day at 50 pesos an hour, which in many cases has not been raised for years, Maria gains perhaps 6000 to 7000 pesos a month. Can you live on 365 USD a month, even in Mexico, and feed, house, clothe two children, pay the school fees and utensils and take them to the doctor? Neither can she.

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

Mexico’s inflation rate was 6.35% for the past 12 months. The last five year inflation rate is 21%. Maybe it’s time to raise our employees’ hourly pay rate. Maria has been working since she was 13 and never went to school. The fathers of her two sons, 13 and 15, give her no financial support. She has no health insurance and will have no pension. She can get medical attention if she goes to the Seguro Popular clinic at five or six in the morning, takes a number and, perhaps, sees a doctor at two in the afternoon. But what good is that to her? She would lose a day of her already meager wages. When her older son, Gabriel, recently broke a bone in his foot, the visit to a private doctor, the cast, the medication and the crutches came to 1950 pesos. Could she afford a week’s wages to pay for everything? No, she could not, but I could. Her younger son, Oscar, is 13. He can neither read nor write. He is often suspended from school or just shunted along. Yet, he is an otherwise amiable and smart child. I took him to a child psychiatrist in Guadalajara. The diagnosis: attention deficit, hyper-activity, anxiety and dyslexia. Can his mother afford the 800 pesos per consultation and 500 pesos per month for medication? Of course not. But I can. Since Oscar is obviously not cut out for an academic career, I take him twice a week to a carpentry class in Riberas (Have Hammer Will Travel), which he loves and gives him a sense of accomplishment. I am telling Maria’s story, not to brag, but to let people know that her story is not unique. There are many Marias who clean our houses, live from one day to the next and cannot afford any extra expenses for their family’s health or children’s education. Do you pay your employees’ bus fare to get to your place? At 20 or so pesos from Chapala to Ajijic and return, for example, and any other place in between, that comes to 150 or 200 pesos a week, or three or four hours of their hourly wage. Or pay for annual vacation days – the number depends on the years worked – as the labor laws require? Or overtime when they work on Sundays, or triple the salary on national holidays, as required by law? Or the Christmas bonus (aguinaldo)? Do you pay a severance fee proportional to the time they have worked for you, when you no longer need their service? A woman for whom Maria had

worked for six years, asked her recently not to come to work for three months because some money was missing from her house, or so she thought. Maria was more upset about having her honesty and integrity questioned than losing her job. Wait a minute, I said, why three months? The Federal Labour Law requires that any termination of service be in writing, stating the reason for the dismissal. Furthermore, it needs to be accompanied by a severance payment that is commensurate with the time worked and the wages earned. Any such claim expires after two months. My lawyer wrote Maria’s employer a letter that requested her presence in the office, where the lawyer presented her with the fact that she owed Maria 18000 pesos. The woman was remorseful because the “missing” money had been found, and she not only paid the severance, as required, but also the lawyer’s fee. Expats contribute a lot to the local community, no doubt, and give to charities. Personally, I give directly to “my” family and know that every peso gets there. That is my way; it may not be yours. And what do I get out of helping Maria? Lots! First, simply the joy of making someone else’s life a little easier. Secondly, I no longer spend Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve alone or with strangers in a restaurant. I spend it with “my” family, the Mexican way: in front of her house, with a small fire taking the chill out of the night. And when I get to the point in time where I can no longer do for myself what I do know, Maria can. I will stay in my familiar house, and she will work for me full time, instead of running around from house to house to clean. And I will pay her what I would in an assisted living place, which more likely than not will be three times as much as she makes now. And when I die, Maria will ensure that my notarized end-of- life directions and the prepaid funeral plan will be carried out. She will be the beneficiary of all I own and whatever money I have in the bank. For further details, see either the Ley Federal del Trabajo(Spanish) or a summary in English at http:// rollybrook.com/ e m p l o y e e - p a y. htm. Karl Homann


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Focus on Art %\5RE0RKU

Art’s Digital Transformation – Giclée and Beyond

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ur digital world is a populist force, leveling rich and poor, educated and uneducated.” Pew Research 2017 We live in a technical age when everything seems possible. A time when digital and 3D copies of original art from throughout history are accessible for everyone, a reality which creates many unresolved questions, for example, what constitutes an authentic work, semi-authentic, or a fake - an issue that has eternally plagued historians and collectors of art. Romans copied Greek sculptures. Painters like Pieter Bruegel the Younger (1564 – 1637) made multiples of his own works and paintings done by his father. In the 20th Century creating fakes became a pathway to great wealth. Jean Francois Millet, a grandson of Millet, had Paul Cazot, a gifted artist, copy over 40 paintings and 200 drawings of his grandfather Millet, and sold them at great profit. Otto Wacker, in the 20th Century, painted thirty-three new Van Gogh’s which were considered originals for thirty-five years. Geert Jan Jansen (1945), “the most sophisticated forger ever,” copied and sold as originals works by Picasso, and Matisse. When one of his works was discovered to be a forgery, police raided his farmstudio and found over 1,600 fakes of modern masters. His gain was twelve million euros held in three Swiss accounts under assumed names. Art historians argue original paint-

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ing have an aura that reflects the time and space in which they were created, and a copy - human-made or mechanical - lacks the “sympathetic spiritual presence which emanates a call to contemplate, or be in relationship with unique works of art.” I believe authentic works are endowed with magical and supernatural forces arising from their singularity, and the qualities imparted by their creator, . Throughout history copies have been made in a variety of ways. Artist use etchings to create original works, or copies of larger paintings, by drawing with etching needles which cut through a ground of wax or resin coating on a copper plate. Then the plate is dipped into acid which etches

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the exposed metal. The plate is inked and pressed to produce multiple copies. Durer, and later Rembrandt, Goya, and Manet, circulated their etchings to gain universal recognition. (photo 1) Lithography,  painting on stone, is a planographic process where images are painted with greasy ink onto a stone plate pre-moistened with water which was then pressed against paper sheets. During the 1800’s full color originals or copies of authentic works were done by painting each color on a separate stone. Pins were used to line up each stone as it was pressed to ensure a perfect color print on paper or canvas. By 1890 this became a refined mechanical process using a zinc surface where color prints of great paintings could be produced and sold by entrepreneurs like Sears and Roebuck through their widely circulated catalog.  Jacques Villon (1875- 1963), with permission of the artist, used etchings and lithographs to produce portfolios containing a series of the best contemporary paintings by Matisse, Braque, Picasso and other leading artists. Rights to mass produce this series were sold to the Louvre Museum in Paris. Up until today, lithographs, etchings, silk screens, aquatints, mezzo-tints, hillotypes, choreographics, and a variety of other methods have been used to copy and create originals. But the advent of Giclée - a digital copying process introduced by printmaker  Jack Duganne  in 1991- and recent 3D digital copiers which make exact scale copies of great paintings,

- have unsought results, such as major museums exhibiting copies to protect the originals in cooled dark rooms. “Art ultimately is the secretion of society, and conversely society mirrors the Arts.” Mohamid Zaher Is a  Giclée  as good as the originals? In photography the answer is often yes, but what of paintings? Art experts, historians, and critics say “no, the aura of the original is not replaceable,” yet for educational and per-

sonal pleasure Giclées or 3D digital copies have significant value. Quality hand-painted copies of original paintings, have more value because they develop their own aura. In Chapala, full-color  Giclées  (digital copies) of paintings and drawings, with permission of the artist, are made by and sold at The Art House. (photo 2) Might  the magic and essence of a painting be lost when the copy is exact in three dimensions with texture, brush stroke and the attributes of paint present? Viewers alone may answer. For this writer, to sit before original work of art is, and always will be, a spiritual experience. Rob Mohr


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%\6XVD6LOYHUPDULH

Dorothy is lying on her side unable to speak since her stroke three weeks ago. The bedrail is down, my chair drawn close. We are eye to eye. Dorothy managed apartments all her life. This once independent woman never married, has no family to protect her from medical meddling. Tomorrow, the nursing home physician plans, contrary to Dorothy’s Living Will, to insert a feeding tube. I’m the nursing home social worker. who wants to put some power back into Dorothy’s hands. I slip my hand into Dorothy’s good one. I ask her to squeeze, if she wishes to answer yes. “Do you want your Advance Directive to stand, the request for no tube-feeding you signed?” She squeezes my hand. “Dorothy, “I say, “the nursing home doctor has written an order that overrides your wishes—

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El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

an order for a feeding tube.” Her eyes go wide. “A way around it is to change doctors. Do you understand?” Dorothy squeezes my hand. “I can help you sign the form. Do you want to change doctors?” Dorothy squeezes my hand. I need a witness, since staff expects resistance from the doc. Down the hall I find Ellen, a regular visitor to the nursing home. Ellen follows me back to Dorothy’s room. We pull our chairs up to the edge of her bed. “I’m 76 myself,” Ellen says, “ and Dorothy, I’d be proud to help you go, the way you want to.” This time, to verify the squeezing, Ellen places her hand in Dorothy’s good one. I ask the questions once more. Yes! Dorothy wants her Directive to stand. Yes! Dorothy wants to change physicians. Yes! Dorothy wants to sign the request. Ellen releases Dorothy’s hand, which I gently wrap around my pen. I position my clipboard within her reach, and guide her hand to the signature line. We hold our breath, for a moment outside time. What hangs in the balance is Dorothy’s route of death. With a feeding tube, she could wake up here, every day for a long, long time. Without one, she faces her mortality square in the face, and keeps the dignity of controlling her passage. Dorothy scripts her D exactly the way it looked on her Advance Directive. She continues looping across the signature line. For a few more minutes we stay to visit with Dorothy. When I mention her job, that she managed “an” apartment building, Dorothy holds up three fingers, and gives us a lopsided grin. Ellen and I rise. “Wishing you well, my friend” I say. “You aren’t alone,” Ellen says. “Spirits and angels and guardians are watching all around you.” Dorothy lifts her good hand, and waves farewell. Four days later, I learn she passed in the night. “Just left,” the nurse says, snapping her fingers, “like that!” When I tell Ellen, she nods. “A great honor,” she says, “to help another human being go on her way.” Originally published in my 1996 book Tales from My Teachers on the Alzheimer’s Unit (out of print) but now available on Amazon (and all platforms) as an eBook at https://www.amazon.com/author/susasilvermarie


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She left us softly, just like that, Without a mew, without much fuss, She was discreet, a friendly cat Who lived her simple life with us, And never gave a tit for tat. She let me feed her, stroke her tail, Or sometimes if I quietly sat She’d find my lap and purr a while As if to say “Let’s have a chat.” Aloof, reserved, sweetly serene, She never caught a mouse or rat – She was herself, a green-eyed queen, A perfect furry aristocrat. —Michael Warren—

If love were but a mere abstraction, I’d wish it still my sole distraction.

SEA OF CORTEZ Tons and tons of brawny brine The Sea of Cortez hurls Against this Baja shore divine, This Cabo cast with pearls. Rhythmic rush and heaving crush Of waves upon this shore; Never ceasing, ne’er a hush Beating, beating ever more. It’s home to whales beneath her waves, It’s home to sails above; Its fingers carve out rocky caves, Its constancy inspires love.

²0DUN6FRQFH² Cabo San Lucas

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n the day it began, four of us were gathering one of our pastures in the late spring. The pasture was not as large as most of our ranch pastures. Being less than three miles across, it was fairly easy for four mounted men to sweep from one end of it to the other in a relatively short time. We called it the Corral Pasture. In it was one of four large sets of shipping pens. Because of its size and the long draws that ran from one end to the other we always considered it an easy ride. But this day would not be easy for any of us cowboys. It was windy and a little chilly. And rain seemed certain before we finished our work. Spread out

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now by such distance that we were all out of eyesight from each other in the rolling hills of sagebrush and sand, each one of us turned his horse away from the wind and the beginning rain. Some of us even dismounted to walk along behind our gathered stock in an effort to warm ourselves as we moved along. In this country, there was no place to go to get in out of the rainstorm, or the lightning that accompanied it. The country was rich in iron ore, and so it drew frequent strikes whenever it rained. Dead cattle, fresh killed by a strike, reminded us of what would be our terrible fate if we were as unfortunate as the healthy, fat cows we would find lying flat on their backs, with little

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

sign of injury or illness about them. Now came the lightning with the wind and rain in the Corral Pasture, so close that there was almost no time between the bright flashes and the loud bang of the lightning strikes that lit the sky with a bright explosion of white light. Horses grew restless and fire danced across their ears with a loud snap, which caused them to drop their heads and shake their ears as if stung by a swarm of yellow jackets. Most of us dismounted and silently prayed that we would make it home for supper and a dry bed. And not one of us would know the fate of the other three until the storm passed and each man rode up on a hill to show to his saddle mates, “Hey, I survived that one. How about you?” But not this time; not everyone survived this time. He was a cowboy from Montana, as I recall, who came south to Wyoming just to see a little country. He hadn’t signed on with the ranch for more than a couple weeks. I can’t remember his name. And I never knew exactly where he called home. We first saw his black horse, named Sniffles, running wildly across those hills of sage and sand, frightened terribly by a lightning strike that killed the man from Montana as he walked at the end of his bridle reins. We found him lying there, flat on his back in the fresh, wet sage with barely a sign of injury. Someone was sent to the home ranch for a truck that took this unlucky cowboy for his last ride to town. He carried so little identification upon him that his body would lay in the city morgue for a month before it could be determined where he would be grieved and laid to rest. And so, it seemed, the story ended. Except that it did not! Three summers later, in mid-August as I recall, myself and two other cowboys were helping put up hay at the home ranch when it began to rain in the early afternoon. And with the rain came the lightning.

We were very close to the house, and the rainstorm looked as though it would last a while. We moved quickly into the barn, next to a corral full of saddle horses that we had kept up that day for reasons I can’t remember now. “Looks like a good afternoon to shoe horses for the fall works,” said one cowboy to the other two of us. We each collected two horses from the bunch, haltered them, and tied them in the barn. Then we turned out the remaining 15 or 20 head, and they immediately disappeared into a pasture north of the house. I led my first horse to the center pole in the barn, and tied his halter close to keep him from moving around too much as I worked on his feet. During this shoeing, I glanced out the barn door and gazed north, to see our entire horse herd gathered closely together on a small hill overlooking the ranch. The wind and rain had caused all of them to drop their heads low to the ground and turn their rumps to the driving rain. As I watched them, the lightning struck, and the bang and flash of it caused me to wince and duck my head toward my horse’s side. That bunch of horses scattered in every direction, like a covey of quail rousted from a roost. From a distance of no more than a quarter of a mile, I could see one horse’s body lying on the hill. I turned to the other men and raised my chin toward the hill. “Wonder which one that was?” I asked of no one in particular. “I reckon I’ll go take a look when the rain slows down a little.” I was three shoes into a fully-shod horse when the rain stopped, and I jumped into a pickup and drove up the hill to the carcass. I gazed sadly at the beautiful black horse lying there dead. It was Sniffles. I returned to the barn and one of the others asked me, “Who did we lose?” “Well,” I said, “It looks like that Montana cowboy finally came back to get his horse.”


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aybe, like me, you can point to a few events or people in your lives that were major influences. Examples for me were my parents, three or four high school teachers, and a college history course called “Opposing Viewpoints.” This course included readings about various historical figures, about who were two readings each. I particularly remember Otto von Bismarck. One reading made him one of the great heroes of all time and I was swept away in admiration. The next reading made Bismarck seem like the major instrument of Satan himself. This was a course designed to make students think critically.

As a teacher of history, government, and economics, I tried to do something beyond dealing with the bureaucratically specified curriculum. I wanted to teach pupils critical thinking skills. To this day, I think there can be nothing more important to the fulfillment of the human spirit than an ability to think independently. As a government teacher, I also believe in a sense of community. In a well functioning democracy, there is nothing contradictory between the two concepts of independent thinking and community, as long as thinking and reason prevail in the process of democracy. This is accomplished through education and speaking.

Silence is the enemy of democracy. Democracy means goodbye to king, goodbye to lord master, goodbye to God, and goodbye to sacred cows. It means hello to independent critical thinking skills and speaking out. I was shocked when the Texas State Republican Party officially declared they were opposed to the teaching of critical thinking skills to Texas school children. “Horrified” would not be much exaggeration, because Republicans go against everything in which I have ever believed. My alarm was only increased when I later read their explanation: “Teaching critical thinking skills might undercut the authority of parents, teachers, and church.” That Republican argument for conservatism is as close as I have ever come to “out-loud” vocal screaming over something that I had read in print. To name only two out of hundreds of examples, Galileo defied his parents, his school, and his Church when he explained to us how the solar system works. For this, he had to recant in order to avoid being burned at the stake and was under house arrest for the rest of his life. Charles Darwin defied his parents, his school, and the Church when he gave us a scientific explanation of

biological evolution. In other words, Republicans believe in keeping us in eternal ignorance – a condition I despise. Oh, Unseen Ghost, Unseen Holiness, Unseen Creator, Unseen Spirit, Unseen Almighty, please let us humans think, let us think on our own – without your Divine help – yes, please don’t interfere. Allow Galileo. Allow Darwin. Thank You. Now, that’s a true gift. Thanks again. Hey, you didn’t really make Eve from Adam’s rib, did you? Well, maybe so. I just saw a magician pull a rabbit from his hat. Not only that, he pulled the correct card from the deck. Amazing. O.K., I get it. Creation was a card trick. Adam was the first Ace of Spades. Bravo! The lowest class of popular and commercial airwave expression in the United States is Fox News. Under the original public requirement from the 1930’s that commercial use of licensed airwaves must primarily serve the public interest, Fox News failed at its inception. But anti-Trust laws have also been relaxed, as has even the Constitution itself. What is left for an American citizen? Well, not the Patriot Act, by which George W. Bush emasculated the Constitution, in violation of more than one Amendment. Sadly, Barack Obama continued these constitutional violations, so that they are presumably now legal substitutions for the Constitution. Oh, woe we American citizens – at least those of us who believed the Constitution means something. As Thomas Jefferson and many others have instructed, the surest safeguard for democracy is an educated and informed citizenry. Hurray for critical thinking skills! Fred Mittag

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El Ojo del Lago / January 2018


UNDERWEAR—More Than You Ever Wanted to Know %\&KXFN3RXOVHQ

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y Christmas ma as stocking stoc st ocki cki king ng from my daughter year ght hter llast astt ye as yea ar ar contained a pair air of SAXX underwear. That’s S - A A - X - X, X printed in big letters across the waist band. The price was also printed in large type on the box, like a secondary brand that might have said: SAXX is not sold in WalMart, or even in a store from which you can see a WalMart. The SAXX cost $35 a pair, about $31 more than most men pay for the dowdy but fully functional Fruit of the Loom. SAXX are a designer combination of briefs and boxers. Mine came with an abstract checkerboard pattern and a breakthrough, ergonomic pouch to support what men, in our more refined moments, refer to as --- “our junk.” Everything looked good until I made my first visit to the bathroom. That’s when I discovered my SAXX didn’t have a fly, and therefore I couldn’t easily access my junk. There is no way for a SAXX man to do his business, other than to sit down. Yes, sitting down and, of course, remembering to put the lid down afterward. And then--- maybe go for a pedicure. Boxers or briefs? An age -old question. It’s even the name of a rock group. Archaeologists found the remains of loincloth made of leather dating back 7,000 years. Men are said to have worn loose-fitting loincloths in ancient Greece and Rome --- but that was before elastic was invented. By the time of the Renaissance, the underwear was fitted with a front flap that was buttoned closed. This flap was called a “codpiece” and it was sometimes used as a pocket for holding coins. Why would a man keep money in his underwear? --- Oh, okay. Men can now join the Underwear of the Month Club, with regular delivery for men who apparently don’t know how to load a washing machine. The club says it will “search the globe to expertly curate your underwear drawer.” Oh, boy.” There is a website devoted to what

of underwear kkind ki nd d o famous prefer. the h fam fa m From Fr om m that tha hatt site, the following Alex lowi lo wing ng is is revealed: re Justin Timberlake Baldwin and Just boxers. So do W Will Smith and like boxers Denzel Washington, so you know that choice of underwear does cross racial lines. Donald Trump wears boxers. Trust me, no need for a picture. Anderson Cooper also wears boxers, so you know that underwear also crosses political lines. Bill Clinton wears briefs, but that’s not one of the reasons Hilary lost. Yet, Brad Pitt likes briefs, but wore boxers to appease his ex-wife Jennifer Anniston during their marriage. I don’t think even Jennifer is worth that sacrifice, so let me add: “C’mon Brad, grow a pair.” We already know from the movie Risky Business that Tom Cruise wears briefs, but so does Matt Damon, even on Mars. John Travolta wears bikini briefs - - - I’ll never look at him the same way again. Matthew McConnaughey likes to go without underwear, known as the “commando” look - - - for those willing to risk everything. Briefs outnumber boxers about 3-1. However, millennials are heavily trending toward boxer-brief combos that look like swimming trunks, for those who can’t make up their mind, aside from boldly demanding soy milk in their lattes. The most expensive pair of underwear I found are the Zimmerli Royal Classic Briefs at $65 a pair. Not good enough for Prince William or Prince Harry, who wear boxers, as do many dour white men of old money. Homer Simpson, bless him, wears jockeys, which are otherwise known as “tighty whities.” I sent a thank you note to my daughter for the gift. Dear daughter, Much appreciation for my pair of SAXX. I have used a scissors to cut a vertical slit in my SAXX, to the right of the pouch, just like a normal underwear fly. This has put me back on my feet again.

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ikipedia: Fable is a literary genre: a fictional story that features animals, legendary creatures or forces of nature that are given human qualities, and that leads to a moral lesson. I was a literary innocent at the time I wrote my first book, Three in a Cage, unaware that writing a book was only a part of what is expected of an author. I didn’t consider the issues of genre or marketability, let alone that of my image as a writer. I simply followed my desire to write about my world inside our weaving studios in West Ajijic. I submitted Three in a Cage to a Writer’s Digest Contest. The enthusiastic critique that I received back was heartening, even though it pointed out that the book was written in the style of Magical Realism, which includes fables, and therefore, it pointed out, was usually not publishable as an adult book. However, the editor also suggested that I should add a beginning chapter for the reader to better understand how I, a native of Detroit, Michigan, became the owner of Aztec Weaving Studios in Central Mexico, then resubmit it the next season. I had already begun to write The Joy of Art, which also came about as an extension of my life, so I did not follow up on the editor’s advice. In writing The Joy of Art, I incorporated four years of Art Talk columns written for the Lake Chapala Review. (Heck, the book is already half written, this would be a half year’s slam dunk, I convinced myself, not dreaming that its writing would become a passion, that the project would take me three more years.) Joy was neither a textbook, a how-to, self-help, an historical, nor was it slick. Had I again written a book that did not fit into a niche? The Future of The Joy of Art looked brighter when I discovered the genre of prescriptive non- fiction, which fills the gap between textbook and self-help. But later I learned that my history as a Fabulist might hamper the success of Joy. Publishers now demand a cohesive platform from an author. Three in a Cage, like a child born out of wedlock, would compromise my image as an expert in the field of art. I asked myself why.

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El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

Google helped me find the answer. Aesop, who is often thought of as the originator of fables, is purported to have lived sometime before 620 BC and 560 BC; that is if there ever were an Aesop, as nothing of his in writing exists. But his tales, I have found, are a source of contention to many who, for religious reasons, find them a threat. Quotes from the Seek God Website: Fabulist: “A person who tells, writes, or makes up fables. In other words, a liar! A lie becomes that person’s truth. It is very clear that those who do not love truth will readily believe a lie to their own destruction. Blatant and cunning promotion of error and false doctrine teach you that fables are good when they are going against the word of god.” Under the definition of Aesop in Easton’s 1897 Bible Dictionary it states that “Aesop made the journey to Delphi, where he angers the citizens by telling insulting fables, he is sentenced to death and, after cursing the people of Delphi, is forced to jump to his death.” No wonder publishers aren’t eager to step into the genre of fables! And yet David Sedaris wrote a book of fables, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, that became a #1 national best seller. How did that happen? In the 2017 edition of Writer’s Market there is not one call for either fables or magical realism in adult books; furthermore, I have been led to believe, if they receive queries that do not coincide with their list of genre, they may be shredded. Fables are growing in popularity. But those that have been published are works of proven authors who have distinguished themselves in another genre. In other words, all I need to do is to become famous for my book Three in a Cage to be taken seriously. There are many more books on my list waiting to be written, so the fate of my book of fables, as well as The Joy of Art, is yet down the road. In the meantime, I will continue to write where my heart leads me. Janice Kimball


Saw you in the Ojo 43


The Walk to the Paradise Garden -RKQ7KRPDV'RGGV

Paradise Gardens are the places that hold an energy of Love, once planted there it never leaves. You can come back to it time and time again, it’s like you’ve never been away. Having cultivated on your journey to Paradise Garden the art of nature’s caretaker, where gardens are a reflection of what makes you human, you bring to the enclosure you love the qualities of the Gardener: curiosity, tenacity, creativity, and a passion for surrounding yourself with beauty. You are the architect not for just a frivolous endeavor in a yard to play croquet with stiff necked flamingos, for it comes with it bites, scratches, broken nails, stings, and sore knees while seeding, cultivating, coaching life, out of rows of knee & hand tilled soil, It’s like make-up enhancing the beauty of a woman’s face, and how wonderfully you make it all part of you, passionately so, reflecting your inner beauty. You the protector standing proudly in your alfresco, glass of wine in hand, hose on hip, systematically watering plant by plant, ignoring any pending summer storm. Nurturing denial, leaving nothing to chance, you kybosh forecasts and the farmer’s almanac, and have, absolutely, no use whatsoweather for the unpredictability of the Lake Chapala mountain air. You are the water bearer, sporting wellies in the rainy season, sharing with your surroundings, love and gratitude, the give and take of nature’s energy that returns you to a natural state of enjoying life, and living in wellness. Nurturing all the senses—a garden reflects your words, and your joy when you speak to its allure—the plants within your paradise feel rain drops, wind, an insect crossing over a leaf, the sensual touch of your palm, feel the shadow of a cloud listlessly moving through their space knowing all the while they are one with the gardener. You are the healer in your haven, in lineage with Eden in a Paradise enclosed in a garden of timeless harmony, where time is the high priest, time its own measure, patience the groom waiting at the altar of an oasis of calm. Paradise Gardens is your sanctuary where everything around you is of your making, reminding you to live in the present moment. Commissioned by The Lake Chapala Garden Club for their 40th Anniversary.

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El Ojo del Lago / January 2018


Saw you in the Ojo 45


Milk Maids

- the Divination of Carnality Author Unknown Oh, to be that merry, blue faced god, then I could multiply our pleasure Into a moon-lit dance of infinite devotion Her dress slides down her body. She steps out of it, puddled at her feet, rising from the sea of all his fantasies. When viewed with such adoration and desire, as she sees shining in his eyes, even the most modest women become tantric goddesses. fully aware of all their powers, and even though never studied, full of the knowledge of enticement. Viewed so, even the plainest women know they are beautiful. The sinuous grace of a woman, Reaching behind her back, to unclasp the bindings that contain her breasts, the boneless flex, as supple as clear water running over stones. Her breasts, released, jiggle insouciantly.

She cups one in each hand, as if making an offering of two plump, young birds. There now ensues a dance, So delicate, no effort can be detected, as she steps one leg out of her panties. She is Ishtar, readying to remove the seventh veil, readying to reveal the answers to all mysteries. Balanced now on one leg, the other extended past her waist, a pointed toe holding the last vestige of all that covered her. her muscles tauten, as she holds this pose. She seems an illustration from the Kama Sutra. Then, a nerveless flick, and fullness is revealed. He gazes upon this wonder that is woman, with all the hungry awe a starving man would a cornucopia. She makes slow turns, as if in orbit around the burning sun of his desire. His eyes absorb her every angle, every contour of her . He sees her knees, crisp and rosy as apples; he sees the tender flesh behind her knees, and imagines their savor to be softer and sweeter than honeyed figs. He sees her calves and ankles, smooth as sea-lathed drift-wood, and her toes as delicately scalloped as perfect shells. He longs to know their textures with his fingers, lips and tongue. He sees a throbbing near her throat, and its pulsating rhythm creates panic in his blood. She lifts her hair with both hands. Her neck looks so succulent, his mouth fills with hungry juice. He sees the curve of her hips from waist to thigh, and knows the perfection of this line, puts the proud-necked swan to shame. Such bounty, full revealed, his to suckle, fondle, nibble, his to lick, caress and tickle, he is overwhelmed into a stasis of delirium. His rational mind is torn apart by the hounds of his own lust. He knows his soul will be her slave, no will of its own. He knows his body will find death within her liquid fire. Never was there thrall more willing; never was their immolation so desired.

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El Ojo del Lago / January 2018


Saw you in the Ojo 47


THE MEMORY LINGERS ON %\.D\'DYLV

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hen I was just a youngster with a pesky little towhead brother who was forever tagging along, we lived in a house that had been “bombed.” Well, ours was really the house next door, suffering only external damage. It seems the couple who owned the property had begun construction of a second house on their double lot. They had planned it for their grown son. The Brown’s home was a lovely New England cottage, small but cozy. And the second home they were building was of similar design. The Browns hoped their son and his wife could be moved in before the Christmas holidays. The new house was coming along quite well. The basement had been dug, and the shell of the new house was up, complete with doors and roof. The interior rooms were framed. At that point there was still no wiring or plumbing in place, no drywall or appliances, but the overall structure was in good shape. Even some of the exterior shingles were on the walls. The Browns had been quite excited about shared dinners and holidays with their son and his wife, but even more so with their future grandchildren. Mrs. Brown had even started shopping for her family’s next Christmas. Her husband’s health was beginning to fail and this year would be special “just in case.” Over dinner one night Mr. and Mrs. Brown heard the drone of an airplane overhead. It was an unusual sound since the big war had ended. But they had faith that all would be okay. What they didn’t know was that one of the local Army pilots had been ordered to fly out over the sea to “shake off” a bomb that hadn’t dropped during a practice run. The property was only a half-mile from the beach, so the plane was making the most direct run possible. The pilot was being cautious. He knew he was flying over a small town with residences that extended well down toward the beach. So he checked his instruments frequently. They droned on, closer to the sea with every minute. All was still going well according to the instruments when the errant bomb broke loose on its own. It whistled as it fell directly onto the Brown’s house. It was the last sound Mr. and Mrs. Brown ever heard. Devastated at the freak accident and the loss of both parents, the young man who inherited the property promptly put it up for sale at a “disaster price.”

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El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

My parents bought that dual property and labored on it on weekends for about two years. As soon as it became inhabitable, we moved in while construction went on around us, most of it performed by our parents. There was the day I went to the bathroom, washed and dried my hands and flipped off the light switch. A bolt of light zapped out of the switch and knocked me across the bathroom. As I wailed in fright and the unpleasant aftershock of electricity, my father dropped everything else he had planned for that day’s work, held me until I was calm again, and then he worked on the electrical problem until it was repaired. There were the weeks my parents shingled. I thought most of it was already done, but apparently there was more damage than evident from a distance, and many of the shingles had to be replaced. They developed a real team, working each row together until the entire outer wall had been repaired. Meanwhile we children played in the ruins of the bombed house next door. There was only a hole in the ground with cement structure around it, a patio, some front steps and little else to show the love and happiness that house had known. To ease the sadness that we saw every time we looked at the disaster, our parents planted a willow tree, along with roses and other flowers, and they also put out a bird bath. The ruins became a garden where childhood friendships were formed and games were played, where laughter and hope blossomed anew. The garden was where we buried baby birds that fell out of the nest. We also buried a box turtle and a garden snake the boys had caught. The garden was also where we played cowboys and Indians. Holly-


wood had made short movies for theaters, and all the kids we played with excitedly imitated their favorite heroes. However, someone had to be the captured female who needed rescuing. That would be me, of course. The pesky little brother didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t really have a role so he was sometimes the horse, or the dog that ran alongside the hero when he rode out to rescue me. We played baseball in the street. There were only a couple of other houses on our dead-end dirt street, so it was a safe place to play. At our tender ages, our concept of how to play baseball was still basic, but skills start with crude efforts, and we felt that if we could someday be as good as Ted Williams, everyone would come to see us play. Kids always have dreams. When we were allowed to go to the beach alone, we would crawl over the rocks that formed the jetty, pick up perrywinkels to bring home the way a hunter returns with his catch. We were very careful not to bother horseshoe crabs. Their tails were like saws that whipped quickly through human flesh. But shells were always fair game. We were proud of everything we found. Sometimes when we got home, the milkman was there. He brought milk in quart bottles with cream at the top third of every bottle. Great stuff

for fresh fruit desserts. On hot days he gave us chips of ice to suck on. They were as good to kids as popsicles. By the time my parents sold the property, the willow tree had grown to well over 20 feet of graceful beauty, and the birds came daily, as did butterflies and bees. In a way the Browns had had their wish granted. What had been a place of shock and death had become a family home once again, filled with joy and life. Kay Davis

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Sandy Olson

Phone: 331-283-8529 Email: sandyzihua@hotmail.com

ONE NIGHT ONLYâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;READ THIS FIRST 0DF 0RULVRQ returns on January 10 ZLWKKLVVL[WKDQQXDOEHQHÂżWFRQFHUW This yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s show is called â&#x20AC;&#x153;I Wish You Loveâ&#x20AC;? and includes an all star cast highlighting -XG\+HQGULFN&LQG\3DXO.ULVWLQH0RLO\and featuring 0LNHÂł6FDWPDQ´ Fortier Mac croons jazz standards in a smooth baritone that brings back memories of the PDQ\ JUHDWV RI WKH SDVW²)UDQN 6LQDWUD Vic Damone, Mel Torme, Tony Bennett and others. The performance will be at â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Cave,â&#x20AC;? #159 Carretera, next door to Fenix Real Estate. The doors will open at 6 pm and the show begins at 7 pm. Tickets are on sale at Diane Pearl Colecciones, Miaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Boutique and Jose Melendrez Tienda on the Ajijic Plaza. 7KLV\HDUÂśVVKRZEHQHÂżWVWKH/DNHVLGH/LWWOH7KHDWUHWRKHOSZLWKPXFKQHHGHG technical upgrades and renovations. For more information call Barbara at 766.2489. OPEN CIRCLE 6XQGD\PRUQLQJÂżQGVPDQ\/DNHVLGHUHVLGHQWVDWWKH/DNH&KDSDOD6RFLHW\DQG 2SHQ&LUFOHDIRUXPRQDYDULHW\RIVWLPXODWLQJWRSLFV$VRFLDOKRXUZLWKFRá&#x201A;&#x2021;HHDQG snacks at 10 am is followed by an interesting lecture and discussion at 10:30. -DQXDU\ The Dance of Life 3UHVHQWHGE\6XVDQ:HHNV 1RWKLQJUHPDLQVVWDWLFLQWKHXQLYHUVHRULQQDWXUH²DQGWKHUHLVDUK\WKPWRHYerything. All too often we hold on to the notion that nothing can change in our lives ZKLOHWKHHYLGHQFHWKHUHDOLW\SRLQWVLQDQHQWLUHO\GLá&#x201A;&#x2021;HUHQWGLUHFWLRQ:LWKKXPRU and compassion, Susan Weeks leads us away from the fear of change or loss by opening the door to possibilities and a new way of thinking. -DQXDU\ Foreign Retirement to Lake Chapala: The New Cycle of Boom and Bust 3UHVHQWHGE\'DYLG7UXO\ In 1997 Dr. Truly conducted a multi-method study on retirement migration to the Lake Chapala area, which became a benchmark for examining the motivations and impacts of foreign retirees to Mexico. He continued to visit the area over the next few years and then in 2010 moved to the area with this family. Since that time he has conducted numerous studies for public and private agencies, and is currently duplicating his â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;97 study. This lecture focuses on the recent boom in foreign PLJUDWLRQWKHSURÂżOHDQGSRWHQWLDOLPSDFWVRIWRGD\ÂśVPLgrants, and the preliminary results of his ongoing 20 year follow-up study. -DQXDU\ World Class Music in Ajijic 3UHVHQWHGE\&KULV:LOVKHUH 1RUWKHUQ/LJKWV Christopher Wilshere, founder and artistic director of the Northern Lights Festival of Febrero and director David Truly of the Palcco School of Music in Guadalajara, will talk about exciting upcoming projects involving the festivalâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s student scholarship program. Alongside Chris will be a string quartet made up of some of this and last yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s scholarship students. The students will tell us about their experiences at the 2017 festival as well as their aspirations and goals for the 2018 season. -DQXDU\ The Five Wishes 3UHVHQWHGE\/RUHWWD'RZQV Advance Healthcare Planning has evolved from being a casual part of an estate plan to becoming a lifelong practice and medical necessity. It is a personally transformative process that increases the likelihood of having a gentle death. The Five

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Wishes is a helpful tool for exercising control over your end-of-life care. These wishes will clarify who and what matters most to you when you reach the end of the life line. ZZZHQGRĂ&#x20AC;LIHLQVSULDWLRQVFRP Loretta Downs has a Masters Degree in Gerontology. She is Past-president of the Chicago End-of-Life Care &RDOLWLRQDQGLVD&HUWLÂżHG6HQLRU$GYLVRU$GYDQFH&DUH Planning Facilitator and Death Doula. )HEUXDU\ Eleventh Annual Update on Global Warming, Climate Change, and Renewable Energy in Mexico 3UHVHQWHGE\'U'RQDOG$LWNHQ This Powerpoint lecture will continue Dr. Aitkenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s annual look at what has happened and what he has learned Loretta Downs about global warming and climate change since Feb. 2017. He will also discuss the growth of solar energy in Mexico. Dr. Donald Aitken has been in renewable energy and policy since 1973, having chaired two US national conferences, served twice as President of the American Solar Energy Society, and served as Secretary and Vice President of the International Solar Energy Society. Please note that this talk will take place at the Club Exotica from 10:3012:00. 1816$1'085'(5 The next Lakeside Little Theatre production is Agnes of God. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s directed by 3DXO .ORHJPDQ, Cast members are -DFLQWD 6SULQJHU, 'HERUDK6SLW]and -Rhanna Labadie. Show dates are January 12 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 21. The play: A young nun is accused of murdering an infant she gave birth to in a cloistered convent. The psychiatrist assigned to her case meets opposition in the conventâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Mother Superior, and all three women explore questions of faith, memory, and the meaning of sainthood. The performances are at 7:30 pm and 3 pm. First Saturday and both Sundays DUH PDWLQHHV7LFNHWV DUH  SHVRV DQG DUH DYDLODEOH DW //7ÂśV %R[ 2á&#x201A;&#x2C6;FH  WR noon every Wednesday and Thursday, also one hour before curtain. Email: tickets@ lakesidelittletheatre.com or call (376) 766 0954. -(:,6+),/0)(67,9$/ 2QFHDJDLQ/DNHVLGHUHVLGHQWVDUHJLIWHGZLWKIDVFLQDWLQJ6XQGD\DIWHUQRRQÂżOPV sponsored by the /DNH&KDSDOD-HZLVK&RQJUHJDWLRQ. Hereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the lineup for January: -DQXDU\ The Zookeeperâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Wife -DQXDU\The Frisco Kid -DQXDU\Denial -DQXDU\Orchestra of Exiles )HEUXDU\Oy Vey My Son is Gay 7LFNHWV DUH  SHVRV 7KH ÂżOPV DUH VKRZQ DW  DW WKH &LQHPDV GHO /DJR %XJDPELOLDV3OD]D$SRUWLRQRIVDOHVJRHVWREHQHÂżWDVHOHFWHG/DNHVLGHFKDULW\ %5$9,66,02 7KH%UDYR7KHDWUHis presenting concerts by singers from Guadalajara, Mexico City and Lakeside. -DQXDU\ music lovers will hear local favorite $PDUDQWD6DQWRV with her concert Storytellers, )HEUXDU\  brings us tenor 'DYLG GH OD 0RUD with Canciones del 0XQGR - Songs of the World. 0DUFK tenor Ricardo Calderon, winner of several national awards, brings a selection of composers from Spain, in his concert, &RQDPRUHD(VSDxa. 7LPRWK\ * 5Xá&#x201A;&#x2021; :HOFK is the collaborative pianist for all of these concerts. Welch is the Maestro of the Coro Municipal de Zapopan, Los Cantantes del Lago and Minister of Music at St. Andrewâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Anglican Church. Tickets for these concerts are 300 pesos and are available at Diane Pearl Colecciones, Miaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Boutique or mymytickets@gmail.com. All concerts will be presented at

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St. Andrewâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Anglican Church. +263,7$/,7<$1'/81&+$7-$/7(3(& &HQWUR(GXFDWLYR-DOWHSHF will hold an open house on Tuesday, January 23 at 11 am. It starts with a presentation of the history of this institute, and the academic program along with their scholarship Program. This will follow with a tour of the facilities and a question and answer period. A complimentary lunch will be served at 1:30. Seating is limited to 60 guests, including current sponsors. Please contact Linda Buckthorp, Community Facilitator, at 766-1631 or email buckthorplm@gmail.com for further information or to make a reservation to attend the open house. HUNGRY FOR HAGGIS? Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll get a chance to try it if you attend the annual Robert Burns supper and fundraiser sponsored by Ninos Incapacitados. There will be Scottish dancing, bagpipe music, a beautiful supper and a stylish display of kilts. The event is on Thursday, January 25, at the Hotel Real de Chapala. Tickets are 500 pesos. Contact Ann at 766-1609 or email her at ppnitx@gmail.com :+$7$&/$66<(9(17ÂŤ 9LYDOD0XVLFDis presenting its Winter Concert in the Haus der Musik on Thursday, January 25 at 7 pm. The brilliant Dutch/Israeli pianist Michael Tsalka returns for an evening of Baroque and Romantic muVLF WKH ÂżUVW SDUW ZLWK PXVLF E\ -6 %DFK DQG VRQV entitled Fugue and Fantasy, followed after the intermission by the Mazurkas of Frederic Chopin. 7KLVZLOOEHDFHOHEUDWLRQDá&#x201A;&#x2021;DLUZLWKDFKDPSDJQH and canape reception for an intimate house concert evening. Seating is limited. Tickets are 500 pesos and available at the Lake Chapala Society Thursdays and Fridays from 10 to 12. 2<9(< The next production from Naked Stage is The Lyons. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s directed by Pierre Blackburn. You canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t miss this one. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a very funny, black comedy about a standard-issue dysfunctional, middle class, Jewish, suburban family. The basic joke of Silverâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s savage comedy is that the characters are given license to speak their private thoughts out loud. ,WVKRZVRQ-DQXDU\DQGDWSP7KH%R[2á&#x201A;&#x2C6;FHDQGEDURSHQDWSP

The Cast: Bob Jones, Clay McAdam, Johan Dirkes (back row) Deanne Barber, Chris Lâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Ecluse, Linda Freeman (front row) Donation is 100 pesos. Naked Stage is at Hidalgo #261, on the mountain side and directly across from the Catholic Church. Parking is available in the parking lot of the Baptist church. Reservations are recommended. For more information and reservations, email nakedstagereservations@gmail.com. For those who use Facebook, look for The Naked Stage for breaking news and updates. 3/$<,76$0ÂŤ Remember that line from Casablanca? Come and see the movie on the big screen at the Avocado Club on January 26 at around 6 pm. Admission is free.

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El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

People purchase their own meals. A percentage of the food sales will be donated to 7KH/LWWOH&KDSHOE\WKH/DNH for their good works in the village of San Juan Tecomatlan. VIVA GOES TO THE OPERA Here is the lineup for the next 9LYDOD0XVLFD Live from the Met bus trips. 6DWXUGD\-DQXDU\, noon. Tosca by G. Puccini (3.18 hours) Bus departs at 10.30 am 6DWXUGD\)HEUXDU\, 11 am. Elixir of Love by G. Donizetti (2.59 hours) Bus departs at 9.30 am 6DWXUGD\)HEUXDU\, 11.30 am. La Boheme by G. Puccini (3.16 hours) Bus departs at 10 am 6DWXUGD\0DUFK noon. Semiramide by G. Rossini (3.50 hours) Bus departs at 10.30 am 6DWXUGD\ 0DUFK , 11 am Cosi Fan Tutte by W. A. Mozart (3.56 hours) Bus departs at 9.30 am Trips to the opera are 450 pesos (550 for non-members) and are available at the LCS ticket booth Thursday and Friday from 10 to noon, or call Rosemary Keeling at 766-1801. 6(( 7+,6 $:$5' :,11,1* EPIC /DNHVLGH /LWWOH 7KHDWUH 3OD\house Series presents National Theatre Liveâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Production of the award-winning two-part play Angels in America. Set in the U.S. during the 1980s, Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes is presented in two parts. Part I: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Millennium Approachesâ&#x20AC;? and Part II: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Perestroika.â&#x20AC;? They combine to present a complex, compelling look at AIDS and homosexuality in America in the midst of the AIDS epidemic. Part I: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Millennium Approachesâ&#x20AC;? will be presented Saturday, January 27, at 3 pm. Part II: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Perestroikaâ&#x20AC;? will be shown Sunday, January 28, also at 3 pm. 7LFNHWV PD\ EH SXUFKDVHG DW WKH //7 %R[ 2á&#x201A;&#x2C6;FH :HGQHVGD\ DQG 7KXUVGD\ between 10 am and noon. Tickets are 300 pesos per performance, or 500 pesos for both performances when purchased together. For more information, visit www. lakesidelittletheatre.com. Proceeds from Lakeside Little Theatreâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s showings of Tony Kushnerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s epic twopart play will be donated to $MLMLF&DUHV the lakeside volunteer organization dediFDWHGWRSURYLGLQJUHVRXUFHVDQGHGXFDWLRQLQWKHÂżJKWDJDLQVW+,9WUDQVPLVVLRQ 025(9,9$/$086,&$ Viva is bringing the %DOOHWGH-DOLVFR to the Auditorio on February 2 at 7.00 pm A small group of dancers from the Ballet de Jalisco will present a concert of delightful solos, pas de deux and ensemble pieces. Tickets, at 300 pesos, are available at the LCS ticket booth Thursdays and Fridays from 10 to noon, or call Rosemary Keeling at 766-1801. 7$.($/22.$77+($57,676 $MLMLF6RFLHW\RIWKH$UWV will present its Open Studio 2018 on February 10 and 11. This is your chance to visit 51 or more local artists, who will be showing work in their studios and in local venues, such as the Lake Chapala Society. Admission booklets, priced at 50 pesos, are available at Diane Pearl Colecciones, Ken Gosh Gallery and Studio and at the Lake Chapala Society on Mondays to Saturdays from 10:00 a.m. to 12:00 noon at the ticket area by the front entrance. Fifty percent of the ticket price supports the Childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Art Program, an institution of 61 years and growing, located at LCS. Many of our renowned artists began as local youngsters at CAP. This is a perfect way to spend DQ DUWÂżOOHG ZHHNHQG DQG support our future young artists.

Artist Robina Nichol


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An Exchange Of Gifts %\5RE0RKU

L

ove making for Jennifer had been suspended for fifteen years, in favor of an uncontaminated body nourished and preserved from any harm that might come if she were to give in to her impulses. Now, a man would see the signs of age in her body, something she couldn’t bear, or even imagine – it had been so long. Besides, she thought, I am safe in my comfortable home. Yet something essential had been lost. Jennifer was to her husband Blake, an obscure, shifting presence impossible to define, an affirmation of absence, of collective guilt - a woman who filled long days lounging in her living room, with its high vaults, rich wood paneling, and long garden view. Blake seldom dared breach her domain surrounded by walls of bookshelves filled with each escape she had savored, each dream she had cherished, each hero she had loved. Jennifer had become a shadow, a memory of the young woman who once ran laughing across the snow-covered lawn of their home. Today, Blake could pass her in the street and not know her, not see the handsome, refined woman she had become. She would forever be a stranger to him, a mist he could not bring into focus, an echo of sound made decades ago. In contrast, Blake was driven, tinkered endlessly with his newest  iPad. Jennifer was an unseen presence, fixed—at least in his mind, curled up

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with a book. On occasion he would register the sound of her voice as a faint reverberation from some distant world. When they ventured to talk, she spoke in a ritual way, articulating the needs offered without expectation of response, a dance between old, yet distant enemies. His infrequent replies were equally abstract, designed to maintain her presence, if not in an alliance, at least as a fixture he could call wife. They spoke a language consisting of hard words without overtones of compassion or love. ****** Alone at a table for two, Jennifer savored her coffee. Unnoticed, unseen by anyone who might have cared. Nearby, Malcolm, a tall, slender man watched her every move, absorbed her freshness, her innocent openness, her patience as she waited. A woman from a past age, he thought, an apparition.’ Unable to resist, Malcolm stuffed his papers into his satchel, and strode over to her table. “You seem content alone.” Malcolm watched a quick smile spread across her face, her tongue brush her lips. “Yes,” she responded. Surprised by his presence she put her hand on her neck. “I watched the morning light moving across your face.” Malcolm said. He resisted telling her how beautiful she was. Her smile widened. “How can you say

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

such a thing? You don’t know me at all.” The waiter placed a plate of fruit on the table and refilled her coffee, as Malcolm pulled back the chair across from her. “May I join you for a moment?” He has a lot of nerve! “Yes, if you like.” Malcolm glanced at the waiter, “Coffee please.” ‘She’s my age. Like me, not yet willing to leave her youth behind.’ She noticed that his face, like hers, revealed only the slightest hint of age, or the suffering that comes from living. Focused on one another, they were young again, glimpsed what was possible. “I paint.” Her words were whispered – a secret released, a door into her inner self, a place where she dwelt in safety. Her words were an invitation. “Yes, that’s important.” He sensed her fragility, the significance of the gift she had given him. Jennifer understood, for a moment, Malcolm had been captured by some interior reality. He understands, she thought. Malcolm watched as she finished her breakfast. “Would you like to walk along the river?” He thought of the trees, the rushing water, of being alone with her. Jennifer considered his invitation, the hours she sat alone reading, and the emptiness of her relationship with Blake. “Yes. That would be wonderful.” The day had come alive for her. Searching his face for some sign that might reveal his intent, she glimpsed a sparkle in his eyes. She is so like Nina, my first love,  he thought. The aliveness she radiated awoke in him a sense of wonder, a return. ******* Malcolm had been a man skating on a small pond, where he alone controlled his movements, when, the ice beneath him gave way and pulled him down into the dark cold waters of desperation. Only his close friends, who brought him back to the warm fires of community, saved him from the shock of his wife’s departure in the night – her tracks deep in the snow, marked by the weight of a suitcase.

The pain of loss overwhelmed him, burned unable to consume itself, or cool his sense of failure. His suffering ate at the core of his being, eroded every understanding that had shaped his life. Every act seemed futile. His only hope was to experience new birth rooted in the young man he had been when he had painted without restraint, dreamed without compromise. Yet, fearing the unknown, even as he began to awake, Malcolm had avoided involvement with the women who had sought him out, and who, when turned away, spread rumors of his arrogance. “Impotent,” they had said, words given life within their tribunal. ******** There in the morning light, seeing Jennifer’s clear face, and guileless blue eyes, listening to the soft lilt of her voice, Malcolm felt revived, the cold water driven from his lungs. Her words warmed his body. He felt her willingness as they aligned themselves in harmony. How does she see me? He wondered, Are the pockmarks of failure evident? Malcolm is the exact opposite of Blake,  she thought, realizing that there was both hope and danger present in shifting her focus. His introspective nature and wisdom excited her. She felt celebrated. He was attentive to her feelings which had been dammed up so long. His presence was synonymous with freedom. “I’m married,” she said. “He and I live as strangers.” She wanted to tell him everything, and would before the day was over. “Yes. I thought as much.” Watching her, trying to read every nuance, Malcolm felt warmth spread through his body. So complex a woman, more than flesh, a vibrant spirit. ‘He enjoys what I have to say. Him, that man I live with, never listens, never cares! ******* Filled, their plans made to meet tomorrow, she wondered if the loveless life she and Blake endured might be shattered. Reluctantly they readied themselves to part. Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. “You are so warm,” she smiled, and hugged him closer. “There are no words to express what I feel,” he said. She turned her face up to kiss him. He felt her respond, and hesitated for a moment, before letting her go. She turned and walked away—stopped and looked back—saw he has not moved, and knew he would not move until she was out of sight. His ability to anticipate my need is so welcome.  A gift. She sighed. Rob Mohr


Saw you in the Ojo 71


%\5DFKHO0F0LOOHQ

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he garden was beautiful, full of bright, spring flowers. The scent of grass mingled with the soft perfume of lilacs. She was sitting in the sun, a plaid blanket over her knees. Her white hair glowed. Her gnarled hands lay quietly on her lap. Something far beyond the trees had drawn her gaze and she didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t notice me. I sat down beside her, willing her to turn. Hoping, wanting, helpless, desperate, lost. There were no rules for this. No map to follow. All the greetings were useless. All the habits of the past sixty years were meaningless. All the shared memories were gone. Why was I here? I told myself it was for her, but she no longer knew me. It had been a year since she said my name, months since she acknowledged my presence. Yet still I made this pilgrimage every week, counting the days, dreading the days. I worried constantly about what to say. Dreamed of shared laughter and conversation. Yearned for the warmth of her smile. Such foolishness. It was all gone. Now I sat in silence, leaning gently against her. Memories streamed like a river in flood: school days, camping trips, vacations, hurt knees, hurt feelings, lost friends, new friends, report cards, first date, graduation, marriage, divorce, children, work. The currents and eddies of my life and through all of them she was there. She was my anchor, my sounding board, my mentor, my friend. Now she no longer knew me. She was gone â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and yet I could still see her. Could smell her familiar scent.

Could touch her warm skin. The need to speak, to communicate, to connect, was overwhelming and I struggled desperately for words that would reach her. But what to say? â&#x20AC;&#x153;How are you?â&#x20AC;? Meaningless. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Guess who I saw today?â&#x20AC;? Useless. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Did I tell you Markâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s daughter got an A on her report card?â&#x20AC;? Irrelevant. â&#x20AC;&#x153;We are planning on going to Mexico this winter?â&#x20AC;? Incomprehensible. â&#x20AC;&#x153;I got a card from Aunt Val today.â&#x20AC;? So what! We sat there, silent, for almost an hour. The sun slowly sank behind the trees and shadows dappled the lawn. A thousand untold thoughts came and went, sliding silently into the mists of isolation. Events that had seemed so important this morning faded into obscurity. A sudden revelation! Was it me? Did my life need vocalization to be real? Was I living in a half-world where unacknowledged events were meaningless? I looked across at her serene face and saw her smile. Tears filmed my eyes and I finally found the words. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Thank-you Mother.â&#x20AC;? I was halfway up the path when I heard her voice, faint and caressing. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Love you.â&#x20AC;? Rachel McMillen

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Saw you in the Ojo 73


WRITERS GROUP 101: A Satiric Look at Writers Groups Everywhere %\7RP1XVVEDXP

M

ax, a spry y octogenarian swith mischievousness in his eye, handded the mobile microphone to the grisly-bearded, bald man. “Hold it like an erect penis and practically kiss it as you speak,” he instructed the first-time attendee. “OK. If I have to. But I haven’t actually held an erect penis since…Oh, that’s probably none of your…. Well, my name is Leonard Watkins. I’m a just-retired plumber from Ashtabula, Ohio and my wife Gwendolyn and I just moved here. I’m not a writer, but I’ve always wanted to be. Maybe listening to your work will inspire me.” Watkins sat down as sprinkles of applause welcomed him.

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“ h h new peo“Are there any other ple?” Diana, the facilitator of the Lakeside Organization of Writers, or LOW, asked. It is a rotating position, dependent on availability, ability, and doctor’s prognosis. “Yes, over there, Max,” Diana added, directing him to an unsteady wooden picnic table across the patio. As Max crossed in front of the standing microphone facing the group, a sharp shriek of electronic feedback screeched like a banshee regurgitating a tainted potion. It ended, however, as Max neared the table and handed the mobile-mic to a rotund woman with weary eyes.

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

“Oh, my. It is very phallic, isn’t it?” She giggled. “Hi. Jeannie Delman from Pocatello, Idaho. I wrote a little in high school. Poems, a short story or two. I was told I was good. I even won the award for Best Poem in our literary magazine my senior year.” Pride coated her vocal cords like honey.“ But I had six kids by the time I was 30, so I never was able to follow-up on that important award.” Murmurs of laughter interrupted Jeannie. She looked confused. “Anyway, now that my kids and grand kids are spread all over the country and I’m a widow, I would like to write again.” Scattered applause followed. “Any other newbies?” The facilitator scanned the crowd of forty or so. “No? So let’s begin. Our first reader is Graham Bjornstrom.” A tall, broad-shouldered man in his 70s stood and slithered between several tables to the standing microphone. His wavy shoulder-length white hair waved at the attendees as he slid by. He laid several papers on the wobbling wooden podium. “I’m reading a short story inspired by an unexpected e-mail from my long lost high school girlfriend. She’s a recent widow and, well, I’ve been like a widower since my fourth wife, Lupita, ran off with the gardener’s 19-year-old son after her graduation from preparatoria.” Graham cleared his throat. “As I look back over my life of bad choices, sin, and crime,” he began, “I remember…” Oh, this ought to be interesting, I thought. But a gurgle in my gut drew my attention away from the reminiscing Graham. I don’t feel good. I need to burp. I sat up, trying to dislodge some gas. It did not work. I didn’t belch. I need to burp, I repeated to myself. I pressed against my solar plexus. Nothing happened. Damn it. I need to burp. I looked down, vaguely hearing Graham’s voice. I studied the details of my tennis shoes, the laces, the logo, the tread, the dried dog-do. A woman’s voice interrupted my thoughts. She was one of the younger people attending, perhaps 45. Maybe 60. “I really liked what you read, Graham. I could feel your dark joie de vivre. You have a way of combining the styles of Victor Hugo, Joan Didion, and Dr. Seuss.” What? I thought. Are you nuts? Dark joie de vivre? And how do Didion and Seuss belong in the same sentence? The woman continued. “But you used the phrase “domesticated quadropod” four times, apparently one for each pod. I thought that phrase was irritating the first time. You can imagine how I felt the fourth time I heard it. Why didn’t you just say ‘dog?’

Other than that, Graham, I really liked what you wrote.” “I used ‘domesticated quadropod’ because—” “Tut-tut-tut,” Diana interrupted. “We do not reply to critique. We simply listen. No explanations. No dialogue. You know that Graham. In fact, we’ve called you on that rule violation before. Do you want your reading rights rescinded? Now sit down, Graham!” Diana began to review the group’s rules with frustrated impatience. I heard something about refraining from wearing distracting colors when presenting. And there was something about not calling readers a bitch or an asshole. But I wasn’t focusing on Diana’s comments. Instead, I opened the folder in front of me and tried to study the piece I would be reading later. Trepidation, however, began to set in. I’m not ready to read this in public, I thought. Besides, I don’t feel good. I need to burp. “Our next reader is Joyce Wilmer,” the facilitator announced. Joyce, who was sitting near the podium, stood and stepped to the microphone. “I’m reading a poem written from the perspective of my dog.” She said this with excitement, as if the concept had never been tried before. Joyce began her recitation. “I think that I shall never see a poem as ugly as a flea.” “Oh, Lord. Give me strength,” I exhaled just loud enough for the woman next to me to hear. She looked at me like my mother did when I farted during funerals. Not a fancier of poetry, I tuned out Ms. Wilmer. I looked down at my shoes again. I should have worn my brown ones, I thought, as I realized my orange argyles clashed with my blue Nikes. I closed my eyes and pretended I was listening to the canine interpretation of Joyce Kilmer’s “Trees.” A man’s voice startled me. “Why did you pick that poem to satirize?” “Because my name is Joyce Wilmer,” the presenter answered, her tone reflecting disbelief she was being asked that question. It is so obvious, I thought, as a collective “Oh!” reverberated through the gathering. The woman who had compared Graham Bjornstrom’s work to Hugo, Didion, and Seuss began to speak. “I really liked what you read,” she said. “I so admire how you were able to combine the styles of Virgil, Dante Rossetti, Emily Dickinson, and Ogden Nash.” What? I thought as several people around me nodded in agreement. Are you people dropping acid for breakfast? I looked down and studied my presentation and gulped some air. God, I wish I could burp.


“Next we have Philip Van der Waal.” Philip, although clearly collecting Social Security, dashed to the front of the gathering of alleged writers with the energy and excitement of a first-grader. He made no comments before reading. “See Dick run,” he began. “Dick is running with Spot. Spot is a black and white dog. They run fast. See Jane play. She is playing with Puff. Puff is a gray cat. ‘Jane,’ Dick called, ‘where is Sally?’ Jane said, ‘Sally is with mother. She is helping mother bake a cake. The cake is for father’s birthday.’” I was stunned. What the hell? I thought. Doesn’t anyone recognize this? It’s stolen from the first-grade primer my generation used during the William Howard Taft Era. I looked around. The audience was captured by the reading, mesmerized by the reader’s words. I refocused on the presenter. “Thank you, Mother,” said father,” Philip continued. “Thank you, Sally. This is a good cake. And this is a happy birthday.” The audience leaped to its feet, applauding and cheering. I should say something about plagiarism but, I need to burp, I told myself. Why do I feel so lousy? Am I sick? Or am I just nervous? “Comments?” Diana asked as the ovation died down. “Me! Me!” the woman who liked to compare writers called. Max rushed the microphone to her. “First,” she said, “I really liked what you read. It was so original! Brilliant! I’ve never heard anything like it. I can’t compare it to anything.” She spewed her praise like an erupting volcano. “You must publish that!” Other listeners made similar comments. Finally, the founder of the group and local magazine editor, Anton Popich Kryzinsky Garibaldi Penn, spoke. “Now that is writing.” His voice cracked with emotion. “As Orb editor, I strive to include articles with appeal to the varied interests and viewpoints of all the people living here at Lake-

side. But you, Philip, have finally written something that speaks to a group I have never been able to reach. Trump supporters. Many of them are just now learning to read and that was perfectly suited to them. Send it to me.” I looked at my watch. I’ve got to be one of the next readers on the list? I thought. I could feel tension mounting inside me. I could feel nerves or something turning my stomach into a trampoline. “Next up is Reginald Thornbush, a first-time reader,” Diana announced with a comforting smile. Oh, hell, I thought as I stood. I felt dizzy, and wobbled weak-kneed to the podium. I laid my papers on the wooden stand. But before I read anything, my chocolate-covered donut, chocolate-filled Bismark and threebeer breakfast took one final jump on the trampoline in my tummy and covered my pages of prose and hours of creativity with murky vomit. The only word to come out of my mouth was a guttural “Bleeaaacchhhkkkccckk!” When I came to, I was propped up on a picnic table bench and Diana was dabbing my forehead with cold water. The microphone stand lay next to me, pinned to the patio by the podium like a spindly freshman high school wrestler crushed by a heavyweight senior. I could hear whispered voices near me. They’re concerned about me, worried that I will be OK, I thought. They’re all so nice, so supportive. “Philip was wonderful,” a woman bubbled in a hushed voice. “From the perspective of her dog. Brilliant,” a man praised. “I can’t believe Graham poisoned Lupita and that 19-year-old punk.” But in the distance, through my mental fog, I could hear a woman gush into a microphone, “I really liked what you read.” Tom Nussbaum

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hat marine is standing on our guy’s head!” Abel yelled. ”That’s not going to happen to me.” It was the last day of the US Navy, “Survival, Escape and Evasion,” course in the California high desert. This course was required for all pilots and crews. The previous four days and nights we had been living off the land and K–rations. The group was made up of officers and enlisted men of three Navy squadrons preparing for missions where they could end up in enemy territory. The course was a reaction to the 1959 book, “In Every War But One,” based a study of the effect of Communist indoctrination on those held prisoners of war in Korea and the fact that during the Korean conflict no American prisoner of war in Korea had escaped.

Abel Cantu and I had been together from our beginning, basic training and advancement to a squadron at North Island Naval Air Station, Coronado California where we were part of this “survival” group. Abel was from Chicago. He was good-looking enough for Hollywood though he said his only theatrical stint was as a spear-carrier in Aida when he was a college student. He did have a hedonistic penchant that seemed to

attract women. Abel loved and thrived in the social life of Coronado, which he referred to as, “Peyton Place with palm trees.” I often wondered how he reconciled his Catholicism with being a hedonist. Maybe it was by his Saturday visits to the confessional. While we were surviving the first days on a section of deserted beach a seagull became entangled in our fishing line laid out in the surf. We put it under a crate that had washed ashore. Each morning we would look at the bird and he at us and decide if we were hungry enough to eat it. The consensus was, “Not yet.” It seemed to agree. All of us, including the gull, were relieved when traps, purportedly belonging to the Admiral, were discovered full of lobsters just off shore. Were these government property? We were hungry enough to risk it. The gull was released. It nodded and trotted away while we dined sumptuously. A few nights later after a thirtymile hike Abel groaned, “Bernie, this is the sickest I’ve ever been. It’s not what I signed up for.” I responded, “They warned us to go easy on the water at the end of the hike or there’d be dire results. In form, Abel reasoned, “Yeah but I was thirsty.” The Marine Captain briefed us before the last day’s adventure as we grouped on a ridge. “This will not be a walk in the park. The course is down hill, five miles to the finish. Your goal is to reach Freedom Village without being captured. You’ll be chased by two platoons of Marines who are finishing twelve weeks of boot camp incarceration. They will be highly motivated to catch you by the promise of a three-day pass for each one of you the catch. Those making it to Freedom Village will enjoy water and food while watching the interrogation of the captives through a one-way mirrored window.” “Those captured, and any of you who don’t finish the course, will

experience being like anyone held by the enemy in its homeland. As a captive you will surrender any water you have and be made to run in place until you drop. You will then be beaten with rifle butts to run in place again and so on until your captors feel you are ready for interrogation.” “The Geneva Convention says you only give your name, rank and serial number. Not so. This will only be the first question. There will be many more until it is felt you have given up all that you have. Then you can be shot. You have no value to your captors and as long as you survive you are a burden that detracts from their ability to fight. You cannot outsmart them. If you lie about anything they will discover that lie and you’ll want to be dead rather than have their torture continue, but they won’t let you die.” “Bullshit!” said Abel. “Those are just words. The first gyrene I see I’m going to stand up and yell, ‘Hey! Here I am; take me.’ I’ve had enough of this crap.” The Captain continued, “At the sound of the first shot you’ll take off. Shortly after that there’ll be the second shot when your highly motivated pursuers will be turned loose after you. Will you be as motivated?” Too soon, the sound of a shot rang over the canyon. We all hesitated a second and were off. I remembered, “Move downhill, go by yourself, don’t bunch up, keep off ridges, trails and roads. Rattlesnakes are the least of your worries.” Then the second shot. After thirty minutes, I overcame Abel standing by a Mesquite. Pale and shaking, pointing down the canyon, he exclaimed, “Jesus, look at that!” A marine had caught one of us. The captive was lying on the road. Abel screamed, “That marine is standing on his god damn head!” Abel took off like a scared rabbit across the canyon wall, making deep descents down gullies, continuing at high speed until he flew across the finish line, untouched. Sitting in the shade holding a chilled bottle of water, Abel mused, “Tonight at the O-Club I’ll dazzle the dollies with my tale of surviving this fiendish operation.” Watching Abel I knew the US Navy’s program had met its goal. The hedonist had survived until less than a year later when Abel lost his life on a crosscountry flight when his Naval aircraft crashed into the ground near Omaha Nebraska.

Bernie Suttle

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f I were the Supreme Being (Goddess), I would hope for balance in all things. Ying/yang – sunrise/ sunset - fantasy/reality … you get the idea. In the 80’s Rod Steward made popular a song entitled, Some Guys Have All the Luck, and you know it’s true. A friend worked hard and was able to retire wealthy at the tender age of 50. And then his wealthy father left him pristine acreage on the Platt River in Colorado. His unseemly rich mother is still living, but as her only child, his future is secure. Plus he enters a casino and wins $5000 USD on a single slot machine, repeatedly. The casinos want their chance at retribution and offer him free suites, meals and limousines. But he hasn’t pulled the slot machine handle his final time, so we can’t be sure how long his luck will hold, can we? Then, there’s the Lil Abner character, Joe Btfsplk, who is followed by his personal black cloud, complete with lightning streaks and perpetual rain. We all know some of these guys, too. If it weren’t for badluck, they’d have no luck at all. And another cliché … life ain’t fair, but bittersweet. Life can’t give us everything we want ... because we could become proud, then the gods might punish us for trying to be like them. A friend and I have been competing in international chili cookoffs for 30+ years and in fact competed

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in the Mexican Nationals in its last 12 years of being sanctioned, with Ann Whiting at the helm. I was lucky enough to win in 1998 and again in 2008, and he placed in the Top Five during the years but never took home the Silver Trophy. We’ve competed good-naturedly for all these decades and remained friends who reunite yearly at the World Championship Chili Cook-off. He’s a healthylooking 74-year-old who represented Texas with all of the confidence of that arrogant state. Last October, the cook-off was held in Reno, Nevada, and the coveted First Place paid $25,000 USD to the winner plus yearly bragging rights. It’s the most coveted prize for any chili cook, being the equivalent of an Academy Award or the Grammy. A cook needs to win the equivalency of a state championship to qualify and it’s all anonymous. As 125 of the best chili cooks in the world converge for one big showdown, it always comes down to luck in the end. And my friend of all those years of competition WON! But we had had lengthy conversations over the weekend and he told of his bladder cancer surgery three years ago and another only three weeks before the competition. And he told of other masses and complications. There were tears in his eyes as the floodlights shined, and he stood tall on the largest stage of his life, flashbulbs popping, friends cheering, and we realized he was wondering if he would be able to return next year to defend his title. Tick, Tock. PS – If I were the Divine One, I would heal everyone and give us all total joy. But the reality is: I wouldn’t want that responsibility. However, if returning to Lake Chapala is on his Bucket List, I offered to help him with reservations, pick him up at GDL and show him around town … it’s the best I can do.


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n archaeologistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s heart may leap up when he he beholds a rainbow in the sky, y, but an ancient garbage dump, the older the e be better, produces true ecstasy. He joyfully delves into the detritus of long-vanished cultures, not for treasure re (although ones es,, di dis sthat is occasionally found), but for old bon bones, dists. TTo o th the carded tools and, especially, broken pots. ry can an expert, the smallest fragment of pottery o speak volumes about the people who made and used it and the ancients were generous in their contributions to the science. The tradition of creating useful and ornamental objects from common clay is as old as civilization. Some of the finest pre-Columbian examples come from Tlatilco and date from 1200 BC, but the ceramic arts still flourish, virtually unchanged. Tools are often primitive in the extreme. A rough plank or a wide, shallow dish rotating atop a rock or an inverted bowl serve as wheels. Scraps of wet leather, felt or smooth stones help form contours and burnish surfaces. Broken pieces of pottery, gourd segments, old nails or sharp thorns, even fingernails, can be used for impressing designs or piercing patterns in the wet clay while feathers, twigs or fingers serve to apply home-made paints and glazes. Firing is achieved by stacking dried pots above ground or in shallow pits and covering them with mounds of burning wood, dung and maize husks. With such simple equipment, modern potters produce an astonishing array of works, some supremely beautiful, others whimsically amusing, a few garishly ugly, to gladden the hearts of future archaeologists. It would be interesting to know what those learned gentlemen will make of them. Izucar de Matomoros, Puebla This buxom mermaid from Puebla is perched somewhat precariously at the summit of a column of water creatures. She sits on a smugly smiling fish atop a sly frog, a wary alligator and a turtle who seems pretty disgruntled at being low reptile on the totem pole. Though the whole is only slightly over eight inches tall, crudely modelled and painted with commercial paints in improbable designs and colors that would give a marine biologist a bad case of the willies, it has a whimsical charm that is irresistible. Given the current rate of wildlife extinction, our hypothetical archaeologists will probably conclude that all these marine animals are as mythological as the mermaid. Acatlan, Puebla Animals have been a recurring theme with Mexican potters since the days when the ancient gods were noted for assuming zoomorphic aspects. Like his early ancestors, the creator of this highly bedizened cow was not about to allow mere realism to interfere with his art. The profusion of flowering vines

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sprouting from neck and withers may be all right but the two calves emerging flanks from fr rom om tthe he fl flan anks an ks aare re bit startling. The figure, which stands nearly 18 inches high finished with a burnished orange slip, is designed for use as a candle and an d is fi fini nish ni sh hed dw h ho hold old lder der e. holder. Pe rhap rh hap apss the the archaeological a Perhaps conclusion here will he here wilill ill be be tthe h worship, not of the goldhe e n calf, b u the three-headed cow. en but Sa San Bartolo Coyotepec, Oa Oaxa xa a Oaxaca Bla Bl Black glazes are common in Me exi xicc but only the potters of Mexico, th his area are produce black wares this with wi th h a llovely ovel ov elyy m e metallic sheen. Though they startt with a loc local dark clay, the lustrous black finish is not an applied glaze but the result o of firing the dried pieces 4 hours ho forr 24 in a reducing atmosphe sp here re where the lack of oxysphere gen n turns red oxide to black. Burnishing produces a glossy black while unburnished ware is an equally attractive gun metal grey. Unless someone decides that the color black had some e esoteric cultural or religious significance, the only response her would have to be simple admiration for the beauty of the here wor work. Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato Post-conquest artisans were quick to adopt foreign designs and techniques. The majolica ware for which this city has become famous is a serendipitous mating of white glazed, blue decorated pottery from Majolica, Spain and the graceful shapes inspired by Chinese porcelain that was transshipped from Acapulco to Vera Cruz in great quantity during the heyday of the Manilla galleons. This handsome, 15 inch tall, lidded jar is a perfect example of that East-West meeting but the swirling foliage gives it a definite Mexican accent. The cross-cultural confusion here will undoubtedly furnish our future scholars with fuel for endless debates. Ocumicho, Michoacan These gleefully grinning devils cavorting in the flames of hell with their pet serpents, birds and fish are from a Purepecha village which specializes in such delightfully whimsical figurines. There one may encounter these fiends of the underworld, not only busy at their appointed task of torturing the damned, but also doing all sorts of outrageously improbable things. They ride motorcycles, drive cars, travel in buses, go fishing or dancing, partake of demonic â&#x20AC;&#x153;Last Suppersâ&#x20AC;? and generally seem to be having a devilish good time whatever they do. One can imagine two schools of thought springing up over these figures. Some will assume that the people who made them were devil worshippers, pure and simple. Others will maintain that these are actually self portraits of an extinct human/animal hybrid with horns, hooves, forked tails and a weird sense of humor. Santa Maria Atzompa, Oaxaca The gracefully undulating swirls of alternating colors in muted yellow, burnt orange, green, blue and brown raise this mundane 0lla to the realm of true art. The sensuous curves are created by deeply scoring the wet clay with a piece of broken pottery and the resulting ridges are then indented, with a length of old


rope or, as in this example, with deft touches of the finger tip, to produce the scalloped effect which gives this ceramic style its name of â&#x20AC;&#x153;ropedâ&#x20AC;? pot. Unless someone attributes some deep significance to the line and color of these pieces, here again the response can only be wonder at the skill and artistry involved in producing them. Ocotlan de Morelos, Oaxaca These three skeletal ladies are dressed to the nines in flouncy lowcut gowns, lavish hats, and feathered-serpent boas. They carry fashionable parasols and, somewhat incongruously, sport big black cigars while appearing to find the whole thing uproariously funny. These are typical examples of a facet of Mexican folk art that is unique, the celebration of El Dia de Ios Muertos (Day of the Dead). Unlike the scary Halloween symbols found elsewhere, Mexican skeletons are always seen enjoying death to the hilt. Future generations will be at least partially correct in assuming the existence of a death cult, but they will undoubtedly be hard put to explain the hilarious ways in which these skeletons seem to disport themselves.

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his play is based on a real-life event. In 1999, eleven middle-aged ladies from the Rylstone and District Women’s Institute in Yorkshire, England, decided to produce a calendar in order to raise enough money to buy a new settee for the waiting room at the local hospital. The husband of one of the eleven had recently died of leukemia, and many uncomfortable hours had been spent in that same waiting room. As a sales gimmick, these matrons posed naked for the camera behind strategically placed garden vegetables and kitchen paraphernalia. The rest is history. Their daring calendar became famous worldwide, and they ended up raising millions of pounds for Leukemia Research. Candace Luciano, in her directorial debut at LLT, handled a large cast with considerable skill. It’s a complicated play, with a lot of scene and costume changes and a multitude of props, and it all went smoothly without a hitch. The six ladies of the Institute were realistically played by Collette Clavadetscher, Debra Bowers, Wendy Petersen, Jean Llewellyn, Chris L’Ecluse and Lupita Campbell. I admire their courage in disrobing on stage, of course discreetly, at the end of the first Act. Happily there were no wardrobe malfunctions!

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Collette had a major role and played with considerable energy, while Debra pulled our heartstrings as the grieving widow. The ever-reliable Georgette Richmond was entertaining as the WI organizer, who would prefer a calendar featuring scenes of Yorkshire bridges. Or something. Other minor roles were successfully brought to the stage by Susan Quiriconi, Greg Clarke, Peter Luciano, Diana Rowland, Andrew Redfern, Lori Grant and Pamela Johnson. This play was a huge marketing success for LLT. Every performance, including the preview, was sold out and the calendar (expertly photographed by Michael Thompson) was also a popular seller. The problem with the play is that we all know the story. As a result, there’s no tension or surprise, and there’s a danger that the audience will lose interest after the much-anticipated photo shoot. There are some humorous moments, for example when “Chris” wins first prize in the baking competition with a cake she bought at Marks & Spencer. But on the whole it’s not a skillfully written play. All the more credit therefore to Candace and her team for giving us such an entertaining evening. I should also mention the very effective back-screen video produced by J.E. Jack, and the ingenious moving scene changes designed by Ruth Kear. A lot of people worked hard to make this show a success, notably Stage Manager Beth Leitch and her assistant Bruce Linnen. Many thanks to Candace Luciano, and to everyone on- and off-stage. Michael Warren


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he Tepehua Community Center in Chapala wishes our volatile world peace for 2018. If we cannot have it politically, hopefully we will hold it in our homes, keep hope in the work that we do, and make this world a little better than we found it. Looking back at 2017 in our corner of the world, change has been rapid in some of the barrios Lake-Side. We are lucky to be in a retirement area, lucky for us retirees because of the peace and happiness and help to be found here, as Lake-side is happy to have us, because we help bring about the change that is required. We bring work, hope and our years of training and expertise that does not go to waste here. It is sharing, and the Community Center of Tepehua intends to share our seven years of experience with other barrios. We can proudly say ‘we have been there and done that’, we can show the way. The many organizations around Lake-Side have made a huge difference in helping to build a middle class, which 20 years ago was non-existent. The villages, deeply embedded in poverty, changed as the people became domestic helpers, gardeners, shop keepers needing more employees, contractors needing more builders, Local Government had more positions open. Services such as insurance

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agencies, nursing homes, home nursing care, taxes, immigration help, and veterinarians have all started in recent years because of the influx of migrants from the North and Europe. Other Organizations like Rotary, Religious denominations, Masons, and Community organizations in general have all helped Lake-Side progress to a stronger society. Most of the services mentioned above were never needed by the local people, as they took care of their own and didn’t need assistance. Even if they did, there was none offered. So, although change seems slow coming, it has actually been quite rapid.  Many Mexicans are opportunists - when they see a need, they get it covered and a business is born. Tepehua Community Center has been reaching out, talking to other barrios, and we can help bring change by showing small communities how to self help. The barrio of Lazapotera, Poncitlan, sent representatives to Tepehua, with the help of a Chapala Church bus and the Tepehua van, looking for knowledge to start their own Community Center.  They talked with our local leaders, asked questions, and it has been decided it is possible. We can share what we have to get them started. You only need a few strong people...you only need one person’s vision. The people will come. The Tepehua Center honors all its volunteers, the change made is so visible. We look forward to an exciting 2018, with a gymnasium to get the boys and girls of the ‘hood off the streets. It helps start the bonding and group support. Also, the New Water shed will be open in January and will sell potable water to the people at cost, to stop preventable deaths from water diseases, arsenic and lead. Most of all, many thanks to the financial supporters who believed in us from day one. Without them, the rapid growth of the Center would not have been possible. May Peace be in your heart, Health in your bodies, and Love in your souls.


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t’s obvious that no o n one knows what men are. As we see them m fall like ducks at a shooting ng or a gallery we should pause for who ho second and think about who the heck we are sacrificing. uyss uy Men started out as the g guys g who would chase you in tag games in kindergarten.  We were w e chasers.  We’d run and run and d run n until we had a chance to tag someo omebody.  Once we tagged somebody, eb body, our dude burden was lifted. We are also that child in yesessterday’s video when the munchch hkin saw his sister being wrestled tl d tto the ground and he, little brother, responding to some ancient voice or impulse, ran to save her. A later version of said munchkin, a more mature one, is the guy who took his family and walked across the territories beside a wagon drawn by mules carrying the family goods to start a new life in California or Oregon or where have you.   As he walked he looked out for Indians and water and every kind of danger.  At night he’d build a fire and read a bible and think of how he might get his family to some kind of new life safely.   These chasers weren’t saints.  They were idiots. But they were charged with making decisions in a world where they knew and continue to know nothing about. Now in this current world, a world where men as warriors and soldiers has been emasculated, there is a new power at the table. The genius of the feminine mystique has found a platform for expression. The world has opened to new voices and new thoughts of equality and fairness.   But the old voices remain. The old world’s fundamentalists, both Islamic and Christian, squirm as the chimes of freedom’s ring.  Religious terrorists destroy the symbols of their loss of power over this new world.  Islamic terrorism is the same terrorism for which Anglos fought the Civil War. It’s the same war. The war to control women. These camel-loving weirdos are ready to blow up the known world just so they can get women to fit into something they can still understand.  

And of course women can’t be controlled once they have economic freedom. There’s no freedom without economic freedom. And men, emotionally caught up in the values of Mad Men where the power resides in the CEO and the victims go home to work it out and suffer, have not caught up yet emotionally with anything new. The guys that love Trump could give a damn how many women he’s victimized. They are proud of him for it. The Evangelicals in Alabama could care less how many 14-year-olds Moore bothered. They wish they had, as well. As I said, men are idiots.   But they are used as only Alpha males can be used-- to continue.   Our job is to continue.  Everything else is subordinate to that. Women and books may carry our culture along, but men are required to make the world continue.  It’s our DNA, it’s our instinct, it’s in the words to protect and love. We do that, as lousy as we do it, we do it. Mexicans are laughing at us. The macho culture prevails in most of the world. What the New Age is asking is that all men become Spock in Star Trek where intellect decides. Men aren’t made like that.  We are barely fit for civil society.   But we can and do what we must, we make the thing continue.   It’s not glorious, it’s not noble.  It’s not especially moral. But it’s not evil either. We’ll watch more and more people we love humiliated and retired for their failings. But, with regard to their fundamental purpose, they haven’t failed at all.

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alentine’s Day is approaching. It is a perfect day for friendship and love to be expressed. Sweet, often homemade cards, are exchanged among children, maybe with a giggle at their boldness in taking this first risk of sharing their feelings.  It can herald the arrival of the transition from one’s innocence and self focus, to the eventual transformation from “I” to “thou.”  This focusing on another, rather than on oneself, may be repeated many times when life moves on as we grow and change and become. It is at life’s core. It defines us and clarifies our values Valentine’s is a day when the fu-

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ture holds promise; when anything seems possible. It is a day to remind us that it is okay to be tender, vulnerable and fully in touch with our feelings. February 14th is a day of optimism for the young, but often one of reflection of the love experienced in our lives by those in their twilight years.  Speaking of reflection, the wellknown local poet, Jim Tipton, shared one of his very powerful reflections.  I want to share it with you as he so  clearly and simply understands that period of grief which follows loss. “Tropical storm The lights went out

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While I was sitting on the bed Growing old without you.” I have no idea for whom he had originally written this tanka. It wasn’t written for me, but the words resonated within me as they might resonate within you as well.  Final goodbyes are never easy, both when they happen and when one realizes the enormity of the word “forever.” Being a widow, the words caused me to reflect on my life and on how things change with time. We all know life is full of changes, some welcome, some not. When I was young I was attracted to a very handsome man some years my senior.  My mother had always told me, “Marry a man who is older and then to him you will always remain young and beautiful.”  Good advice as far as it went.  It certainly had worked for her and my prince charming was bright, handsome, thoughtful, courteous to a fault and we had a beautiful wedding.  We didn’t really know one another.  We would have looked great as the two figures on top of the cake.  What could go wrong?  I was 21. Unfortunately for our “happily ever after,” as he was gay, which was not an acceptable thing at that time. Although he hoped he could change, he could not and I felt a lot of guilt for not being able to induce that change. God knows I tried. We reluctantly and some years later came to the conclusion that we made good friends, but that for a heterosexual marriage to work, both people being heterosexual was essential. It awakened us to the acceptance of the fact that we are as we are and that is really not something over which we have any power. We divorced, but stayed friends until his death.  Divorce freed us to find our lives’ true partners. Fortunately we both did.  My granddaughter, at one of our early family dinners, took me aside

and in her sweet young innocence asked me to explain why she had so many grandfathers? I just smiled and told her some girls were just luckier than others.  She smiled, feeling blessed, and skipped off to join them.  I wrote both the eulogy and the obituary for my ex when he died. His partner was too distraught to do so.  Even today, Steve and his new partner are welcomed at our Thanksgiving table because my children and grandchildren have learned that while there are many kinds of love, the essential ingredient is in the heart, not visible to the eye.  We value one another as human beings and treasure our various bonds of friendship. My second husband was the love of my life and throughout forty years we created a history of love, compromise, lessons learned about the essence of caring and of the words we had promised one another before our God - to love, honor and protect.  (No, I’m not into “obey” and never was, but we each protected the other throughout our lives and I have some very good memories.)   On this Valentine’s Day, I wish you love, and the joy you can have if you choose to cherish your memories, understanding that those days are past, while making each day special in the now.   Long lives have many chapters, each with its joys, sorrows and lessons. Each chapter has a blessing, just waiting for us to discover. Maybe in this, your latest chapter, the one which is now, you will choose to take that first tentative risk of daring to care, which on a different level, you began so long ago. If you do, you too may just find that Valentine’s this year can again be a day for your heart’s rejoicing. Christy Wiseman


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hen I wa w wass a v very ery yy young oung ou ng g girl I loved ov ved ed rreading eadi ea ding ng ffairy aiiry ry belie l eve ved d in ogres ogre res tales. I believed d ea dr eame med off beaubea eau uand witches and I dreamed tiful princesses and nd d handsome handsom ome n golden gol old den n cascaasprinces who lived in moats moa ts. ts s. tles surrounded by moats. yI believed that everyone lived happilyy w ever after. As I grew di comic i b k I older I started reading books. was caught up in the adventures of Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman and Robin and Captain and Mary Marvel. I especially liked Mary Marvel. She was beautiful and very brave. I believed in their super powers as strongly as I had believed all the fairy tales. One day, after reading the newest adventures of Mary Marvel, I began to think about flying around and helping people. It didn’t seem that hard, I just had to have a cape, a little magic and a lot of faith. The more I thought about it the more excited I got. I was sure I could fly! I ran up the stairs to our attic and found the box marked costumes. I quickly opened it and dug around until I found my red riding hood costume and hurried to my bedroom and in minutes I had cut off the hood and shortened the cape. I found some yellow paint and painted a big yellow lightning bolt on the back of the cape, then tied it around my neck and went out into our back yard to test it. There was a very tall ladder leaning against the side of our garage. I climbed up to the roof and looked out over the homes of our friends and neighbors. It was so beautiful up there, the lawns all looked greener, even

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the houses looked nicer. I wondered if anyone was watching me. I hope I do this right, just in case. Lifting my arms straight up I shouted “Shazam!” I leaped into the air and plummeted straight down, landing right on top of my mom’s prized hibiscus bush! Mom would have to be in the kitchen. She looked out of the window just as I went whizzing by. She ran out and knelt down to make sure I was okay. Except for a few scrapes and bruises I was fine. Then she saw her hibiscus bush. She shouted some words of her own, and none of them were Shazam, but they had the ability to turn me into a very remorseful daughter. While I was sitting in my room, feeling bad about mom’s hibiscus and worse about my failure, I got to thinking about Mary Poppins and how she flew around with an umbrella. ‘Tomorrow,’ I thought, ‘I’ll get dad’s golf umbrella and go up on the roof again – away from any bushes this time. Shazam! I whispered and fell asleep. Margie Keane


A SPARK, A BLAST %\5LFR:DOODFH

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he airborne chair started an eruption. Flying bottles, a broken mirror, tumbled tables and a roar filled the room. When somebody hollered “Cops” there was a dash for the exit. Edwin, home for his father’s funeral, was reminiscing with his old friend. “You started the fight with O’Leary,” he said. “I just told him, he and his pals were uninvited guests,” Frank said. “I said it was a private party; push came to shove. Now look at this.” He pulled a piece of cardboard from his pocket. “This is a reminder of the old days, so I don’t get a big head. It was for our shoes to cover the hole, remember?” “You poor clod,” Edwin said. “I remember ketchup and an empty jug of milk in your refrigerator. You made me a ketchup sandwich on crust.” “We didn’t have a lock and chain on it like yours did,” Frank said. They talked and laughed. Frank insisted he was going to visit him in Mexico. “Yeah, sure, come when you want,” Edwin said. “I retired to a peaceful life. ‘No worries.’” A week later he got the call. “I’m coming tomorrow,” Frank said. After the shock and the attempt to change his mind, Edwin told him he would be busy in the morning. “Take a cab to the town plaza and have some breakfast,” he said. “Then go by the Church and ask for directions. The gardener will be there to let you in.” After landing, Frank went out to the head of the taxi line, opened the back door, threw his bag on the seat and crawled in. “Take me to Ajijic plaza,” he said. The driver said they had a system and he needed a ticket. “Screw the system,” Frank hollered. “Let’s go.” The young man, a little frightened, drove on. At the plaza the driver wanted five hundred. “Here’s ten dollars,” Frank said. “It’s all I have. But I’ll buy you breakfast, while we wait for my friend. When he comes, he’ll pay you

the difference.” The driver was upset but he was hungry. “OK Senor,” he said. He ordered the deluxe and a shot of hooch. The chef introduced himself. “I need an Americano to do me a favor,” he said. “I am entering the chili contest and want your opinion.” He put the bowl down and returned to the kitchen. Frank tasted a spoonful. He said he had to go to the bathroom. He took the chili and dumped it in the garbage, which was so full it sat on top. He walked out the door. When the chef came to see about his chili and saw it sitting on top of the garbage his head swelled and his face turned apple red. “Where is he?” he hollered at the driver. “Senor, I think he’s gone,” the driver said. “I think he screwed us.” Frank sat in the church awhile and got directions to the house. Edwin came home. “Your amigo is here,” the gardener said. Nobody was on the first floor, so Edwin went upstairs. A woman screamed and he heard Frank say, “but you have wonderful pillows!” The maid ran out. The gardener grabbed Frank but Edwin stepped between. “Get out,” he told Frank. “Go back to the plaza; I’ll meet you there.” The taxi driver and the chef saw Frank. The maid, waving a frying pan, and the gardener arrived. Frank ran around the plaza. He went up and down the bandstand. He weaved around venders and benches with the driver, chef, gardener, maid and a nipping Chihuahua in pursuit. A policeman with his assault rifle ordered them to stop. Edwin arrived with his car. “C’mon Frank, get in,” he hollered. “I’m taking you back to the airport.” At home the policeman was there. “Officer, I am going to handle everything,” Edwin said. “I’ll pay the taxi driver and the chef.” The officer handed him a shoe. “Your amigo lost this at the plaza,” he said. Edwin looked and saw the hole.

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By Carol D. Bradley Every writer seeks inspiration, whether penning personal stories for family, memoirs of an awe-inspiring life or the next best-selling novel. One place to soak up inspiration is in a roomful of like-minded people looking to talented presenters and fellow devotees of the written word at a writer’s conference. The 13th Annual Lake Chapala Writers Conference will be held on March 7, 8 and 9th, 2018. Many writers at Lakeside Lake Chapala are keen to learn techniques and be inspired to write their own personal stories and memoirs, so the theme this year is just that: Writing Your Story. A bargain at $2,000 pesos (before February 28), the fee is the same as last year. (March 1st to conference start will be $2500 pesos) Your entry fee includes an Introduction cocktail reception and two full days of inspiring presentations and informed interaction. Snacks at the reception, lunch on Thursday and Friday, coffee/ tea and refreshments at breaks is included. Wednesday, March 7th at 5PM, join us for hors d’oeurves (cash bar) and a meet and greet with all presenters and a chance to mingle with fellow writers. A full day of presentations on Thursday, March 8th will start with check-in and coffee at 8AM and Jennifer Wilson presenting “Writing True Stories – Pitfalls, Pratfalls and other Important Details.” Beverly Slopen will present “Working with an Agent” followed by Roberta Rich and Beverly Slopen presenting “The Agent/Writer Relationship.” Afternoon sessions begin at 1:30PM with Roberta Rich - “Writing the Historical Novel: A Guided Hallucination in the Past.” Jennifer Wilson will be the last speaker of the day with “Get into Character.” Friday, March 9th will start with coffee and check-in at 8AM and Samantha Waltz kicking off the agenda with “Writing the Memoir of a Personal Story.” Roberta Rich will give us an encore with “Narrative Drive-The Ingredient Editors Look for.” For the afternoon session, Jennifer Wilson’s encore will be “Go There: Fierce Writing from Familiar

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Places.” The last but certainly not least speaker will be Pat Chase with “Marketing Memories.” To conclude another outstanding conference join us for a celebratory Wrap Party at 4PM (cash bar). Included in your conference fee, attendees are offered an outstanding opportunity to pitch your unique project, one-on-one, to literary agent, Beverly Slopen. Beverly Slopen Literary Agency of Toronto, Ontario represents a diverse list of internationally published and acclaimed authors in fields ranging from literary and commercial fiction to history, narrative non-fiction, anthropology, biography, to carefully selected true crime and self-help. Jennifer Wilson has been a rock writer (favorite interview: Tom Jones), reporter, English teacher, Big Band radio DJ, and newspaper editor. Her work has appeared in Esquire, National Geographic Traveler, Gourmet, NPR’s All Things Considered, Better Homes & Gardens, No Depression, Traditional Home and many others. Her memoir, Running Away to Home received Best Nonfiction Book of 2011 from the American Society of Journalists and Authors. Roberta Rich is the author of award winning The Midwife of Venice, The Haram Midwife, and A Trial in Venice. Rich will share her knowledge of writing historical fiction, honing voice, setting, characters and dialogue to help make your story come alive. For an additional $500 pesos you can sign up for a oneon-one critique with Roberta Rich. Samantha Waltz has over 60 personal essays in anthologies and has received awards for her nonfiction writing from the Oregon Writers Colony, Willamette Writers, Writers’ Digest and Redbook. Ms. Waltz has extensive editorial experience and currently teaches workshops on writing and selling the personal story, helping hundreds of writers craft excellent stories. Every writer needs a Writers Platform. Pat Chase will help us establish an on-line presence to help strengthen your writers profile, highlight your work, your marketing skills and sell


books, stories or articles to local markets or a world-wide audience eager to get their hands/eyes on a great book â&#x20AC;&#x201C; yours! Ms. Chase designs websites and social media for a variety of on-line businesses. Registration forms, with additional details for schedule times and Ajijic venue are available at Diane Pearls on Colon in Ajijic or from any of the LCWC organizing committee at the Ajijic Writers Group meetings from 10AM12noon on the first and third Fridays of each month in the garden at La Nueva Posada.

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SIMON GIRTY %\'U/RULQ6ZLQHKDUW

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here is a tendency to elevate unsavory persons to the status of idols, as in the case of Andrew Jackson, and to marginalize, overlook or unjustly damn more than a few genuine heroes. Similarly, in time of war there is frequently a presumption that the Deity smiles upon one’s cause, and that one’s adversary is in league with the devil. Simon Girty, a loyal subject of the Crown and a friend of Native Americans, has been a victim of both human errors. Acts of barbarity along the American frontier were by no means unique, to which the stories of Wounded Knee, the Great Swamp Massacre and Sand Creek well attest. However, one of the most horrific incidents took place on March 8, 1782, when a force of 160 Pennsylvania militiamen, commanded

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by Colonel David Williamson, captured the Native American town of Gnaddenhutten, Ohio. The militia locked the town’s 96 Lenape/Delaware Indians, Christianized members of the pacifist Moravian church, in two buildings overnight. The Lenape had only returned to the area to harvest their corn crop, but were suspected of having committed acts of violence along the frontier. Overnight, the captives prayed and sang hymns, while their captors debated their fate, finally deciding to execute them. In the morning, the captives, mostly women and children, were led one at a time into an outbuilding where they were executed with a heavy wooden mallet. Colonel Williamson and his band were not a professional military force, but an undisciplined rabble, and while most Americans condemned their action, many on the frontier celebrated it and hailed the perpetrators as heroes. While atrocities against Native Americans were frequent on the Ohio frontier, this act, committed so coldbloodedly against members of an unarmed, peaceful people, aroused the ire of their fellow Lenapes. Someone had to pay, and someone did. Ironically, the wrong man did. In 1782, Colonel William Crawford was ordered to lead a 400-man incursion into the Ohio country to combat Indian attacks that were supposedly instigated by the British from their stronghold at Fort Detroit. Crawford’s mission was to destroy Lenape and Wyandot villages along the Sandusky River. His expedition was ambushed deep in the wilderness, costing the lives of

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70 of his men and causing many others to flee in panic. The Lenape, thirsting for revenge over the Gnaddenhutten Massacre, captured Crawford, whom they mistakenly blamed for the outrage, and several of his men. Crawford, of course, had been nowhere near Gnaddenhutten at the time of the incident. Most of the captives were scalped and tomahawked, and Crawford was tortured for two hours before the grisly method of his execution was decided upon; he was to be burned at the stake. Over a hundred rounds of gunpowder were fired into his naked body, his ears were cut off, and flaming embers poked into his flesh. Concremation generally took from 45 minutes to two hours. During his ordeal, one of Crawford’s persecutors scalped him, and a Lenape woman heaped hot coals onto the wound. The role of the so-called renegade Simon Girty in the ordeal of Colonel Crawford inspires debate to this day. A Dr. Knight, a fellow captive, reported that Girty laughed when Crawford begged him to shoot him through the heart in order to end his torment. Cornelius Quick, another eyewitness, in an affidavit, swore under oath that Girty attempted to buy Crawford’s life by offering his captors liquor, money, his rifle and even his own favorite horse. This latter view of Girty is consistent with his other attempts to spare the lives of captives, particularly in the case of frontiersman Simon Kenton. According to Quick, Girty was so insistent that the Lenape leader Chief Pipe threatened to burn him at the stake alongside the unfortunate Crawford. While Girty had influence among the Shawnee and the Seneca, he had none among the Lenape. Who was this man, whose name has been associated with perfidy ever since, so much so that Stephen Vincent Benet includes him as a member of Satan’s jury in his story “The Devil and Daniel Webster”? Girty, born in rural Pennsylvania in 1741 the son of Irish immigrants, considered himself a loyal American up until the early years of the Revolution. However, his friendship with Native Americans had deep roots. His entire family had been captured and treated kindly by Indians in 1750. One of his brothers was adopted into the Shawnee nation, another into the Lenape, and Girty himself into the Seneca. During the years when he lived among the Seneca and other tribes, he grew to prefer their way of life to that of white Europeans. At one point, he even served as bodyguard to the Seneca leader Guyasuta. During the Revolution, Girty was denied a promotion in the Continental Army and apparently was the victim

of undeserved disgrace at the hands of a Colonel John Gibson over some minor infraction. At about that time, while serving at Fort Pitt, modern day Pittsburgh, he learned of the white man’s scheme to conquer all of the Ohio country and annihilate the Indians who dwelled there. Because of his friendly relations with the Seneca and others, he was continually harassed, bullied and belittled by his comrads. Because he had never officially renounced his allegiance to the Crown and still regarded himself as a British subject, he threw in his lot with his Indian friends. Gaining the confidence of several nations, he was accepted at their councils as a full member, and he led several raids against white settlements on the Pennsylvania frontier. Because of his loyalty to the Crown and to his Indian friends, Girty has been vilified ever since as a renegade and a traitor. The reality is that he was most likely a good man who happened to be on the other side. While Girty remained steadfastly loyal to the Native American cause, he saved the lives of many Americans who became their captives, often at his own expense. At one point, he even stationed his brother along the Ohio River to warn white travelers not to fall for the lures of Native Americans and land there, only to become captives. Following the defeat and removal of most Native Americans from the Ohio country, Girty moved to Canada and settled near Fort Malden, Ontario, not far from the Lenape of Moraviantown, where the Shawnee hero Tecumseh would fall in his final battle in 1813. During the War of 1812, an old man, crippled by arthritis and suffering from fading eyesight, Girty fled his farm until the fighting and subsequent US occupation of the region had passed. He passed away quietly in 1818. Today, a monument on the plains of western Ohio, near the town of Bucyrus, memorializes Colonel Crawford. Gnaddenhutten is now the site of a museum and monument to the murdered Lenape and is visited by tourists and school children year around. In Canada the monument to Girty reads, “Faithful Servant of the British Indian Department for Twenty Years,” and goes on to affirm that he was made a scapegoat for atrocities committed by others because Americans were fearful of his influence on the frontier. Girty had serve loyally as negotiator, scout and military leader, and was buried with military honors. Dr. Lorin Swinehart


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COLUMNIST

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ost students of the game agree that defense is the most difficult part of bridge. It is easy to understand why – each defender can see only half of his partnership’s assets whereas the declarer has the benefit of seeing all 26 of his side’s cards. Still, there are many devices that even less experienced players can employ to complicate life for declarer. One such tactic was available to East in this month’s deal but that player failed to grasp the significance of his discarding and handed North-South a top board in a game played at the Lake Chapala Duplicate Bridge Club in Riberas. South opened the bidding 1 No Trump showing 15 to 17 high card points. West passed and North responded 2 hearts, the Jacoby Transfer bid showing at least 5 spades and an, as yet, unspecified number of points. After a pass by East, South accepted the transfer with the bid of 2 spades. North now made a forcing bid of 3 clubs showing at least four clubs and therefore, combined with her previous bid, an unbalanced hand, warning her partner that No Trump could present some problems. However, with stoppers in both hearts and diamonds, South opted for the 9-trick game. West led his fourth best diamond and declarer took a timeout to count his winners. He could see 5 clubs and 2 spades but additional tricks would depend on the location of his opponents’ honor cards. The perilous nature of his heart holding suggested it would be in his best interest to keep East off lead if at all possible. Declarer crossed his first hurdle

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when he called for a low diamond from the dummy and was relieved to see East produce the Queen, strongly suggesting that West held the Ace. So, at trick two, South returned a low diamond to dummy’s 9, which held the trick. Declarer now returned to his hand with a low club to his Ace, followed by the Jack of diamonds, taken by West’s Ace. That player exited with his last diamond to South’s 10. South’s contract was now safe, with 3 diamond tricks in addition to the seven black card winners actually producing an overtrick. But as additional overtricks are like gold to duplicate players, South decided to run all his club winners before playing the spade suit. And this is where East fell from grace as he threw all his useless spades away as declarer cashed his clubs. As a result, when South played the Ace of spades, East showed out and it was simplicity itself for declarer to finesse West for the spade Queen and end up with 12 tricks. But just imagine, if East had pitched low hearts and held on to all his spades like someone who was guarding the Queen, would South have had the courage to take the spade finesse in the end-game? Probably not, as a loss to the Queen and the expected switch to a heart through his shaky holding could reduce a certain 10 tricks to 9. So the lesson from this hand is that sometimes defenders have to “protect” their partner’s holding by pretending to hold something they do not. Questions or comments: email: masson.ken@ gmail.com Ken Masson


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ritten b y various people le with too much time me on their hands) —I wondered why the baseball was getting ting bigger. Then it hit me. —Police were called alled to a Day Care Center enter where a three-yr-old ld was resisting a rest. —Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off? He’s all right now. —The roundest knight at King Arthur’s round table was Sir Cumference. —The butcher backed up into the meat grinder & got a little behind in his work. —To write with a broken pencil is pointless. —When fish are in schools, they sometimes take debate. —The short fortune teller who escaped from prison was a small medium at large. —A thief who stole a calendar got 12 months. —A thief fell & broke his leg in wet cement. He became a hardened criminal. —When the smog lifts in Los Angeles, U.C.L.A. —The dead batteries were given out free of charge. —A dentist & a manicurist fought tooth and nail. —A bicycle can’t stand alone; it is two tired.

—A will is a dead — giveaway. give —Time flies like an — arrow; fruit flies like a banana. —A A backward poet writes inverse. inv it’s your —In a democracy d vote that counts; in feudalism, it’s your feud Count that votes. Cou —A chicken crossing the road: poultry in motion. —If you don’t pay your exorcist you can get repossessed. —Show me a piano falling down a mine shaft & I’ll show you A-flat miner. —The guy who fell onto an upholstery machine was fully recovered. —A grenade fell onto a kitchen floor in France, resulted in Linoleum Blownapart. —You are stuck with your debt if you can’t budge it. —A calendar’s days are numbered. —A lot of money is tainted: ‘Taint yours, and ‘taint mine. —A boiled egg is hard to beat. —He had a photographic memory which was never developed. —Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end. —When you’ve seen one shopping center, you’ve seen a mall. —When she saw her first strands of gray hair, she thought she’d dye. —Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead to know basis. —Santa’s helpers are subordinate clauses. —Acupuncture: a jab well done

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THE BEAD WORKER - a prose poem %\*DEULHOOH%ODLU

Focused like a surgeon, he pokes his needle into a mess of glassy beads, and picks out the chosen one to press into its bed of wax. Pick-poke-press; pick-poke-press. How quickly the little pile of beads dissolves. His left hand cradles a perfect miniature dog, with large pricked ears and doleful eyes, a Chihuahua that observes his coat appear. Tiny dots of color explode into a star-shaped pendant with two black-bordered shoulder-pads to match. Its grey, waxed, naked skin transforms into a riotous rainbow. His lined face is serene; his voice is quiet, unhurried. Years of patience has shaped his demeanor, for you cannot rush his craft. There’s no wasted move – rhythmic, like the ticking of a metronome: pick-poke-press; pick-poke-press. He pauses to stretch his aching shoulders and rest his eyes. Thirty years ago he asked a Huichol to teach him how to paint with beads. The maestro laughed and said: What’s to teach? Just go away and start! And so a bead-bedecked panther was born. This one, the first of hundreds of exquisite creatures, traveled with him to the States and back before it found a home in Ajijic. Ten hours a day the maestro works his beads: pick-poke-press; pick-poke-press, until the table groans beneath its bounty - a garden of delights. Here a yellow giraffe, with orange spots and zebra-colored mane, towers more than a meter high above a tubby, emerald elephant with playful coiling trunk. There a haughty tiger keeps a stealthy watch on skulls with caverness eyes and geometric patterned cheeks. Sparkling bracelets, belts, necklaces and rings compete for space between iguanas and a blue and red starred tiger with large beige paws. Flower-shaped earrings drip from hooks, and over there, the maestro works, his face shaded by his Huichol feathered hat, with brim of dangling beads. It will be a week before the Chihuahua, its fantastic coat complete, will join the menagerie: bright plumed parrots, a lion, a one-horned purple deer and a magenta-maned, black stallion. Each magical creature waits to captivate a soul who, for some pocket money, will take it home to find a place of honor, like the star-studded, golden tiger on our piano top, homage to the Huichol’s art of bead painting.

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*HQHUDWLRQDO'ULIW It’s a symptom of their stage of life, a product of their age. Adolescents have to disagree and posture, pout and rage. That teenage chemical is now rampaging through each vein, bringing self-doubt, embarrassment, confusion and disdain. Nothing so discomforting as advice of a parent. Teens crave emancipation, but go through with it? They daren’t. They may neglect their family time in favor of their friends. The list of what is wrong with you? Somehow it never ends. If you could just dress better, they might find it easier to admit you were their parents when they run into you. But as it is they meet your eye, their own eyes simply narrowing. They walk by like a stranger. To address you would be harrowing. You rip your jeans and cut your hair so it looks freshly tumbled, but you cannot please them. If you try, you will be humbled. “Gross,” they’ll say, “You’re not a kid, so why attempt to be one?” But if you keep your present look, they’ll say that you are no fun. How can one be as old as you and not know anything? For their advice, they’ll go online to consult the I Ching. Ouiji boards and seances bring advice from the past. It seems words really ancient contain more of a blast. So parents, do not anguish if you can’t reach your at-hand kids, Just wait ’til you have passed away and talk to your great-grandkids!

—Judy Dykstra-Brown—

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Mexican Daze %\,ULV56ORFRPEH Off to the Mexican Jungle: Part 2 Arriving & settling in at Yaxoquintala.

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e were told we would leave the Mexico City hotel, Quetzalcoatl, affectionately called the ‘Kettle’, next morning, and travel south by bus to Tuxtla Gutierrez in Chiapas. On arriving at Tuxtla we all made a ‘bee—line’ to one of the best restaurant’s in town and ordered ice cold drinks in a futile attempt to cool our bodies down! This part of our journey ended in a brief flight to Main Base, known in the Tzeltal idiom as Yaxoquintala but lovingly known to us students as simply “Yax.” Getting there was made possible by another volunteer American missionary organization called the Missionary Aviation Fellowship. It ran a fleet of two

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Cessna 170s and a Piper Cub way back in the 1960s. This invaluable organization was responsible in transporting us students, other Indigenas workers, researchers and government officials in and out of this sea of rain forest which stretched way down south to the Mexican/Guatemalan frontier and beyond. I use the word sea purposely, for in those far off years that is exactly what the Chiapan rain forest was! Once inside that sea of green with trees such as Mahogany reaching to a hundred feet or more, and the forest ground cover so thick with cane and underbrush that on one very scary occasion my husband Bert literally be-

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came lost and completely disorientated when only a couple of hundred yards from where we had built our survival champa! The surrounding dense and almost impenetrable undergrowth absorbed any cry for help one may happen to make. We already knew of the true story of a ‘short-sighted’ researcher in Archeology from the University of Oklahoma in Norman who was lost for around a week after losing his glasses in the forest. Kindly local indigenas finally found him alive and after taking care of him until he was strong enough to travel, escorted him out of the rain forest back into civilization. Preparing for these flights was an education in precision weighing and patience! At the MAFs small hangar everything we had, had to be weighed. We were given a choice! Either you could be weighed alone, or you and your baggage together, so only the most slender of us wanted to be weighed alone. It was critical that the pilot knew exactly the gross weight of the plane before take-off, because the runways were always limited in length and often ended with the intersection of a river or lake. The popular name we students gave these retired US. Navy pilots was The Tree-Top Fliers because they often literally flew their planes just above the

tree—tops on their dangerous jungle flying missions. Each group of Jungle survival students had a special respect for these veteran pilots and it was not unusual on completing the survival course to be rewarded a ‘hair-raising’ acrobatic display with the student on board, before returning to their Tuxtla airfield. The journey from the MAF airfield to our destination at Jungle Camp took only about 30 minutes, a short flying time, but if we had attempted the journey over-land by riding a mule, or worse still, on foot through the rain forest with the help of baggage mules and an Indian guide it would have taken several days. No one ever wanted to try the jungle way, not even my husband who had no fear and excelled in survival techniques. On arriving over the main Jungle Base (called Main Base) at axoquintala, a village like any other Indian/Mexican rural village, I noticed that the very small improvised air-strip had a few cows grazing on it. Our pilot knew that all he had to do was to circle and ‘buzz’ the air-strip until a young lad came out and herded the animals to a safer location and then, in his final leg turn our pilot was able to safely land. One of these special jungle pilots was a woman, unique in that during her flying career, she was considered to be among the world’s top five acrobatic pilots! Yaxoquintala lies alongside the Rio Santa Cruz so the navigational and pilot skills had to be up to the challenge of landing and take-off from tiny airstrips. If one ever over-shot on landing it would land pilot, plane and occupant into a river. I held my breath and said a quick prayer knowing that in this special category of flying, there was never a second chance. Main Base (Yaxoquintala) was to be the first Indian isolated village where I and my husband would be introduced to the first phase of jungle survival. Little did we know what was awaiting us.


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s an ex-pat retired teacher vacationing near the ocean in Barra de Navidad, I enjoyed walking on the shore under a full moon. The calm water had a silvery sheen and I liked being alone. On rare occasions, dead seals washed up on the shore, so I was not surprised to see a large shape in shallow water. The waves moved in, surrounded the body, and then receded. When I walked closer, I had the surprise of my life. It looked like the nude upper body of a young woman with her legs buried in the watery sand. But I was wrong. As the waves receded, I saw the bottom half of her body had scales and tail fins. I never really believed old seafarer’s tales, but there she lay, as beautiful a woman as I had ever seen, tangled in a fishing net wrapped around her face and body, pinning her arms to her sides. I thought she was dead until she moved and looked at me with large soulful eyes. She barely moved as I bent over her and cut away the netting with my pocket knife. I thought about releasing her back into the sea, but she was too weak. I picked her up and carried her back to my house. I put her in the bed in my second bedroom. I had no idea what she ate but I made her a quesadilla in my microwave and added some small pieces of chicken. She smiled when I came into the room with the food. She wolfed down the quesadilla in a few bites. After she ate, I gave her a hair brush and she untangled her reddish- brown hair, which hung down over her shoulders in soft waves and covered her white breasts. Each time I spoke to her, she smiled. I didn’t think she understood, but I told her how beautiful I thought she was. When she made responding noises, her voice sounded like the splash of small waves embracing the shore. The next morning I gave her boiled eggs and cereal and she fell asleep again. Little by little she was gaining strength, the color returning to her cheeks. I couldn’t help myself and started to fall in love with her. It wasn’t the kind of love you feel for a helpless animal. It was the love one human being feels for another, even though she was not com-

pletely human. Of course, sex was unthinkable. I didn’t know where to start. So I sat on the edge of the bed as she slept and stroked her hair. She woke, took my hand, and kissed the palm. As she held my hand, looking up at me with inquisitive eyes, I leaned down and kissed her full on the lips. She dropped my hand and started to shudder. When she cried as if in pain, I jumped away from the bed. Her entire body shook for several minutes. I thought she was having a seizure. When her convulsions stopped, she lay quietly for several minutes. Then she threw the covers back and stunned me. She had taken complete human form. Lying before me was probably the most beautiful woman I had even seen in my life. She stood up, threw her arms around my neck, hugged me and cried. Then she jumped up and wrapped her new legs around my body. I was a man beside myself, laughing and crying at the same time. Then I undressed and we made love, the most passionate yet softest most fulfilling love I had ever felt. There was no way I would ever learn her language, but in a short time she learned to speak Spanish with a beautiful musical cadence. She told me she knew about others of her kind who had fallen in love with men and assumed human form. The metamorphosis was permanent and they could never go back to the sea. I needed groceries and other supplies and she said she wanted to go with me and explore her new world. I gave her a shirt and some old jeans that were too small for me but hugged her body. She would have gone barefoot, but I gave her a pair of flip-flops and we drove to Soriana. She said the cars and the traffic reminded her of the schools of fish that flowed in the ocean. At Soriana, she was amazed at the immense selection of items. Row after row of things to eat and things she did not understand. When she reached for an apple, I explained that I had to pay for any items we selected. Then I had to explain the concept of paying. As we walked aisle after aisle, I noticed several men watching at her and smiling. I cautioned her not to tease by

smiling back at them. After we had filled our cart with groceries, we stood in line at the check-out. She emitted a sound in her musical language. The young woman sliding our purchases past the bar code reader smiled and sang back. In the car I asked her, “What did you say to her?” “I said I recognized her. Like all of us, we can tell which women who are now human had once been sea creatures. You call us mermaids.” We held hands and went for walks on the beach but being near the sea made her quiet and sadly nostalgic, like someone who had come from a foreign

country but could never return. A few months later we moved to Chapala and were married in a quiet ceremony. I got work at a private school teaching English. We have been happily married now for ten years. I couldn’t ask for a more satisfying life. But I’m always surprised by the slightly fishy smell in the bathroom after she has showered and washed her hair. Mel Goldberg

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f, like me, the older one gets the sharper the memory! I don’t mean current stuff like five minutes ago, but 70 odd years back? Quite recently I have got into the habit of watching golf Sunday afternoons on beautiful P.G.A. courses in the U.S. This precedes “60 Minutes” on CBS, the same station. Although I’ve been playing at it since a teenager at Temple Golf Club, Hurley in Berkshire, England, my handicap, when asked, has always been “My golf game; actually.” Following a hiatus, it wasn’t until 1962 when I bought a top-of-theline matched set of clubs and joined Constant Spring Golf Club in Jamai-

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ca, that I resumed play. Frequently I embarrassed others when making up a “Four.” The best part, and I was pretty good at it, was at the “19th Hole” where we’d all tipple more than a little. Often our wives would join us and we’d dine together. In the late 1960’s I moved to England taking my clubs with me. After settling in and getting my new business up and running, I’d play golf at first light with two friends, either at Badgemore Park or Huntercombe courses in Henley-on-Thames. Whoops! I can’t remember which? But I most certainly do remember when we sold up in England and relocated to America in 1980, selling

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

my clubs before leaving. Fast wind to around 1993 when we bought an Atlantic ocean-front condo in Flagler Beach, Florida. What with my short career in movies and longer time sketching pelicans on the beach, it took a while before discovering Ocean Palm Golf Course just a block west of our condo. Like the idiot I was, cash changed hands and I became the new owner of a bag of “Top of the Line” clubs the Pro assured me. After slicing, missing, topping those little rascals, sometimes I actually put my ball on one of the nine greens in sight of the hole! The course was flat and quite pretty, punctuated by trees, bushes and little lakes with resident alligators and possibly deadly Water Moccasins or Cotton Mouths beneath the surface. The distinct possibility of disturbing sleeping venomous Copperheads or Diamond Back Rattlers in the ”rough” helped to keep me pretty much on the fairways which I never left to seek a lost ball! As I tacked my way around without an electric cart, I kept assuring myself of the health benefits before sinking what I was pretty good at, ice-cold beers! And then after we built our waterfront home in Palm Coast it wasn’t too long before joining Matanzas Woods Golf Club and Pine Lakes Country Club. Both were scenically beautiful over their 18 holes, the designer leaving most of nature intact and the residents I mentioned before in Ocean Palm. Everyone, and I mean everyone used a motorized golf cart and I still recall occasions when I found myself completely alone way, way removed from the Club House in total silence. Finally, just before we drove off to take up residence in Mexico, I gave all my golf stuff to a young man who was taking up golf. Two years later, through a former neighbor, I learned he’d taken up tennis and sold my golf clubs. At least now club-less, I am not tempted to join Chula Vista Country Club right here in Ajijic.

Note: My golf never improved but my memory certainly has. PETER’S “GOLF GAFF” Perhaps after reading about my experiences in the golfing world, some of you may very well consider taking up this international sport. And so if you venture forth to your course, meeting the Pro, here’s a brief summary of what terms you should be familiar with: “Fore” is what you shout to others when you are about to try and hit your little ball off the Tee, landing somewhere on the Fairway --the big, generally wide clear area between holes. When I played, most would assume a crouching position and cover their heads! However, this is not mandatory, but generally advisable. “Par” is a word bandied around everywhere and has absolutely nothing to do with the man your mother married and who sired you. Some erstwhile college attendee worked out how many ball hits it should take to put the little bugger to rest in a small cup somewhere on the Green. Multiply that number by the total number of holes, nine or eighteen, and we have “Par for the Course.” Sounds simple enough until you try it. And an awful amount of people from all over the world do!! Now, to give everyone a sporting chance: to obtain an “Eagle” you’d need to be 2 under Par. And for a “Birdie” just 1 under Par. A high degree of honesty writing with a stubby pencil is necessary when scoring each hole, eventually handing it in for your personal record, which eventually you will need to prove. Meantime, just remember to shout “FORE”. Anyone for tennis? “E & O E” Peter E. Gibbons


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oday my sister ter g spoke of getting up from her kitch-ten lunch counter after eating part of a meal, pausing g utt the eating process to put ing ng her attention on something on n rreeelse. She shared how, upon turning to her plate, it wass easy to t have clear awareness of further rther hunhun ger— or the lack thereof! Th The gift ift off the pause. We spoke also of another kind of pause, using whatsapp to talk to each other via sequential voice messages. It gives us a pause to lift our listening up, a pause that elevates each communication into an island rising above the fast waters of our normally speedy conversation. A pause in a line of music, or a line of poetry, has the lovely name of caesura. Perhaps that’s what it is when I meditate, that pause that happens naturally at the end of each exhale. It is as if my body is waiting to discover whether there will be another, or whether this breath may be the conclusion of the Susa story. The Budhist teacher Pema Chodron teaches us to step into the present moment with a pause practice; Create a gap in your discursive mind, she says, recommending three conscious breaths anytime we feel stuck or need to bring forth awareness of behavior and thought patterns. Cultivating the practice of the pause can gift us with the freedom to choose a different pattern. My Mexican life is full of pauses that emerge when expected events, as planned by puny humans, do not materialize. I am learning to experience

this kind of pause with curiosity. Mexican acceptance is rubbing off on me, and it is much deeper than its surface appearance of passivity. What opening am I being offered? What doorway into what was not expected? Acceptance becomes a joyful, Beginner’s-Mind kind of wondering—and then, a wandering through a new gate into some unplanned experience! Such pauses in the turn of events, in an earlier time of my life, would have engendered resistance in me. Sometimes they still do, of course, but this culture seems to hold close the spiritual wisdom of impermanence. It is the path that unfolds, not the path that is planned, that is holy. I emigrated from a culture that values control more than acceptance, but I am grateful to be growing into a softer attitude about all the pauses and changes that are a natural part of life. And I am grateful that, in its wake, this brings me equanimity, health and alegría. I would be happy to hear your experiences with the gift of the pause at www.susasilvermarie.com (Ed. Note: So would we here at the Ojo!)

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The Ojo Crossword

ACROSS 1 Dodge 6 Indecent language 10 Type of cheese 14 Small Mediterranean boat 15 “as you__” 6QDN\¿VK 17 Pulls in 18 Volcano 19 Dell 20 Artist´s creation 21 Ocean movement 23 Pouter 25 Upkeep 26 Terminal abbr. 27 Tries for a basket 30 Plight 34 Cactuses 35 Weapons 36 Bard´s before 38 Ancient Indian 39 Edge 40 Disconcert 42 Ball holder 43 Trophies 44 Grow )UHVKZDWHUÀRZV 48 Spring Holiday 2ႈFLDO 50 Invitation abbreviaton 51 Verse meter 54 Scorn 55 Genius

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58 Jab 59 Those people 61 Drudge 63 Lounge $LU SUH¿[

65 Swelling 66 Dueling sword 67 Northwest by north 68 Functions DOWN 1 Jewish scribe 2 Swerve 3 A wager (2 wds.) 4 Delaware 5 Joyful 6 Swedish citizen 7 Allot (with “out”) 8 Vase 9 Nap raisers 10 Uproar 11 Where water seeps through 12 Women´s magazine 13 Exploiter 22 Tax agency 24 Southwestern Indian 25 Shelter 27 Leave now! 28 Smokes 29 Group of eight 30 Leaks slowly 31 Pixies 32 Deserve 33 Risen 35 Short for aluminum 37 Water pitcher 40 Rider 41 Fastener 43 Anchor hoister 46 Debris 47 Flightless bird 48 Eastern Time 50 Synthetic fabric 51 Island 52 On top 53 Lad 54 Phlox 55 Cain´s brother 56 Approach 57 Extremely long time periods 60 Carve 62 Flurry


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ddressing this issue, Naomi Klein offered advice in her most recent book: No is Not Enough. As a start, she advocated forming discussion groups to find ways to work in unison toward creating a better and fairer society. Although it is easy to feel powerless in a world that is ruled ever more by the 1%, we know that radical societal shifts are possible, i.e., the end of Apartheid and the fall of the Berlin wall. Recently I studied the attempt made one hundred years ago by Dr. Rudolf Steiner, European educator. Between the two World Wars, he advocated creating a balance between government’s three main powers--cultural, political and economic. He spoke with leaders of Austria, Germany and several other nations of central Europe in an attempt to defuse animosity while promoting ideas for a more creative approach to governing. This he referred to as the Threefold Social Order1 whereby there would be a division of authority into 1. Cultural (issues of poverty and freedom), 2. Political, (law and order), and 3. Economic (balance of production and consumption). In the western world economics and politics have spearheaded the rapid movement toward oligarchy. The realm of cultural concerns relating to the welfare of the general population is being ignored, leading to a general feeling of unease. Small trials of the system of government advocated by Steiner are being used in Europe, UK and the US in Camphill Communities (homes for the handicapped) and CSAs (Community Supported Agriculture). CSAs offer a radical alternative to the “free market,” whereby consumers, distributors, and growers agree to associate

with fair prices for growing good food, guided by clear agreements. Naomi Klein calls for heads of protest groups, while setting aside their individual issues, to unite and put their collective human energies together to find creative solutions that apply to all areas of imbalance. This is perhaps one way forward. As Klein pointed out, if there is never anything but NO, there won’t be union, solution or forward movement. The US made its beginning by forming a constitution based on three branches of government (executive, judicial and legislative). Perhaps these were the wrong three and they should be changed to cultural, political and economic. “Love one another” is a nice slogan, but let’s unite it with creativity and action. 1. Towards Social Renewal 1917. See also Rabbi Michael Lerner, http:// w w w.tik kun. org/nextgen/ p s yc h o p a t h o l ogy-in-the2016-election-3 Lois Schroff

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Holiday greetings - A 2017 Recap t

LCS and our fantastic volunteers accomplished many things Here are a few highlights: t Signed up over 600 students to two sessions of our English as a Second Language program. t Held a Summer Art Camp with 120 students, and our weekly Saturday art program serving over 3,500 children throughout the year. t The needle pushers did at least four distributions of their hand made clothing to children in the area. t Film Aficionados showed at least 50 movies to an audience that totaled close to 4000 enthralled viewers. t Exercise classes met over 150 times, helping to keep nearly 3900 people who attended in good shape. t Line dancers met over 100 times with a total of almost 2500 people moving to the beat. t All Things Tech met almost 50 times sharing information to over 1000 attendees well wired. t Bridge for Fun met over 100 times with a total of 2500 players trumping along. t Completed over 800 blood pressures readings, keeping people calm and healthy. t Checked out over 14,000 exciting books. t Passed along Information to at least 1500 curious visitors. t Sold memberships to over 2500 lucky members. t Sold over $50,000 pesos worth of valuable merchandise at ÂĄQUE GANGA! t Completed campus surveys for new construction. Held opinion meetings with volunteers to assess their needs and impression of the new campus plans. A set of draft concept plans are now in hand as we work toward a new and remodeled campus. New meetings are being planned. t Started a Chess club that has grown to 30-40 youngsters a week. t We put on over eight public events with close to 4000 visitors attending, rocking out, tasting tequila or wine, eating corn on the cob or just plain old having fun. t Our Gardens are looking better than ever. t And weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re keeping 25 students in college who would not be be able to afford it without our help! And the list goes on.... Lectures, Spanish conversation, Mindfulness, Discussions, Exercises and Yoga of many types, Games, Writing, Drawing, Books on tape, Video rentals, Scottish Dancing, Embroidery, Bus Trips and so much more.... We also: Began developing a contractual relationship with the University of Guadalajara to do joint educational programs together. Restarted Prueba Mexico (Experimenta Mexico) Ran four sessions of the Personal Enrichment Program. Hired an Education Director. This list goes on and on too. My point - LCS is an amazing place, providing amazing programs, services and activities! I expect 2018 to be even better! Terry Vidal - Executive Director

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Introduction to Spanish This casual class for the beginner that covers the Spanish alphabet, simple vocabulary and phrases useful about town, and information about Lakeside and Mexican culture.  Two sessions In January, starting the first Tuesday for three weeks, The first session begins the 9th from 12 until 1:30 p.m. in the Gazebo, the second session runs from 2 to 3:30 p.m. in the Ken Gosh Pavilion. Tuition is $175 pesos. Sign up at the LCS office or on the LCS website.

NEILL JAMES LECTURES January 2: Gary Blauer, “Why is Artificial Intelligence Suddenly Real? And Where Does It Go From Here?” For decades, experts talked about the potential for artificial intelligence (AI) but almost nothing actually happened. Recently, and seemingly out of nowhere, the field has exploded and is bringing very rapid, change. The explanation for this strange history is fascinating, quite understandable by non-techies, illuminating about human minds, and instructive about what is coming.

Warren Hardy Spanish Classes Begin Monday,  January 8  and continue through  February 26. Classes meet two days a week for an hour and a half at the Wilkes Education Center (Biblioteca) on Galeana #18. The LCS Spanish program uses the Warren Hardy Spanish language system designed for the adult students. Registration for the upcoming classes is underway at the LCS office or on line.   The Program Manager will be available to answer questions and take registrations every day during the week of January 2 to 5 from 10:30 to 1:30 on the Blue Umbrella Patio. Tuition for the course is $900 pesos. The required course textbook is an additional $670 pesos; other instructional materials may also be separately purchased. For more information about the Spanish classes, visit the LCS website www.lakechapalasociety.com. All LCS Spanish Classes are for members-only. You must be a member of LCS, and your membership must be current for the duration of the program.

Bus Trips January Thursday, January 11 Centro/Downtown Self Guided Walking Tour of central Guadalajara. Visit the historic 17th,18th, and 19th century architecture and admire the stunning murals and artwork. Visiting the Instituto Cultural Cabanas is a must. Relax and people watch in the beautiful Plazas, have luncheon in the Plaza de los Laureles or elegant dining in the Hotel Mendoza or other fine eateries in the area. A detailed map will be provided. Cost is $370 pesos for members/$470 pesos for non-members. Bus will leave promptly at 9:30 from La Floresta. Wednesday, January  24  Galerias Mall/Costco Major retailers including Best Buy, Sears and restaurants Cheesecake Factory, PF Chang and more, also shop nearby Costco, Sam’s and Mega. Cost $370 pesos for members and 470 pesos for non-members. Meet at the sculpture in La Floresta, bus departs promptly at 9:30 a.m.

Interested in Volunteering? Check out the LCS website to fill out the required form: lakechapalasociety.com/weebly/volunteer.php. Put your life skills to work here at LCS. We’re always looking for volunteers who can add their expertise to the programs we offer our members and the Lakeside community at large.

Follow Us on Facebook Follow us on Facebook. Keep up on all things LCS. Like us at www.facebook.com/lakechapalasociety.

January 9: Loretta Downs, “The New Age of Dying and Death: From Ignorance to Bliss” When Elizabeth Kubler-Ross published On Death and Dying in 1969 showing the absolute denial of death in hospitals, a revolution began. Nearly 50 years later we have reached critical mass in the worldwide social movement about the end of life experience that mirrors the growth of the Birthing movement. Nowadays discussions about dementia and advance care planning are being conducted. Legal aid-in-dying is increasingly considered to be a human right. January 16: Phil Rylett, “What Are We” Do we ever consider what we are? If we are asked, we may respond… Retired, ex-Accountant, Canadian, Grandmother, etc. All true, but all incomplete. Once we peel away the layers what are we left with to be able to answer the question? A factory of chemical reactions? A collection of blind atomic forces? Our lives were billions of the years in the making – they didn’t start several decades ago - but often we are oblivious to this wonder. Discover a new approach of how to view yourself. You have journeyed from stardust to Ajijic. Reviewing this journey will help you understand what you are and, by doing so, better understand what you can do to keep this miracle machine ticking. January 23: Pete Soderman, "Recovering in Chaos." Americans are killing themselves with drugs like never before. More Americans died from opiate overdoses in 2016 than were killed in the Vietnam and Iraq wars combined. One out of every eight Americans suffers from an alcohol-related disorder, a 50% increase over the previous decade. The American dream has become a nightmare for some, and unfortunately there’s no single cause we can point to as a source of the problem. The economy, the unsettled political situation, health care, climate change, government policy, and the threat of war all contribute to an environment in which recovery from addiction, becomes orders of magnitude more difficult, as the addict can’t see a clear path to a life better than the one they’re currently living. Is there anything to be done? January 30: “Mexico Good, Bad and Ugly: 2018 Update” Abstract: Mexico’s size, biological diversity, population and economy make it one of the more important countries on the planet. For example, did you know it is the world’s 4th biggest auto exporter, behind only Japan, Germany and South Korea. On the other hand it has big time problems such as Obesity, Corruption, and Violence. This update will provide some background for the important 2018 Mexican Presidential Election.

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January Activities *Open to the Public ** US Citizens (S) Sign in (C) Member card Health Insurance * IMSS & Immigration Services Mon+Tues 10-1 Lakeside Insurance Broker Tues+Thur 11-2 San Javier Hospital last Fri 10-12 Health and Legal Services * Becerra & Galindo Services Thurs+2nd+4th Sat 10:30-12:30 Blood Pressure Mon+Fri 10-12 Hearing Aid Services (S) Mon+2nd and 4th Sat 11-4 Ministerio Publico Wed 10-2 Optometrist Claravision (S) Thur 9-3 Skin Cancer Screening (S) 2nd + 4th Wed 10-12 US Consulate** Sign up Wed : 30 Sign up 10 Lessons(C) Chair Yoga Fri 2-3 Children’s Art Sat 10-12* Children’s Chess Club Sat 12-1 Children’s English Class Sat 9:30-10:30 Clases de Bordado Artistico Mon 3-6, Wed & Fri 4-6 Exercise Mon+Wed+Fri 9-10 Exploring Spanish Wed 12-1:30 Sat 11-12:30 Fitness Thru Yoga Mon 2-3:30 Intermediate Hatha Yoga Tues+Thur 2-3:30 Introduction to Lakeside (S) Thurs 9-1 Introduction To Spanish (S) Tues 2-3:30 cost Line Dancing Tues+Thurs 10-11:15 PEP Series (S) cost Check office for details 11:30-1:30 Photography Club 1st Mon 12-2 Scottish Country Dancing Thurs 11:30-1 Stretch and Balance Exercise Tues+Thurs 8:45--9:45 Tai Ch Chih Fri 10-12 Tech Help Desk Thurs 12-2 Warren Hardy Spanish Classes (S) Mon-Sat check office Write-to-Prompt Writers’ Group Thurs 10-12 Zumba Gold Wed 10-11 Libraries Audio Thur 10-12 Book & Video Mon-Sat 10-2 Library of Congress Books*/ Talking Books Thurs 10-12 Wilkes Mon-Fri 9:30-7, Sat 9:30-1* Members Only Social Activities (C) All Things Tech Fri 10-11:30 Bridge 4 Fun Tue+Thurs 1-5 Conversaciones en Español Begins Monday January 15 Mon 10-12 Creatively Mindful Art Wed 11:30-1 Discussion Group A Wed 11-1:30 Discussion Group B Wed 12-1:30 Everyday Mindfulness Mon 10 -12 Film Aficionados Thurs 2-4:30 Games Group Mon 1-4 Needle Pushers Tues 10-12 Neill James Lectures Tues 2-4 Next Chapter Book Group 2nd Thurs 1:30-3 Scrabble Mon+Fri 11:30-1:30 Spanish/English Conversation Sat 11-12:30 TED Talk Learning Seminars Tues 12-1:15 Tournament Scrabble Tues 12-1:50 Service and Support Groups * Al-Anon (in Spanish) Mon 6-7:30,Wed 5:30-7:30 Information Desk Mon-Sat 10-2 ASA Board Meeting Jan 3+31 10:30-12 Alzheimer’s Caregiver Support Mon 1:45-2:45 Lake Chapala Painting Guild 2nd Fri 1:30-3:30 Lakeside AA Mon +Thurs 4:30-5:30 Open Circle Sun 10-11:30 Smart Recovery Mon 2:30-4 Toastmasters Mon 7-8:30 p.m. Ticket Sales: Monday-Friday 10-12 a.m.*

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Video Library January Great news for distant and local members - All Video rentals will now have a 5 day return period! The LCS Video Library has some of the best films, foreign and domestic, available, and we’re always on the lookout for more films that will interest LCS members. If you have any suggestions about good movies, old or new, please give the title, your name, and your e-mail address to the volunteer on duty and we’ll get back to you. We can also copy your old videotapes onto compact discs: $50 pesos for members and $75 pesos for non-members. Don’t forget to check the tables and shelves outside the Video Library for previously viewed DVDs at bargain prices. The Video Library needs volunteers to bring DVDs to help keep our inventory current. We order them on-line, pre-pay them and have them shipped to the address of your choice. Contact Tom Keane atkeanhombre@prodigy.net.mx.

3HUVRQDO(QULFKPHQW3URJUDP 3(3 6LJQXSQRZ Creative Writing Instructor: Rachel McMillen Course Fee: $800 MXN Course Dates: Jan 08– Feb 12 Course Time: Mon 2 to 4 pm Beginning Gardening At Lakeside Instructor: Francisco Nava Course Fee: $700 MXN Course Dates: Jan 09- Feb 01 CourseTime:Tue andThur 1 – 2 pm Advanced Gardening At Lakeside Instructor: Francisco Nava Course Fee: $700 MXN Course Dates: Jan 09- Feb 01 CourseTime:Tue andThur 2 – 3 pm Prospects Beyond Man Instructor: Paul Basset Course Fee: $400 MXN Course Dates: Jan 10 - Feb 07, Course Time: Wed 12 -1:30 pm

Prueba Mexico series early 2018

Four films by Akira Aurosawa, Plus One Instructor: Marshall Krantz Course Fee: $580 MXN Course Dates: Jan 12 – Feb 09 Course Time: Fri 1:30 to 4:30 pm Communication for Challenging Times Instructor: Anna Cassilly Course Fee: $350 MXN Course Dates: Jan 25 and 26 Course Time: Th-F, 10 -1 pm Rementia Approaches for Caregivers. (Alzheimer connection) Instructor: Kassandra King Course Fee: $500 MXN Course Dates: Jan 31 - Feb 28 Course Time: Wed 2 -3:30 pm Coming Home: Echoes from the Wall Instructor: Judy King Course Fee: $580 MXN Course Dates: Feb 01– March 8 CourseTime:Thur 10:30 to 12:30 pm

The 4 cardinal points: Their energies and rituals (Pre-Hispanic Mexico) Instructor: Ricardo Navarro “Yohualoceloth” and Cesar Matta. Course Fee: $920 MXN Course Dates: February 6 – March 2, 2018 Course Time: Tuesday and Friday, 12:00 to 1:30 pm. Fire energy (Pre-Hispanic Mexico) Instructor: Ricardo Navarro “Yohualoceloth” and Cesar Matta. Course Fee: $650 MXN Course Dates: February 6 to 27, 2018 Course Time: Tuesday, 9:30 – 11:00 am. Pre-Hispanic nutrition Instructor: Ricardo Navarro “Yohualoceloth” and César Matta. Course Fee: $820 MXN Course Dates: February 12 – March 9, 2018 Course Times: Monday and Friday 10:00 to 11:30 am


TED Talks Tuesdays In the Sala 12 noon to 1:15 p.m. Members only. Bring your card. Jan 2 - A doctor’s case for medical marijuana Pete Soderman facilitates this Ted Talk by physician David Casarett. Dr. Casarett was tired of hearing hype and half-truths around medical marijuana, so he put on his skeptic’s hat and investigated on his own. He comes back with a fascinating report on what we know and what we don’t -- and what mainstream medicine could learn from the modern medical marijuana dispensary. Jan 9 - How megacities are changing the map of the world. Fred Harland facilitates this Ted Talk by Parag Khanna. “I want you to re-imagine how life is organized on Earth.” As our expanding cities grow ever more connected through transportation, energy and communications networks, we evolve from geography to what he calls “connectography.” This emerging global network civilization holds the promise of reducing pollution and inequality -- and even overcoming geopolitical rivalries. Jan 16 - Why Humans Run the World Clive Overton facilitates this TED talk by Yuval Noah Harari. About 2 million years ago our human ancestors were insignificant animals living in a corner of Africa. Their impact on the world was no greater than that of gorillas, zebras, or chickens. Today humans are spread all over the world. The very future of life on Earth depends on the ideas and behavior of our species. Why did our species become so dominant? There have been many theories, all with some credibility, but Harari presents a reasoned argument that is hard to refute.

Thursday Film Aficionados Open to LCS members only. Bring your card. All films shown in the Sala from 2-4 p.m. No food. No pets. JANUARY 4 - WIND RIVER- 2017- USA A veteran tracker with the US Fish & Wildlife Service helps to investigate the murder of a young Native American woman. Possible multiple Academy Award nominations here. (104 minutes) ****************************** ****************************** JANUARY 11 - ICARUS- 2017- USA When an investigator sets out to uncover the truth about doping in sports, a chance meeting with a Russian scientist transforms his story from a personal experiment into a geo-political thriller. On the short list for an Academy Award for Best Documentary. (118 minutes) ****************************** ****************************** JANUARY 18 - MUDBOUND- 2017- USA An epic story of two families pitted against a ruthless social hierarchy yet bound together by the shared delta farmland of the post WWll American South. Likely Academy Award nominations here. (128 minutes) ****************************** ****************************** JANUARY 25 - GOOD TIME- 2017- USA Motivated by an almost ferocious love for his intellectually disabled brother and a thirst for a better life, Connie involves his sibling in an illconceived bank robbery. This highly original film is generating a lot of Academy award buzz. (99 minutes)

Jan 23 - The Future of Humanity Clive Overton facilitates this talk by Yuval Noah Harari. Will Humans soon disappear? With the help of novel technologies, within a few centuries or even decades, Humans will upgrade themselves into completely different beings, enjoying godlike qualities and abilities. Is this inevitable? Jan 30 - What you can do to prevent Alzheimer’s. Fred Harland facilitates this TED talk by neuroscientist and author of “Still Alice,” Lisa Genova. Alzheimer’s doesn’t have to be your brain’s destiny, says Lisa Genova. She shares the latest science investigating the disease -- and some promising research on what each of us can do to build an Alzheimer’s-resistant brain.

THE LAKE CHAPALA SOCIETY, A.C. 16 de Septiembre #16-A, Ajijic, Jalisco LCS Main Office: (376) 766-1140 Office, information and other services - Monday-Saturday, 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. Grounds open until 5:00 p.m. LCS BOARD OF DIRECTORS President - Ben White (2018); Vice-President - George Radford (2019); Treasurer - Michael Searles (2019); Secretary - Carole Wolff (2018); Directors: Dee Dee Camhi (2019); Nicolas Hanson (2019); Cate Howell (2018); Philip Newbold (2018); Philip Rylett (2018); Roberto Serrano (2019) Janis Sirany (2019) Immediate Past President: Howard Feldstein. * Executive Director - Terry Vidal

The LCS Newsletter is published monthly. Deadline for submissions is the 17th of the month preceding publication. Submit all news items to lcsnewsletter2016@gmail.com Note: The editorial staff reserves the right to edit all submissions according to time, space availability and editorial decision.

Saw you in the Ojo 107


108

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018


Saw you in the Ojo 109


Service

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DIRECTORY

* ADVERTISING / DIRECTORY

Tel: 766-5493 - CASA TRES LEONES Cell: (045) 331-350-6764

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$/&2+2/,&6$121<0286 $/&2+2/,&6$121<0286 Tel: 766-5961

3DJ

$1,0$/&/,1,&63(76+23 &$76/22.,1*)253(50$1(17+20(6 Cell: 332-1665-863  3DJ - CLINICA VETERINARIA SAN ANTONIO Tel: 766-0808  3DJ '((¶63(7+27(/ Tel: 331-765-7074  3DJ /$.(6,'()5,(1'62)7+($1,0$/6$& Tel: 765-5544  3DJ 0$6.27$¶6/$.( Tel: 766-0287  3DJ - PET PLACE Cell: 333-1964-150  3DJ 3(7)22'$1'*5220,1* Tel: 766-3062  3DJ

* ART GALLERIES/HANDCRAFTS $57678',2 Tel: 33-3170-6135, 33-3677-3482 3DJ $=7(&678',2  3DJ - DIANE PEARL COLECCIONES Tel: 766-5683 3DJ - LA BELLA VIDA Tel: 766-5131 3DJ 62/0(;,&$12 Tel: 766-0734 3DJ

$872027,9( - FRATS Tel: 765-2505, 765-3946 - LINEA PROFESIONAL Tel. 766-2555, Fax. 766-0066

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%$.(5< - COLIBRI GARDEN Tel: 765-4412, Cell: (045) 333-156-9382

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* CANOPIES /21$60(;,&2 Tel: 766-0045, Cell: 33-3956-4852

3DJ

* CHIROPRACTIC '59,&725-<28&+$ Tel: 766-1973 - INTERLAGO CHIROPRACTIC Tel: 766-3000

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- TEPEHUA TREASURES Tel: 763-5126

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3DJ

* BEAUTY - AFRODITA Tel: 766-6187 3DJ &+5,67,1(¶6 Tel: 106-0864 3DJ (',7+¶6 Cell: 33-1310-9372 3DJ - GLOSS NAIL SALON Tel: 766-0375 3DJ - HAIR BY SASHA Tel: 765-2223, Cell: 33-3362-1272 3DJ 0,&52%/$',1*%<+,/'$5$0Ã&#x2039;5(= Cell: 33-3676-2514 3DJ 1(:/22.678',2 Tel: 766-6000 3DJ - PANACHE 766-2228, Cell: 333-404-5276 3DJ 6$5$¶66$/21 Tel: 766-3518, Cell: 331-745-9575 3DJ

%(' %5($.)$67 - CASA DEL SOL Tel: 766-0050 - CASA FLORES

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- CONFORT SOLUTIONS Tel: 33-1228-5377  3DJ *(1(5$/+20(6(59,&(6$PDQFLR5DPRV-U Cell: (045) 331-520-3054 3DJ - GRUPO SICONE Tel: 108-2084  3DJ - ING. SERGIO CABRERA Cell: 33-3496-3034  3DJ 52%(5720,//$1$5&+,7(&7 Tel: 766-3771, Cell: 331-340-3758 3DJ 6,.$ Tel: 766-5959  3DJ

* DENTISTS %09'(17$/ Tel. 766-1772, 766-1774 3DJ &'6$1'5$$1$<$025$ Tel: 108-0977, Cell: 331-218-6241 3DJ - CHAPALA DENTAL CARE Tel. 765-5584, 766-3847 3DJ '(17$/(;35(66 Tel: 106-2080 3DJ - DENTAL HEALTH ONE Tel: 106-0826 3DJ - DENTAL OFFICE Tel: 765-5757, Cell: (045) 33 1143 1787 3DJ - DR. ALBERTO DON OLIVERA Tels: 765-4838, 765-4805 3DJ '5$$1*(/,&$$/'$1$/(0$''6 Tel. 765-5364, Cell. (045) 331 351 7797 3DJ

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

* ELECTRONICS/ TECHNOLOGY - STEREN Tels. 766-0599, 766-0630

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* LIGHTING

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* HEARING AIDS /$.(6,'(+($5,1*6(59,&(6 Cell. (045) 33-1511-4088 - OTICON Tel: 765-4805, 33-3813-1302

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* INSURANCE

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* LEGAL SERVICES

* FINANCIAL SERVICES

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* HOTELS / SUITES +27(/%$/1($5,26$1-8$1&26$/$ Tel: 01-387-761-0222 3DJ - LA NUEVA POSADA

- ALTA RETINA - Dr. Rigoberto Rios León 2SKWKDOPLF6XUJHRQ Tel: 766-1521 3DJ &$6,7$0217$f$ Tel: 766-5513 3DJ &+$3$/$0(' Tel: 766-4435, Cell: (045) 331-605-9645 3DJ &/,1,&$<)$50$&,$0$6.$5$6 Tel: 765-4805 3DJ '(50$72/2*,67 Tel: 765-2400, Cell: (045) 333-170-6570 3DJ '(50,.$'HUPDWRORJLF&HQWHU Tel: 766-2500 3DJ '5$1721,252-$60$&('23ODVWLFDQG 5HFRQVWUXFWLYH6XUJHU\ Tel: 33-3611-2011, 33-3611-2121 3DJ '5+e&725%5,6(f2*&DUGLR9DVFXODU Solutions Tel: 766-1870 3DJ '5*$%5,(/+(51$1'(= Tel: 766-5513 3DJ - DR. GABRIEL VARELA Tel: 765-6666, Cell: 333-128-6347 3DJ '5-8$10$&(9(60 Tel: 766-1244, Cell. 331-429-1343 3DJ '5$&/$8',$/&$0$&+2&+2=$ 2SKWKDOPRORJLVW Tel: 33-3403-3857 3DJ '5$0$57+$5%$//(67(526)5$1&2 Cell: (045) 333-408-0951 3DJ - FLYING NURSES INTERNATIONAL Tel: 001-877-521-1333 3DJ - GO LAB Tel: 106-0881 3DJ +263,7$/$-,-,& Tel: 766-0500, 766-0662 3DJ +20(&$5( Tel: 33-1138-2015 3DJ +263,7$/$1*(/(6'(/&$50(1 Tel: (01) 3813-0042 3DJ


,&0,'U5DPRQ*DUFLD*DUFLD Cell: (044) 333-157-4741 3DJ ,0(',17(*5,7< Tel: 766-5154 3DJ - ISILAB Tel: 766-1164 3DJ /$.(&+$3$/&$5',2/2*<*5283 Tels: 766 0144, 108 1707 3DJ /$.(&+$3$/36<&+2/2*<*5283 Tels: 766 0144, 108 1707 3DJ /$.(6,'(&$5',2/2*<&/,1,&'U6DOYDGRU 0R\D Tel: (387) 763-0665 3DJ /$.(6,'(0(',&$/*5283 Tel: 766-0395 3DJ - PLASTICA LIFT Tel: 108-0595 3DJ 3/$67,&685*(5<'U%HQMDPLQ9LOODUDQ Tel: 33-3630-1135, 766,4871 3DJ 6752.(&$//&(17(5 Tel: 765-6666, 33-3128-6347 3DJ 9$5,&26(9(,1675($70(17 Tel: 765-4805 3DJ

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)256$/(%<2:1(5 3DJ )256$/(%<2:1(5 3DJ )256$/(%<2:1(5 Cell: 331-856-3840 3DJ )256$/(%<2:1(5 3DJ )256$/(%<2:1(5 Tel: 33-1299-8177 3DJ )256$/(%<2:1(5 Tel: 01-33-3614-8018, Cell: 33-3115-9289 3DJ *(25*(77(5,&+021' Tel: 766-2077 3DJ -8',75$-+$7+< Cell: (045) 331 - 395 - 9849 3DJ 0,&+$(/$6,5%8 Cell: 333-141-5979 3DJ 0355($/(67$7( Tel: (315) 351-5167 3DJ 3(7(567-2+1 Tel: 765-3676, 331-323-0893 3DJ - RADISSON BLU - $MLMLF5HVRUW6SD 5HVLGHQFHV Tel: 766-4525, Cell: 332-255-5972 3DJ 5$8/*21=$/(= Cell: 33-1437-0925 3DJ - RINCONADA DEL LAGO Cell: 331-242-9801, 333-956-6338 3DJ - TRUDIE NELSON Cell: 331-074-3308 3DJ - VISTA ALEGRE Tel: 33-2002-2400 3DJ

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5(7,5(0(175(671856,1*+20(6 - CASA ANASTASIA Tel: 765-5680 / 33-3452-5864 - LA CASA NOSTRA Tel: 765-3824 - LA VALENTINA Tel: 766 5179, Cell. 33-3157-5242 1856,1*+20(/$.(&+$3$/$ Tel: 766-0404 - OHANA Tel: (01387) 761-0403

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* SATELLITES/ T.V. $-,-,&(/(&7521,&66$'(&9 Tel/Fax: 766-1117, 766-3371 3DJ 6+$:6$7(//,7(6(59,&(6$7/$.(6,'( Tel: 331-402-4223 3DJ

* SELF STORAGE - SELF STORAGE-BODEGAS CHAPALA Tel: 766-0661, Tel/Fax: 766-1045 3DJ

* NURSERY

* RESTAURANTS/CAFES/BAR

63$0$66$*(

$-,-,&7$1*2 Tel: 766-2458 3DJ $/)5('2¶6&$/,)251,$ Tel: 33-1301-9862 3DJ - ARILEO Tel: 106-1627 3DJ $50$1'2¶6+,'($:$< Tel: 766-2229 3DJ %$5-$021 Tel: (387) 761-1139 3DJ - DELIGHT CATERING Tel: 33-1138-2015 3DJ - ELEGANTE Tel: 766-1066 3DJ - GO BISTRO Cell: (045) 33-3502-6555 3DJ *26+$¶6 Tel: 766-2121 3DJ - GRUPO PASTA Tel: 33-3615-4952 3DJ - HUERTO CAFÃ&#x2030; Tel: 108-0843 3DJ -$60,1(¶6&ODVVLF,QGLD Tel: 766-2636 3DJ - LA ANTIGUA RESTAURANT Tel: 331-329-8748 3DJ /$&$6$'(/:$))/( Tel: 766-1946 3DJ - LA CASA DEL CAFE Tel: 766-2876 3DJ /$0,6,21 Tel: 108-0887 3DJ - LA NUEVA POSADA Tel: 766-1444, 766-1344 3DJ ³/$7$9(51$´'(,48$7752025, Tel: 766-2848 3DJ /2602//(7(6 Tel: 766-4296 3DJ 0$1,; Tel: 766-0061 Cell. 33-1065-0725 3DJ 0(/¶6 Call: 331-402-4223, 766-4253 3DJ 020¶6'(/, 5(67$85$17 Tel: 765-5719 3DJ - PALÃ&#x2030; Cell: 33-3570-6084  3DJ 3(55<¶6  Tel: 766-2841  3DJ 3,==(5,$726&$1$  Tel: 765-6996  3DJ 6,03/<7+$,   Tel: 766-4767, Cell: 333-393-2770 3DJ 7$%$5.$   Tel: 766-1588, Cell: 33-3390-3621 3DJ - TEPETATE THAI RESTAURANT Tel: 766-2020 3DJ - THE HOT DOG SHOP Tel: 766-3807, Cell: 33-3662-9990 3DJ

- FRAU SPA Tel: 766-4393, Cell. 33-1736-5772 3DJ - GANESHA SPA Tel: 766-5653 3DJ +27(/%$/1($5,26$1-8$1&26$/$ Tel: 01-387-761-0222 3DJ - LA BELLA VIDA Tel: 766-5131 3DJ - RESPIRO SPA Cell: 333-157-7790 3DJ - TOTAL BODY CARE Tel: 766-3379 3DJ

* PAINT 48,52=,PSHUPHDELOL]DQWHV Tel: 766-2311 48,52=3LQWXUDV Tel: 766-2311

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* PAINTING SERVICES /$.(&+$3$/$3$,17,1*6(59,&( Tel: 33-1741-5501  3DJ

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* PHOTOGRAPHER +(,',/$1(3+272*5$3+(5 3DJ

* REAL ESTATE $//,1 Tel. 766-1161 3DJ $-,-,&+20(,163(&7,216 Tel: 766-2836 3DJ - ARELLANO CORPORATION GROUP Cell: 33-1331-0249 3DJ &+$3$/$-$5$ Tel: 106-1206 3DJ - CHULA VISTA NORTE Tel: 766-2177 Cell: (045) 33-1892-2194 3DJ - CIELOVISTA Tel: 33-2002-2400 3DJ &2/':(//%$1.(5&+$3$/$5($/7< Tel: 766-1152, 766-3369 Fax: 766-2124, Tels: 765-2877 Fax: 765-3528 3DJ - CONTINENTAL REALTY Tel: 766-1994 3DJ &80%5(6 Tel: 33-2002-2400 3DJ ($*(5 $62&,$'26 Tel: (376) 766 1917, 1918 3DJ

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7$;, $57852)(51$1'(= Cell: (045) 333-954-3813

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* TREE SERVICE - CHAPALA TREE SERVICE Tel: 762-0602 *58329(5'(0(; Tel: (33) 3173 9843

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* TOURS - CHARTER CLUB TOURS Tel: 766-1777 3DJ .$581$<(672856 3DJ /<',$¶672856 Tel: 765-4742, (045) 33-1026-4877 3DJ

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- FOR RENT 3DJ Tel: 333-667-6554 - FOR RENT Tel: 765-2671, Cell: 33-1115-6584 3DJ )255(17  3DJ - FOR RENT 3DJ Tel: 765-5004 +$&,(1'$305 Tel: 766-3320 3DJ +(51$1'(=5(17$/6-RUJH7RUUHV Tel: 766-3737, 766-3030 3DJ - SANTANA RENTALS Cell: 315-104-3283  3DJ

/$63$/0$69,9(52 Cell: 33-1195-7112

* STAINED GLASS

-3+20(6(59,&(6 Tel. 766-1569, Cell: 333-968-2938

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SAW YOU IN THE OJO

The Ojo Crossword

Saw you in the Ojo 111


CARS

:$17(' Want small used pick up, VW Toyota, maybe Nissan, and Dodge. Email: boswelltb@yahoo.com. FOR SALE: 1999 Club Car Golf Cart. Bought it in December of 2013 here at Lake Chapala and paid $127.000.00 pesos. Bought a new battery for it in December of 2014 and has a brand new clear cover I bought in 2014. I am asking $1,500 Canadian dollar or $1,100 USD. You can contact me by email: mmarchand1@hotmail.ca. FOR SALE: Mercedes SUV ML500, all-wheel drive, 2009, Only 68,000 miles,111,000 kilometers, Jalisco plates, silver with black interior. Excellent SUV. Ride in comfort. $10,900 U.S. or $205,000 pesos. Email: VHDFOLá&#x201A;&#x2021;UDQFK#\DKRRFD. Phone: 766-2524. FOR SALE: Classic 1982 VW Bug, fun little car for lakeside. Rebuilt engine with new carburetor, runs great. New brakes. Alloy wheels and upgraded tires, otherwise original. $35K Pesos or USD equivalent. Phone: 331-837-7048. FOR SALE:3URMHFWFDUDERXWÂżQished. New out of body engine rebuild, new clutch, new brakes, too much new to list. Needs interior reaposter and if you´re real picky a paint job. Reasons for selling, I have to retun for medical issues. Call: 331-4087720. $ Negotiable. FOR SALE: Two bench seats from 1995 Ford Areostar. Pick up in Chapala. Price: $2,500 for both OBO. Call 376-7656348. :$17(' Older Mexican plated vehicle in good condition. Automatic, air cond. Price: $70,000.00 pesos. Kevin 331826-1641. FOR SALE: Electric Golf Cart-Club Car, new batteries, new main control box & cylinoid. Price: $2,000 USD. For more information please call: Gordon 763-5314. FOR SALE: Chevrolet Meriva 2006. Mexico State plated, standard transmission, last service made autocheck. Just one owner. $60,000 pesos. Email: looezedna80@ gmail.com. FOR SALE: Mercedes Benz C320 2005, Mexican plate, white with black leather interior, below 100,000 km. Recently serviced at Mercedes dealer, everything up to date, like new condition. Asking 10,000 US RUEHVWRá&#x201A;&#x2021;HU&DOOPHRQFHOOQXPEHU 545-8333 :$17(' Pickup Truck for Have Hammers Carpentry School in Riberas needed to pick up wood in Guadalajara. Can pay some money, but prefer donation can give 501c3 receipt for US tax deduction wish list, prefer later model 10 year old or less. Wayne 766-1860 or stop have hammers shop.

COMPUTERS

FOR SALE: Used Toshiba Laptop. 2007, x86 Intel processor, 1596 Mhz, 1 gig RAM, 60 Gig hard drive. XP SP2. Very powerful for an XP machine. $1500. Battery no longer works, but everything else is perfect. Mike: 765-4156 :$17(' I want to buy a iphone. Email: mike7129@prodigy.net.mx. FOR SALE: LG Flatron L1953T 15â&#x20AC;? Monitor. Good condition. One RGB input and one DVD-I input. Monitor comes with RGB connector and power cable. Asking $550 MXN. Contact scrubs1946@msn. com or call (376) 765 5085. FOR SALE: Lexar 633x 64GB UHS1

112

microSD card. Bought April 2016 from Amazon com. $20 or peso equivalent. 2 very lightly used Samsung EVO Plus 64GB UHS1 U3 microSd cards in original packaging. Manufactured June 2017. Work with 4K video cameras. Fit phones, tablets, most cameras, etc. $24/ea USD or peso equivalent. Call: MX 331-547-3129 US (845) 5806945. FOR SALE: 1 TB backup drive, Epson Mini Photo Printer, Almost New Over (DU +HDGSKRQHV 6HOÂżH7ULSRG 6' &DUG to Lightning Adapter for iPhone and iPad. Email: cynthiatheappletutor@gmail.com. :$17(' Need to clean up and soup up (more RAM please sir) our 2012 MacBook Pro. Please recommend a Lakeside person RUÂżUPWKDWKDVGHOLYHUHGTXDOLW\0DFVHUYLFes to you. Conversely please mention any whose services were less than stellar. Email: richardliptrot1@gmail.com. FOR SALE: Avic View-i Dual Lens Dash Cam for Car. A handy device that starts recording from the moment the engine starts. When a sudden impact occurs, the camera records up to 15 seconds before and after the shock. The package includes the device, a MicroSD Card, cigar jack power cable, user manual, IR lighting, mount and double-sided tape, and front (outside) and rear (inside) view cameras. Price: $900mxn. scrubbers1958@gmail. com or 331-960-5885

PETS & SUPPLIES

FOR SALE: Pet Carriers, Sherpa Delta medium pet carrier. 18â&#x20AC;?L x 11â&#x20AC;?W x 10.5â&#x20AC;?H. 350p. Teafco Argo Aero small pet carrier. 18â&#x20AC;?L x 11â&#x20AC;?W x 8.5â&#x20AC;?H. Like new, used once. 800p. Located in Fracc. Villa Nova. Email: rkorting@hotmail.com. FREE: Guard Dog Needs Home, Fabulous Guard Dog. Pure bred Nordic Spitz, 7 yrs. old. Widow/Widower in new relationship need permanent home in loving family for an amazing pet. Call 376-766-5856. Interview and visit to your home required. FREE: I rescued a mom and her 3 pups from a home that wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t looking after them. The pups have been wormed and given WKHLU ÂżUVW YDFFLQDWLRQV , KDYH  UHVFXHV RI P\ RZQ DQG UHDOO\ QHHG KHOS LQ ÂżQGing these beautiful pups homes. I am keepLQJWKHPRPIRUQRZDVVKHLVRQGLá&#x201A;&#x2021;HUHQW medications. They are not Pit Bull. They are a mixture of Bulldog and Boxer. Please Call: Jackie Sandler 333-479-2509.

GENERAL MERCHANDISE

FOR SALE: ladies full length tartan skirt, abercrombie tartan, glengary 100% pure wool, purchased in Scotland, usa: 8, english: 10, waist 26â&#x20AC;? hip 36â&#x20AC;? length 43â&#x20AC;?. Price: $3500 pesos. Email: louis.solo@live. com. FOR SALE: Fridgidaire 7 Cu.Ft. Chest Freezer. Price: $2000 pesos. Call 7665856. FOR SALE: Gas Dryer, (Bought new Lava/Seca pair when Washer died). $1200 pesos. Call 766-5856. FOR SALE: Trek Madone 2.1, Bicycle, I paid for it $1350.00 USD, in I want to sell it for $12,000.00 MXN OBO. Email: covame@hotmail.com. FOR SALE: I am interested in buying an acoustic guitar with nylon strings and preferably in top condition. Email: jaliscoman@hotmail.com. )25 6$/( .,/1 - â&#x20AC;&#x153;Duncan - The Teachers - Plusâ&#x20AC;? model KM400. Working

El Ojo del Lago / January 2018

KILN with all accessories. Lowest price for this unit on e-Bay- $500.USD. I am â&#x20AC;&#x153;givingawayâ&#x20AC;? this KILN for $155.USD (or $3000. pesos). This is a great opportunity for an existing ceramic/glass artist, or a start-up craft business. Email: HappyPlace4Sale@ gmail.com. FOR SALE: Treadmill, Lime pro equipment. Good condition. Price: $6950 Pesos, Irka Campbell. Call: 376-763-5360. :$17(' King Size Bed frame & mattress. Need to buy one immediately. Do you have one to sell? Please call: 766-4338 FOR SALE: Weslo Cadence treadmill, collapsible. Price: $100 US or peso equivalent. Call: 766-2266. FOR SALE: Propane space heater and tank (about half full), rarely used. Price: $140 or peso equivalent for both. Call: 7662266 FOR SALE: Floor length oval mirror in bronze metal frame - 73â&#x20AC;? high x 26â&#x20AC;?. Custom made by the former Dukeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. Price: $200 US or peso equivalent. Call: 766-2266. FOR SALE: Two wooden dressers. One has 8 drawers, 74â&#x20AC;? wide, 19â&#x20AC;? deep and 31â&#x20AC;? high. It has a glass top and is painted navy blue with yellow drawers. $75 US or the peso equivalent. The other is 76â&#x20AC;? high, 42â&#x20AC;? wide, 21â&#x20AC;? deep and has 4 large drawers and 8 smaller drawers. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a combination of light green, gold, yellow and orange. It was painted by Noe, the man who has the painted furniture store on the carretera in Riberas. Unique. $120 US or peso equivalent. Call: 766-2266. FOR SALE: Entertainment center, 37â&#x20AC;? wide, 24â&#x20AC;? deep, 77â&#x20AC;? high. For your TV, steUHR9&5HWF%ORQGHFDUYHGÂżQLVK3ULFH $750 US or peso equivalent. Call: 7662266 FOR SALE: 100% wool rug made in India. 5â&#x20AC;&#x2122; x 8â&#x20AC;&#x2122;. Burgundy border with paisley muted colors. $750 US or peso equivalent. Call: 766-2266. FOR SALE: Grey granite dining room table 38â&#x20AC;? x 60:â&#x20AC;? with six black upholstered straight back chairs. Granite top is on two carved cantera bases. $1,000 US or peso equivalent. Call: 766-2266 FOR SALE: Philips 32 inch Digital Widescreen Flat LCD TV - excellent working condition. Asking $1,500 pesos. Please call 766-3103. FOR SALE: 4 wheel red standard size 28 x 17 x 10 inches PROTOCOL suitcase. Price: $400 pesos. Call: 766-4032. FOR SALE: NordicTrack T6.5 S in likenew condition. Imported from the US. Price is $600usd (or mxn equivalent). 331-9605885. FOR SALE: Sears Kenmore Computerized Sewing Machine Model 1923340. Runs great. Included in price (bad photos, sry) is a selection of really nice material, several dozen patterns (womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s), sewing notions, including buttons, zippers and quite a bit more. $2250 pesos gets a great deal! 331-960-5885. :$17(' 2 Queen Size beds, Could maybe do with one double and one queen. Call Donna 331-363-5580.  :$17(' Got a 32â&#x20AC;? LG TV for sale? Email: camillenparadise@hotmail.com. FOR SALE:3KLOLSVLQFKĂ&#x20AC;DWVFUHHQ TV for sale - perfect as a second TV for your bedroom. Excellent working order. Asking SHVRVRUEHVWRá&#x201A;&#x2021;HU3OHDVHFDOO 3103. FOR SALE: Benches, couch, love seat, chair with carved horse heads. Hand carved

(horses heads,) chair $1,000 pesos, love seat $5,000 pesos, couch $6,000 pesos. Located at â&#x20AC;&#x153;Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Kinda Bazarâ&#x20AC;? thrift shop in Riberas del Pilar next to Tepehua and across from the car wash. FOR SALE: Bostonian black leather tassel loafers. Size 12M. Never worn. Comes with cedar shoe trees. $100.00 US. PM if interested or email lindamark60@yahoo.com FOR SALE: Kindle Fire HD 8.9 (Second generation) Software up to date. Cover and charger included. Price: $850p. Located in Fracc. Villa Nova. Email: rkorting@ hotmail.com. FOR SALE: Beautiful old caoba (mahogany) dining table 165 cm L x 91 cm W x 76 cm H. 3000p. Located in Fracc. Villa Nova, Ajijic. Email: rkorting@hotmail.com. FOR SALE: Large Glass Dining Table 120 x 240 cm (approx. 4â&#x20AC;&#x2122; x 8â&#x20AC;&#x2122;), with â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;deckled edgeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; over â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Dolphinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; sculpture base. Price: $8,000 pesos. Call 766-5856, Jim or Joan FOR SALE: New Italica 180cc Cuatrimoto (Quad) I paid, on sale, $34,000 pesos for it. I will sell for $24,000 pesos with all original paperwork. Email: jon.b.pace@ gmail.com FOR SALE: We have a lightly used Sony Bravia 32 in TV with external speakers. Model KDL-32FA400. We are asking $3200 pesos. You pick it up. Call: 766-0095. FOR SALE: 2 fold-up cots. Size 32â&#x20AC;&#x2122; x 68â&#x20AC;?. Perfect for extra sleeping space. Quite good condition. Price: $950 pesos each. Email: harrisd47@gmail.com. FOR SALE: I am looking for hiking poles. Drop me a line if you have a pair youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d like to part with. Email: other.br@ gmail.com FOR SALE: Fireplace Screen in perfect condition. 50â&#x20AC;? wide, 36â&#x20AC;? high at center. Price: $500 pesos. Call: 376-766-5856. FOR SALE: Large Sofa (108â&#x20AC;? x42â&#x20AC;?) and Loveseat (80â&#x20AC;? x 42â&#x20AC;?), lightly used. (2) glass side tables inc., Price: $15,000 pesos. Call: 376-766-5856. FOR SALE: Used beige queen set 1 Ă&#x20AC;DWÂżWWHGFDVHVSHVRV FOR SALE: GE Side by Side Stainless Steel Fridge, 90 inches Wide 70 inches high. Price: $7,200 Pesos. Email: pattierobertson@gmail.com. FOR SALE: Physician recommended medical compression socks. Provide relief from tired aching legs. Improves circulation. Great for travelling. Paid $195 Canadian per pair. Price: $1000 pesos per pair 7664032. FOR SALE: BLU phone. Bought this in the States. Cost new $220 will accept $2000pesos has case and charger in full working order with SIM and unlocked. Call: 376-766-4456. Cell 331-324- 5205 Ask for Susanne. FOR SALE: We have numerous sets of golf balls, makes like Titleist, SFT, Power Distance and many more. All boxed and ready for use. PLEASE CALL SUZI or DAVID: 376-766-4456. Cell 331- 824 5205 or E-mail ssnnkenn7@aol.com. FOR SALE: Standard-sized toilet. Beige-ish LAMOSA brand. Paid $2,500p in expectation of replacing our toilet, but got a repair instead. Call Cecilia. 331-422-0364. Price: $2,000p FOR SALE: Sony WEGA Trinitron 29 inch TV model KV-29FS120. While itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s pretty old it has had limited use in our casita and still has a good picture. Asking price $1,500 pesos. Four inputs on the TV are compo-


nent (5 cables), 2-composite (3 cables), composite with S-video. Email: 411@shrall. com. FOR SALE: Old Fashion Desk - Wood. Price: $2,000 pesos. Call: 765-2407 or 331720-6656. FOR SALE: 2 Mexican Albums 45 R.P.M Records. Album of 22 Songs of Amalia Mendoza 45 R.P.M Records. Olso 7 songs of Amalia mendoza, 4 Alfredo Jimenez, 1 Pancho Avitia, 1 Luis Martinez Serano, 1 Emiliano Gonzalez, 1 Maria Ester Aguirre. Price: $500 pesos each album. Please Call: Vi 765-2407 5 to 10 pm. FOR SALE: I have an android TV box for sale. Kodi is installed as well as other apps for you to get all the programs you want to see. From networks, news, sports, movies, TV series from all networks to TV from around the globe. $3,000 pesos installed, explained and support afterwards. Email: spexmex@yahoo.ca. :$17(' Looking for a table 42 to 60 inches long with 4 to 6 chairs all in good condition. Email: anneworthi@hotmail.com. :$17(' Does anyone have a pool cover or pool cover material that they don’t want anymore? Used items are welcome. Call: (376)766-4389. FOR SALE: Used 3 Ellitica Precor EFX546 (Heavy Duty) $ 11,500 pesos each one. 2 Treadmill life Fitness 9100hr $12,000 pesos. each 0ne. (Heavy duty). 1 Treadmill Life Fitness 9500hr $14,500 pesos (Heavy Duty). Email: chuster_ac@hotmail.com.

Cell: 333-598-5058. Marco. :$17(' Shaw receiver with recording feature. Email: wolfsburg4wd@gmail. com. FOR SALE: Over 900 karaoke CDs 715 discs are songs in English and 198 discs are songs in Spanish. Each CD/disc contains 15-20 songs. Complete with aluminium case which has extending handle and wheels. All in excellent condition. Price: $5,500 pesos. Call: (376) 766-4389. FOR SALE: Shaw 630 PVR receiver complete with remote and power cord. Free and clear to be activated. Price: $4500 pesos. Call: 766-4032. FOR SALE: Shaw 600 HD receiver complete with remote and power cord. Free and clear to be activated. Price: $2500 pesos. Call: 766-4032. :$17(' I would like to purchase an Schwinn Airdyne Bike or Assualt Air Bike or another brand equal in quality. Email: ShalomBeWell@gmail.com. :$17('/RRNLQJDWRZKLWFKWR¿WP\ 2008 HONDA CRV, Also might be interested in renting yours for a trip to the states. Call: 333-461-5442. :$17(' I am looking to buy a “Tall” ladies Beach Cruiser Bicycle. 28” or taller. If anyone has one for sale please message me. Email: cindybeer97@gmail.com. FOR SALE: I’m selling 2 electric oscillating heaters for room with a nice design. Each one $2000 pesos. If, you buy the both the price is negotiable. Email: ÀRULQDSXUDY-

ida@gmail.com. FOR SALE: Desk, $2000 MX. 18 1/2 in deep, 37 cm. 54 3/4 in long. 139 cm. 31 3/4 in high. 80 cm, In Chapala. Call: 7655121. FOR SALE: Ornate iron scrolled large chaise w/new cushion. Price: $2kpesos. Please respond via pm with phone to view. Email: imburnen@outlook.com. :$17(' The residents of an independent living home are wanting to buy a table tennis table in good condition, Must be for outdoor use. Please PM me if you might have one for sale. Email: sunnyvogler@ yahoo.com. FOR SALE: Selling 2013 Mabe fridge/ Freezer. Inside dimensions - 22’ wide, 58” high, 16” deep. Outside dimensions - 27” wide, 26” deep, 68” high. We are located in the Chapala area. $3500 pesos. Call 376765-2598. Ask for Craig :$17(' I really would like the risk board game, if anyone has it or knows where to get it i would love to know. Email: rex2023beatle@gmail.com. :$17(' Wanted Ladies Golf Clubs, graphite shafts, Cobra would be great, but PM me if you’ve got a set available. PM or msg at 376-766-4231. FOR SALE: Wireless headphones, paid $279 usd these are only $1000p. Email: julieywayne@yahoo.com :$17('I am looking to buy a small portable generator in the 1,000 to 2,000 watt range. Must be lightweight and easy to

start. Email: Lawandrew29@outlook.com. :$17(' An used electric kiln working or not! I might consider a gas kiln as well. If it’s working, I need to see it work, open boxes to expose possible wiring problems, continuously glowing elements etc ... if I am going to pay for it. Free non-working kilns are desirable also. Email: 831bob@gmail. com. FOR SALE: Storage chest/bar + more. The long chest 71”wx32”h. $2kpesos. $425 each or $700 for the pair. Send me a note with your number and I’ll call all who respond. Email: imburnen@outlook.com. FOR SALE: Small collection of board games. All in good shape. Outburst(2), Auction America, MindTrap, Trivial Pursuit, Year in Review (1992), Fact or Crap. $100mxn. Email: scrubbers1958@gmail.com or 331960-5885. FOR SALE: The complete set of Simpsons’ DVDs from Season I - VI (in the photo, Season VI is that funny shaped yellow box in the top right corner). Included in this package are 8 additional original DVDs and the Sookie Stackhouse series (True Blood) plus the “Princess Sultana” trilogy. All of this for just $550mxn. Email: scrubbers1958@ gmail.com or 331-960-5885. FOR SALE: Adjustable bath and shower bench. Weight capacity to 250lbs/113k. The bench can also double as a tray if you like to relax (in a plastic container). $175mxn. Email scrubbers1958@gmail.com or call 331-960-5885

Saw you in the Ojo 113


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El Ojo del Lago / January 2018


January 2018  
January 2018  

Ajijic and Chapala magazine devoted to news, interviews, history, culture and art.

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