El Ojo del Lago - June 2018 by El Ojo del Lago

Saw you in the Ojo

z DIRECTORY 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

COVER STORY

A review by Kenneth Salzmann of Jim Tiptonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s The Alphabet of Longing and Other Poems. Jim was a long-time Ojo columnist and who recently passed away.

26 PROFILE

Mel Goldbergâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eulogy/obit about the life and times of James Tiptonâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;a major talent and one of the most amiable personalities to have ever made Lakeside his home.

Associate Editor Victoria Schmidt Art Critic / Contributing Editor Rob Mohr

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

Sales Manager Bruce Fraser Carmene Berner 2á&#x201A;&#x2C6;FH 6HFUHWDU\ 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

42 LAKESIDE LIVING

Reserva al TĂtulo de Derechos de Autor 04-2011-103110024300-102 Control 14301. Permisos otorgados por la SecretarĂa de GobernaciĂłn (EXP. 1/432 â&#x20AC;&#x153;88â&#x20AC;?/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&#x20AC;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.

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

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COLUMNS THIS MONTH

Carol L. Bowman visits an area that serves as the gateway to Mexicoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own version of the Grand &DQ\RQ DQG ÂżQGV RQH RI WKH PRVW XQLTXH VSRWV LQ all of Mexico.

Chad Olson reveals several ways of getting in your daily exercise in ways that does not leave you a physical wreck for the rest of the day.

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

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Special Events Editor Sandy Olson

Roving Correspondent Dr. Lorin Swinehart

COVER STORY

VOLUME 34 NUMBER 10

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Remembering my “Jewish” Mexican Mother

ften when I hear Jewish friends reminiscing about the funny foibles of their dearly-departed mothers, I squelch an inclination to boast that my own mother was perhaps the most unusual “Jewish” mother ever—mainly because she wasn’t Jewish, at all. (*See Note) My mother was a Mexican Catholic. Yet her personality, outlook and sense of humor were unmistakably “Jewish.” She also preferred the company of Jews, thinking those of her own religion a bit too somber. Not that my mother couldn’t get pretty serious herself. I still recall the stricken expression on her face

the day my grade-school principal called to advise her that a recent IQ test given to my fourth-grade class had revealed that I was mentally retarded. I would have to be sent to an institution for “exceptional” children. After the call, my mother (who was not given to affectionate gestures) took me in her arms, and said that though her and my Irish father’s dreams for me would now never come true, they would make up in love what I so lacked in native intelligence. Personally, I was not that disappointed. I didn’t like school, anyway. Besides, I had never seen my moth-

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

er so tender and loving, though to bring on such a change, I had to seem to be quasi-retarded. My blissful state lasted only until the school principal called back a few days later, almost apoplectic with apologies. Seems the IQ test’s two inner pages had stuck together, and many students (not just me) had filled out only pages 1 and 4 of the four-page test, hence immediately failing 50% of the entire test. My mother was hastily reassured that I would not have to be placed in a special school—which should have been good news for all concerned. Instead she stormed into my room and accused me of deliberating having glued the test pages together, just to upset everyone at the school, as well as force her closer to the nervous breakdown she always threatened to have someday. Another indelible “Jewish” memory: After I’d barely graduated from high school, and as many of my former classmates went on to college, I got a job working for a dental clinic, delivering false teeth to various dentists. But I spent most of my time in the jaws of trouble and a judge finally placed me on probation. My mother, who was fond of tossing big Christmas parties, would announce at these festive occasions that those people who had not yet met me should consider themselves fortunate—because I was destined to die in the electric chair while my smarter friends went on to college. Later, after I shocked her silly by not only going on to college, but making good grades, she threw a party to celebrate my return from the hallowed halls of academia. Her speech that night was pure Jewish humor. “Well, for the longest time I thought my son was so dense that he was destined for little more than a life as a petty criminal. But I was wrong. He has graduated with honors from a wonderful university,

and now seems to know everything about everything. Frankly, I liked him better the other way.” She was disappointed for another reason. For a Mexican parent in those days, there were three main professions worthy of making great sacrifices to enter: the law, medicine and the priesthood. My mother hoped I would become an attorney. When I told her of my plans to try the movie industry, she vowed to never forgive me. I still remember her reaction after she journeyed all the way from West Texas to Los Angeles to watch me direct my first film. At that time, I was about twenty-three. These days, very young directors are commonplace but back then it was a rarity. Most of the members of my cast and crew were veterans in their 50s and 60s. The two middle-aged producers were kind enough to tell my mother that I was doing a fine job, though in reality I didn’t know much but managed to disguise the fact by exhibiting a sizable amount of raw energy. But my mother’s opinion was as equally important to me as that of the two producers, and her stony silence was unnerving. Finally, at lunch, I asked her how she thought I was doing. “Disgracefully,” she curtly answered in Spanish. Oh, great, I thought: now my mother is a movie critic of a movie that hasn’t even been made yet! My previous sense of professional assurance vanished into the smog-laden air. “To begin with,” my mother continued, “it is rude of you to address all these older men by their first names. You were brought up better than that! It should be ‘Mister,’ not this ‘Tom, Dick and Harry!’ Also, these fine gentlemen have their own equipment, and stand close by to make sure it works. But you are walking around all the time! Why don’t you ask one of these nice

men if you can be his apprentice and then you can stand next to him, and not be wandering around all the time!” I didn’t have the heart (or nerve) to tell her that I was in charge of the entire shooting match. For all her native shrewdness, my mother was, in some respects, amazingly naive. She once told me Clark Gable had been the wittiest man in movies. When I asked how she had arrived at that conclusion, she said, “You’ve heard all the funny things he said in his films.” I couldn’t tell her that probably an army of faceless gnomes had been responsible for Gable’s sparkling dialogue. Years later, she asked me how movie scenes were made that called for planes to crash or cars to plummet off the edge of cliffs. She knew it was a trick, but didn’t know how it was done. I quickly corrected her. The scenes were real, and involved real people. “But how,” she scoffed, “can you find anyone willing to do such things?” “We place ads for terminally ill people—who don’t really care how they die, just as long as it is quick— and of course we assure them that their movie monies will go to their next-of-kin.” She didn’t believe a word of it—but only after she’d

thought about it for a while. It wasn’t long afterward that my mother became terminally ill herself and all these years later, I can’t watch a death-defying stunt in a movie without remembering her— and need I add, with a great deal of fondness and gratitude. Given the flakiness of the raw material with which she had to work, she taught me discipline and the value of work in the only way she knew—the hard way. *Postscript: It was only a few years ago that my mother’s affinity for those of Jewish ethnicity was further explained when an elderly cousin, having read this editorial when it was first published, called me from El Paso to say that he thought I knew that my Mexican mother had Sephardic Jewish blood. This very late-in-arriving news delighted me but I, who have always been an unmitigated disaster when it comes to business, had to wonder where the Jewish businessgenius gene had been when I was conceived? Out on a Alejandro three-Martini lunch, GrattanI suppose. Dominguez

Saw you in the Ojo

%\ .HQQHWK 6DO]PDQQ The Alphabet of Longing and Other Poems %\ -DPHV 7LSWRQ (GLWHG E\ 0DUJDUHW 9DQ (YHU\ 2018 Librophilia 0;

t becomes clear within the first poetic lines of James Tipton’s newly released collection, The Alphabet of Longing and Other Poems, that the reader is about to embark on a remarkable journey, not only through the letters of the English-language alphabet that provide an ingenious scaffold for the title poem, but also through considerably more than twenty-six facets of human experience, each of them deeply felt and richly rendered. Tipton, of course, has long been a prominent figure in Lakeside’s expat writing community, notable both for his own work and for his open-hearted support of other writers. But his poetry bona fides, some five decades deep, extend far beyond Lake Chapala and include publication credits in numerous top-shelf journals and literary mainstays, among them The Nation, Southern Humanities Review,

Esquire, The Christian Science Monitor, International Poetry Review, many anthologies, and his several earlier books. No less a luminary than acclaimed novelist and memoirist Isabel Allende has tagged Tipton as “the man who writes like Pablo Neruda,” and as a man who “was born to write poetry.” For all his past achievements, though, his ambitious alphabet poem, never before published, just may count as his masterwork. In it, each section begins with a successive letter of the alphabet, the letter “A” both setting the tone (with echoes of Neruda, indeed) and issuing an invitation of sorts. Always the hidden sea, deep in the desert, the breath rushing toward shore, receding, the blue solitude itself a siren song. On this simple desert sand, I take a stand. Look then, although no riddle answered: this gate marked me is no mistake. In this way, Tipton leads us through his own desert places, both physical and psychic, unearthing connection from solitude and finding peace in “the twisted juniper I rest against.” (Before his 2005 move to Chapala, the former Literature and Writing Professor at Michigan’s Alma College spent nearly fifteen years as “a keeper of bees” in the high desert of Colorado.) “How do you honor each hour/each solitary seed and subtle rose?” he challenges us later in the poem, and then reminding us, “There is grace inside each lonely breast.” The alphabet form of poetry itself is far from new, dating at least as far back as the biblical book of Lamentations in world literature and to Geoffrey Chaucer in English lit. Such modern American poets as John Ciardi and W.D. Snodgrass employed the form as well, at times for light verse, as in Ciardi’s Alphabestiary, and at other times for dramatic narrative, as in Snodgrass’s acrostic, The Fuhrer Bunker. Tipton, though, gives the alphabet poem an uncommon twist with his meditative lines and introspective lyric verses. As compelling as “The Alphabet of Longing” proves to be, the book’s extended title—“and Other Poems”—promises that the long poem doesn’t stand alone in this collection, sensitively edited by another highly regarded Lakeside poet, Margaret Van Every. Such classic Tipton works as “When I First Came into This Desert Space,” “These Awkward Efforts to Be Alive,” and “Some Nights Are Difficult for Me. Listen.” are included, as are several haunting five-line poems in the Japanese tradition of Tanka, at once deeply personal and achingly universal: I was already old before I knew what I wanted to be when I was young. And this one: When I am gone who will remember how beautiful my mother was the day I was born? With literary excellence a given in any James Tipton book, it is also noteworthy that The Alphabet of Longing and Other Poems, elegantly designed by Robert R. Burke and lovingly published by Van Every’s small press, Librophilia, is a striking physical artifact as well—and a uniquely multimedia one. In addition to presenting the text of the poems, the book also offers readers the opportunity to watch and hear Tipton, a popular and entertaining presenter of his work at poetry readings, bring the poems to life in online videos that are companions to the book. This happens by way of web addresses and “QR Codes”—essentially barcodes—located at the back of the book. Using either of these (the technology is explained alongside the codes), a reader can enjoy Tipton’s own engaging reading of his work, recorded as the book was being compiled. Whether a reader chooses to encounter the work on the page or through the videos—or, it is hoped, both--The Alphabet of Longing and Other Poems makes one fact abundantly clear: any list of the notable writers who have graced Lakeside communities over generations (and there are many, from D.H. Lawrence to Tennessee Williams and Somerset Maugham for starters) is incomplete if it doesn’t include James Tipton. The Alphabet of Longing and Other Poems by James Tipton is available (250 pesos) at Diane Pearl’s Colecciones and Yves’ Restaurant in Ajijic, and will be available on Amazon.com beginning in late summer.

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

Saw you in the Ojo

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ear Portia, I am twelve years old. I am shocked. Playboy Magazine says itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dropping the nudes. I can get to grips with it no longer. Can you help? Â A . Portnoy (please excuse the shaky typing ) DearÂ Â Mr. Portnoy, What a complaint!Â Yes, shout it proud and loud. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Hefâ&#x20AC;? naturally consulted me, Speaking for all twelve years olds like you, I said â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;no.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; But then, what man takes no for an answer? Get a good job and you get a shout, so their new nude free spree makes it big again. (sic) Grow up disgustingly. Remember life depends on the liver. Me? Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s on with the Burka and off to The Mansion. â&#x20AC;&#x153; Mr. Hefner. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m ready for my close up.â&#x20AC;? â&#x20AC;&#x153;Geddit ?!*@â&#x20AC;? Dear Portia, I plead on behalf of our group HHHH Â (High Heels for Hairy He-men). So rarely sighted, so sorely missed, high heels make our day. Please help spearhead a campaign to bring them back big time. Hairy He Man Dear Hairy He (Heh) Man, Sounds like your group are as keen wearers as watchers. My 248 lb. boyfriend once tried on my stilettos. He keeled over and fell heavily on top of me. That was in 1986. So began a romance that lasts to this day. I am your champion. Rise to it girls on platforms. Boot the flats into oblivion. Crunch the cobblestones with the pin sharp heels.Â Sprains, strains and broken ankles now become a mere Chimera. Start today show a shapely leg the way God intended, six inches off the ground. You know

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

it makes sense. But first, ask your Doctor if high heels are right for you! Dear Portia, I am so angry that we keep having to change the time!! My beauty sleep is disturbed, and my social life suffers as the darkness closes in. Canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t we just leave one thing the same? Dreading Darkness Dear Dread, While many believe that the time change has to do with a long forgotten war effort, or the energy crisis, Portia knows the truth! There is a Committee of Crones, working with the Major Conspirators, who carefully guard the darkness. Early on they realized that their aging beauty fared better in candle light. Never mind the increase in pedestrian deaths and a slowing of workplace productivity, all agreed that extending the half-life of aging faces in restaurants, bars and other social venues was well worth the price. So, either move to the equator, or count your blessings!

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ear Mr. Deoxyribonucleic nucleic uc c uc Acid (DNA): My name is Billy Swails Barnes (Bill) I was born in 1943. It pleased my mother and grandfather that I appeared to be e a healthy, normal baby boy (myy father was in Italy fighting the Naa-zis and would not meet me until SepS tember of 1944). He, too, seemed very ve proud of me when we met. You were discovered in the late l 1860s, Mr. DNA, but the conclusion about your structure wasn’t identified until 1953. Around the age of 30, I discovered I had trouble swallowing certain foods. So what, no big thing, I could muscle myself through it. In 1991, I turned 48 when blessed with a stroke! “What happened?” I asked. The neurologist replied, “You just inherited a bad gene.” Over the next three years, during months of therapy, I was thankful that you provided the strength to regain much of my body’s functions, Mr. DNA. So, with limited fine motor control, reduced surface sensitivity on the right and aphasia I was still able to see joy in my future. I concentrated on shifting my senses to the right hemisphere on the brain that you in your infinite wisdom designed to be separate but equally qualified to guide me. All was not always bad. I released my misguided feelings of control over my life and the lives of others. Actually, the post-stroke life has been, for the most part, exciting, adventurous, and loving. A few years ago, a doctor attempted to help with the Achalasia (remember the swallowing difficulty) by employing Laparoscopic surgery to ease the lower esophageal sphincter’s job.

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

Although improved, the sphincter still sphinct will show me who is boss from time to time, especially with acidic meals. However, over the course of the journey, you decided for me, Mr. DNA. I learned more from my doctors about the “essential tremor” you installed during my embryo stage. My unfeeling right hand doesn’t shake (although without fine motor however it’s awkward) but the feeling left hand shakes like a tired crap shooter nervously shaking the dice to roll for his last dollar or an inexperienced bartender shaking his first martini. Please don’t think I am not thankful Mr. DNA for the survival genes you offered because for more than twenty years the universe has treated me kindly. But as the song says, “You gave me a mountain I may never climb.” It’s now February of 2018, I am 75 years old, almost 27 years after your wake up call to me—Unable to write, eat without embarrassment, socialize properly, and insert keys and a myriad of other things I press forward, Mr. DNA. If it was a lesson you intended, I got it. Mission Accomplished. You have humbled me. However: With the kindness of others, many of them strangers I will enjoy this place, day, person, and animal for as long as I can. I still appreciate the world and I smile, Mr. DNA!

6NHZHG /LEHUW\ Everything is tilted. Slightly unaligned. The Constitution set askew. Liberty maligned. Some of the well-heeled citizens think that this is fine. They cannot see that everything is slightly out of line. All the pretty Philistines queue up at their tees while their flunky lawyers determine what to seize. Contracts with the Russians. Schemes to sell off national land. Cronies helping cronies. Off-shore drilling by demand. Rivers being sullied and oceans compromised while insuring rights to bear arms are exercised. Certain pious preachers line up behind the svelte, proclaiming to the masses that they know what Jesus felt. Indeed, the smallest sparrow no longer matters much so long as all the mighty increase their greedy clutch–– all the moneychangers, corrupt to the core, filling all their pockets with the money of the poor. Surely it is clear that at ruling they’re inept, and if He was watching, surely Jesus wept as all the pearls of liberty were cast before the swine with each self-serving libertine declaring what is “mine.” What is true no longer matters. What “they” say is now what now counts. They say it’s Holy Scripture as they settle their accounts. People, take off your blinders. Consider what is real. One nation, under God, was not set up for them to steal!

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or most of my life I believed that â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;?, the conscious part of my mind that I identify as me, was the only one in control of my actions and every part of my life. I discovered that not only- no, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;? wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t the only one in control, butÂ heck no, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;? wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t the only one in control, much to my dismay.Â The research literature revealed that the energetic quality of humans that is the conscious mind is dwarfed by the 95% of the mind run by the subconscious mindâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s autopilot.Â Our subconscious mind is at least partly involved in practically everything we do, and sometimes itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the only one driving.Â Â

Do you remember each thing you did the last time you drove from your home to the store?Â Probably not, yet you got there safely anyway.Â In fact you may have felt like you were teleported there because you couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t remember your experience of driving the car at all.Â Your conscious mind made the decision to drive to the store, then your subconscious mind took over so you could happily ponder your leisure time on the way. Â You trained your body to do the movements required to drive the car, and your subconscious mind to supervise it, by imprinting your neural pathways through conscious repetition.Â This effectively frees up your

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

valuable conscious mind time, you are asleep for a third of your life after all, to use as you need to instead of it having to be involved in every one of your lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s details. Nevertheless, the subconscious mindâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s primary function is to keep us alive, otherwise it loses its other job which is to keep our mind, emotions, and bodily functions operating.Â Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s machine like in its dedication to keeping us safe, using fear as its main motivator to get our cooperation.Â The fear it creates for its purposes can stifle our efforts to actualize the experience of life and destiny goals we long for. Most negative feelings are easily attributed to subconscious fear.Â Doubt, envy, anger, hatred, loss, and unquenchable want are all the offspring of fear.Â Want seems inoffensive until you understand that itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the vehicle for the â&#x20AC;&#x153;not enoughs.â&#x20AC;? Â â&#x20AC;&#x153;Not having enoughâ&#x20AC;? and itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ugly sibling â&#x20AC;&#x153;not being enoughâ&#x20AC;? only serve to keep you from a satisfying experience of life.Â The point is, that focusing on what you want instead what your core self needs keeps you from this fulfillment. What you believe you want can be opposed to your core needs causing self conflict issues. The most in-

sidious part of self conflict issues is the chronic stress that causes pain, decline, and premature death. Maybe youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve experienced it as a feeling of deep distress that eats away at your insides, or an uneasy feeling that somethingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not quite right, but you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t put your finger on it. Negative self stories compel stress.Â I used to tell myself I was old, ailing, and powerless to get the experience of life that best suited me.Â I accumulated things that I wanted, thinking they would fill the void these stories created and make me happy.Â When they did not, I dulled my unquenched longing and pain with all manner of things that numbed me.Â The misery causing subconscious stories we tell ourselves may as well be true for all of the power they have over the way we experience our lives.Â If you believe a victim story, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time to get better beliefs and rewrite the story of you.Â Understanding that you are not your past or the situation you are in is a good place to start. Through innate neuroplasticity you can retrain facets of your subconscious mind to make better use of its expansive energy, so you can make the most of your finite life.Â There are many books that focus on helping you to do just that.Â Chang-

ing your beliefs to better truths that support the way you need to experience your life is beyond beneficial. No other human quality is more potent in directing us, defining us, fulfilling us, or wrecking us than our beliefs. As misguided as the subconscious mind seems at times, I can’t help but wonder at it and be grateful for its effectiveness, since my daughter and I are the result of a continuous lineage that spans eons of time. The subconscious mind is the reason you and your loved ones are still breathing. You can learn skills to attend to

your subconscious needs and pass down a worthy new legacy to your descendents. However, more than education or skills, what determines how much success you have in your life and how good those experiences are, is how worthy you believe you are of them. The power to improve your life is yours, believing it is the key. Anna Elena Berlin

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ith so many people posturing about the water situation around the world, here at Lake Side people are stepping up to the challenge. The side effect of polluted wells are many, but the major one is kidney failure in the young and middle aged. Of course, kidney failure in children has many factors, fi first being what they ingest. When a Barrio Mother has a choice between tap water, bottled water, milk or cola, she will choose cola, because it is cheaper than milk or bottled water... she knows she cannot risk tap water. Especially as it is a proven fact that boiling alone will not solve the problem...water has to be filtered. Even that does not remove arsenic should it be in the water,

this has to be a reverse osmosis process which removes everything, almost. Arsenic is not in the Lake water, which if filtered is good to drink, only the wells are suspect. One could say the disease is called corruption, because maintenance on wells cost money local Governments are not about to spend on little people. The Tepehua Community Center is putting a band aid on the situation, we are starting

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

a water station to sell garrafones at cost to people, and having free urine testing at the Tepehua Clinic. If kidney disease is caught in its first stages it can be reversed...but stages 4 and 5 it is too late. Nutritional education is needed. To start the mammoth task of testing, H.O.W (Health Outreach for Women) sent their Head nurse Olga Lara Aguilar, to help the Tepehua Clinic set up a testing station, and Tepehua’s volunteer Dr. Zayra Patricia Valencia was on hand to do the diagnosis on the spot. Maskaras Pharmacy C.A.R.E. supplied the dip sticks and the sample pots as a donation, and the testing will go on as long as it is required. This is an intervention operation... we need the cure of clean water. People should not have to buy water to drink in this 20th century. Studies have been made that show the connection between lower income and education and consumption of cola’s. There is good evidence of cola’s ability to pull calcium from young bones and induce kidney problems more so than non-cola soda’s. BBC News had a segment on “Mexicans dying for a fizzy drink” literally, by consuming an estimated 163 liters per person on an average year. In January 2014 a tax was put on all sugary drinks to try and abate obesity. A physician once said Mexico’s love affair with cola is cul-

ture. The writer cannot see that, as Coca Cola came to Mexico in 1898 and began sales in 1903, replacing the traditional lunch fresh fruit flavored water. The giant industry gave away free refrigerators to little taco stands and restaurants to further promote Cola’s. The consequences of this, as stated in the Guardian, written by Rosenberg in 2015, showed in 2006 when a Health Survey of Mexico, revealed Mexico as the most obese country in the world with diabetes as its leading cause of death. No other country in the world experienced such a rapid rise of that magnitude. Mexican cola’s control 73% of the market and all attempts to educate the people of the danger was never implemented due to opposition from the Industry. Whilst the Industry promotes many health programs and sporting events, it is because they will face a future battle with Health Authorities, with all eyes on Mexico. Now the sources for the disease has been identified, and more exposure made in the media, it is the long fight back to ‘choice’...one should not have to choose the lesser of the evils because of poverty, one should be able to make personal decisions, if you choose to drink cola in spite of the warnings it is on you... if you have to drink cola because you cannot afford water or milk, that is on the Government.

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018 will be a year of change for Jaltepec with many future challenges! The school buildings are being demolished and rebuilt starting April 2018. The Mexico City and Guadalajara Foundation Groups are raising money for this project as the buildings are 50 yrs. old with many problems that must be addressed. This means we will be looking for other venues and exploring ideas and options to keep working for the benefit of the students. The Open House in January had the best attendance ever. There were 50 interested residents of Lakeside and 20 sponsors who enjoyed a luncheon catered by the San Juan Cosala Viva México Restaurant Owner and Chef Augustine and assisted by the staff and students. Chef Augustine also provides a Practical Work time placement for the students. Augustine’s team and Jaltepec staff and students from left to right:

Lupita Talavera, Gisele Diaz, Edna Oliva, Jessica Trujillo, Martha Santos, Nelly Romo & Conchita Cortes. Bonita Jo Magee, Past President of Les Dames d’Escoffiers, B.C. Canada, and Catherine Rose, proprietor of Funky Finns in San Antonio hosted a

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

very successful International Women’s Day event. The IWD theme this year is PROGRESS FORWARD ... fitting for Jaltepec. The Jaltepec Bakery in Guadalajara is within the Market “FRESCAMESA” in Zapopan, Jalisco. The fresh baked goods are located in a rent free space with proceeds going to the Foundation Group in Guadalajara’s fund raising efforts to renovate the school. Cheli Pinto Santana graduated in August 2017. When younger she was unable to study because she was always working to help her parents. When she arrived at Jaltepec she was very shy. She has always been studious and responsible and with her new self-confidence she is now happily working at the Jaltepec Bakery in Guadalajara.

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JOHN HENRY NEWMAN

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ohn Henry Newman is recognized as one of the most important religious figures of 19th Century England. He is also wellknown as an important literary figure. He is one of the classic writers in the English language, and his works are both original and elegant. Fedor Dostoyevski, in his novel The Idiot proclaims: “Beauty will save the world.” Newman contributed to the world of literary beauty with novels, hymns, and poems. One of the most important of these was The Dream of Gerontius which can be read here: http:// www.newmanreader.org/works/verses/gerontius.html The poem is over one thousand verses long, and was written in 1865. Newman was 64 years old at the time

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and, beginning to feel a growing weakness in his limbs; thoughts of his own mortality were continuously in his mind. The Dream of Gerontius is precisely that, a dream. Its title refers to advancing age and impending death. It is a text of great poetic value, but it also offers the sincere and poignant testimony of a man who begins to glimpse his soul’s final destiny. This is described through a profound observation into the deaths of family and friends, filtered through the lens of Newman’s considerable intelligence. We are all mortal, but Gerontius represents Newman himself. The topic of death is seen from a religious perspective. It is not annihilation, but rather a passage to another state. Gerontius, the protagonist, once he has undergone death, is replaced by his soul, who converses with his Angel and debates against temptation. The Dream of Gerontius is a timeless masterpiece of English literature and a literary monument to hope. There is a bilingual English-Spanish version published by Ediciones Encuentro in 2003. In 1900, famed composer Edward Elgar set music to Newman’s The Dream of Gerontius. A performance of the work can be viewed here: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=9Bg52cVVmTc, with tenor Wesley Rogers in the roles of Gerontius and the Soul of Gerontious, mezzo-soprano Kendall Gladenas the Angel and bass Kevin Deasin the dual roles of the “Priest” and the “Angel of Agony.” (Ed. Note: Rosario Athié and Dixie Santana are university professors and translators of Ian Ker’s biography of John Henry Newman (Editorial Palabra, Madrid 2010)

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hough the Vietnam War has been over for several decades, one of its burning issues was dramatically revived in a recent book titled Aid and Comfort. The authors, Henry and Erica Holzer, argue that Jane Fonda should have been tried for treason for her activities during a 1972 visit to North Vietnam. The authors’ argument seems unassailable. The Constitution defines treason as giving “aid and comfort” to an enemy power in wartime. While in Vietnam, Fonda made anti-American propagandist statements, urged GIs to shoot their officers and desert, and later went to the extent of calling returning POWs “liars and hypocrites” when they revealed they had been mistreated during captivity. On the cover of the Holzers’ book is a picture of Fonda posing with the crew of a Communist anti-aircraft gun. Her hands are clenched together and on her face is a look of ecstasy that seems almost orgiastic. There’s a line between dissent and treason and Fonda most definitely crossed it. Like most liberals— and some conservatives—I came to oppose our involvement in that unwinnable war. But principled dissent does not take the form of actively aiding the enemy. Looking at the picture in a broader perspective, what angers me more than anything else is that there seems to be one brand of justice for rich, well-connected traitors and another for those who don’t fall in that category. I have no brief for John Walker Lindh or Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. They committed offenses that deserved punishment. But talk about overkill. A confused and pathetic young man converted to Muslim fanaticism gets a stiff twenty-year sentence. In the case of Ethel Rosenberg, due to a deficiency in the electric current her execution amounted to a torture slaying. By contrast, consider the case of the fascist traitor Ezra Pound. During the Second World War, he went on the Rome radio and made vituperatively anti-Semitic broadcasts in which he urged U.S. troops to des-

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ert and advocated the assassination of President Roosevelt. There were other radio traitors—notably Robert Best and Douglas Chandler in Berlin. Best and Chandler received life sentences and both died in Leavenworth. And Pound? Thanks to the efforts of powerful establishment figures who admired his poetry, Pound was allowed to plead insanity. During his twelve-year confinement, he played tennis, presided over a salon of visiting admirers, and enjoyed conjugal visits from both his wife and his mistress. On return to Italy after his release, an unrepentant Pound’s first act was to give the Fascist salute. Fonda got off with no penalty whatsoever. Where Pound was at least indicted for treason, no charge of any kind was ever brought against Fonda. If the cases mentioned above were examples of overkill, this is a grotesque example of “under-kill.” I have friends who, even today, would cheerfully wish Ethel Rosenberg’s fate on Jane Fonda. Being a “bleeding-heart liberal,” I have to dissent from so Draconian a solution. However, there is a precedent if we wish to correct this longstanding case of justice delayed. In 1949 a guilty verdict was handed down on a woman named Mildred Gillars. Better known as “Axis Sally,” she made Fonda-Pound type broadcasts denouncing the U.S. war effort, castigating American political leaders, urging troops to desert, etc. Axis Sally received a 10-30 year sentence, of which she served 13 years. This seems a pretty fair sentence. Treason, like murder, has no statute of limitations. Jim Tuck

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ecently while cleaning out some old files I came across the first article I ever wrote for the Ojo del Lago many years ago. It was about, of all things, a piglet I had befriended down by the lake that later was sent to slaughter. I was heartbroken and as I poured out my story to a fellow writer he gave me the best advice I ever received. “Put it down on paper,” he said, “It helps the healing process.” I have followed that advice many times over the years. Often, these days here in Nevada, I am asked to write remembrances of friends who have passed but every so often the tale of my little pig who grew too fast and too fat comes to mind. I enjoy mostly writing about the whimsical side of life and I credit living in Mexico for that. My first encounter with Telmex told me I had settled in a writer’s paradise on the shores of Lake Chapala. Where else but Mexico can you coax a worker to stop what he is doing down the calle and fix your telephone for a few pesos? My typewriter was running night and day as I recorded the happenings all around me. If it walked, talked, mooed or hissed I wrote about it. The cobblestones were always a good subject as they claimed another victim. Now the competition has heated up as many wonderful writers have joined me in my paradise but

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there is room for everyone. The inspirations are limitless. My first cover story sent me over the moon. It was about a mangy dog that decided to follow me around all day. Not very exciting you might think but for me it was a wonderful “encounter.” “About a dog,” my sister said, “did it bite you?” she continued trying to find a reason for my story. “We became amigos,” I replied but I could feel I wasn’t getting through to her. I guess you had to have been there. One day our esteemed editor asked me to write a piece about shopping in the local super markets. My mind went blank. Shopping, that should have been an easy subject for me but nothing came to mind as my fingers sat poised over the keys. On the other hand, put me on an autobus or take a stroll down by the lake and my creative juices begin to flow. Mexico as I see it—sometimes silly sometimes poignant but ever changing. As I continue my extended visit with the kids north of the border my computer and memories of Mexico call to me. Once you have lived in a writers’ paradise nothing is ever the same. Surely there is a dog or a piglet out there that needs me to tell its story. Hasta mañana, amigos. Margie Harrell

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JIM TIPTON %\ 0HO *ROGEHUJ

When death finally comes can she be in the form of that woman wearing the black bikini walking toward me on the beach at Guayabitos. Death finally came to Jim Tipton, Lakeside’s premier poet, on Wednesday, September 16, at 9:45 AM. One can only hope she wore a black bikini to escort him to the next chapter of existence. The poem, among other things, evokes his great love for women as the embodiment of beauty. Born in 1942 in Ohio of Quaker ancestry, Jeemie, as he was fondly known by his Mexican friends and neighbors, did not speak for the first three years of his life. Once he understood the power of words, he became captivated. He wrote his first story, “The Phantom of

-LP 7LSWRQ Hutchin’s Parlor,” when he was in the twelfth grade. After receiving his Master’s Degree from Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana, he became a professor of English at Alma College in Michigan and continued to write and publish stories and poetry. During his thirteen years of teaching, he was able to take sabbaticals and travel to increase the depth of his understanding of people and literature.

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He made extended trips to South America and visited Israel, Turkey, and the Greek islands of Rhodes and Crete. He also participated in the fine arts community of San Francisco in the 1960s, spending time at the famous City Lights bookstore founded by Lawrence Ferlinghetti and publisher of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and Other Poems. On one of his journeys to the Middle East, he experienced the poetry of the 13th century Sufi, Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, known in the West simply as Rumi. He often quoted Rumi, who wrote about life, death, and women. On a trip to Peru, he read Paula, a memoir by Chilean writer Isabel Allende, about the darkest experience of her life, the death of her daughter. Immensely touched by the tragedy, Jim began writing to Isabel and sending her poems and stories. They became good friends through the correspondence. They met several times and Isabel wrote the introduction to his collection of poems, Letters to a Stranger. The book won The Colorado Book Award for Poetry in 1999. He left teaching after several years to pursue full time his passion for beekeeping. He moved to the small town in Colorado, and then to a cedar cabin in the high desert of Western Colorado. “I kept bees and the bees kept me,” he said about his small honey-producing company. For thirteen years, from 1992-2005, he lived in solitude with no neighbors for miles around. There in his mountain retreat he was able to find out “who I really was.” During his lifetime, he had traveled to Mexico many times and his ability to speak Spanish was an added bonus when he decided to move to Lakeside in 2005. Here he met a young Mexican woman, Marta Alcantar, who had a three-year-old daughter. Jim fell in love with Marta, they married, and he became fa-

ther to little Gabriela. Jim was an Associate Editor on the staff of the Ojo del Lago and for years he endeared himself to the community with his monthly column “Hearts at Work.” Jim wrote over 1,000 poems, short stories, and book reviews. His writing has been published in such journals as The Nation, South Dakota Review, Southern Humanities Review, The Greensboro Review, Esquire, Field, and American Literary Review. He was also included in an anthology, Aphrodite, by his friend, Isabel Allende, which includes poems and stories from ancient medieval literature, tidbits on the sensual art of food and its effect on amorous performance, tips on reviving flagging virility and beautiful, evocative writing about ordinary, everyday subjects. Jim was a gentle man. We have all observed his caring touch when members of our community suffered loss, pain, or distress. And he expressed whole-hearted enthusiasm sharing the joys of other’s successes. If there is one word that best describes Jim Tipton, it is LOVE. Love for his friends, an unthreatening and protective love for women, and an exuberant love for life. His last book, published just before his death, is The Alphabet of Longing, edited by local poet Margaret Van Every. The volume contains many of Jim’s published poems as well as the new “The Alphabet of Longing.” About the poems in this book, Isabel Allende wrote, “They remind us that, yes, there is pain in our lives, but there is also astounding goodness and beauty. These are luminous healing poems to be read over and over.” Mel Goldberg

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ulie and Mark, who are sister and brother, are traveling together in France. They are both on summer vacation from college. One night they are staying alone in a cabin on the beach. They decide it would be interesting and fun if they tried making love…Julie is already taking birth control pills, but Mark uses a condom too, just to be safe. They both enjoy it but decide not to do it again. They keep that night as a special secret between them… So what do you think about this? Was it wrong for them to have sex?” Johathan Haidt used this scenario in research to determine how people view morality. The research is outlined in his book, The Righteous Mind. Most people, of

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course, thought this behavior was not a good idea. But when the researchers asked if the behavior was immoral there was a distinct difference of opinion. Those who considered themselves conservative overwhelmingly thought it was immoral. The liberals, on the other hand, thought it was a bad idea, but not necessarily immoral. Why? Haidt suggests there are five areas of morality that people, throughout the world, use to decide if something is morally correct: harm, fairness, loyalty to one’s group, respect for authority, and sanctity. There appears to be no harm in their behavior. It was not

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unfair, nor did it involve loyalty to a group or respect for authority. But it could be seen as violating the sanctity of the family or of longstanding sexual mores. Haidt has suggested that, for liberal thinkers, the two most important values on which morality rests are avoiding harm and promoting fairness. Conservatives, on the other hand, value all five values when making a moral decision. Liberals, although they might not agree with Julie and Mark’s decision, were likely to say it was harmless, therefore not immoral. Conservatives were quick to label it as immoral, a violation of the value of sanctity. If we consider many contemporary questions on which liberals and conservatives disagree, many come down to the values which conservatives value more than liberals: abortion (sanctity), patriotism (loyalty), immigration (loyalty), value of military experience (authority), and homosexuality (sanctity). I am abbreviating these drastically because of my word limit, but if we consider the differences, most liberal positions focus on the harm and fairness values, while the conservative positions have a broader justification

which in addition to harm and fairness, also focus on loyalty, authority and sanctity. Haidt makes the point that in most of the rest of the world (exception: Western Europe), moral values strongly use all five of the values, often focusing more strongly on loyalty, authority, and sanctity than on fairness and harm. Is this why we have so much trouble understanding each other? Do we just fail to see how the other side can think about the big issues of the day? Of course Haidt is using a broad brush to draw these distinctions. This runs the risk of oversimplifying, of course. For example, some liberal positions focus, to a degree, on sanctity (opposition to NGO foods, environmental protection). Conservatives are obviously concerned about harm and fairness, just not to the exclusion of other values. I have conservative friends who are good people. When I can’t understand why they believe what they do, I am reminded of a Francis David quote which hangs in our Unitarian-Universalist church: “We do not have to think alike to love alike.”

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EL FUERTE

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nder the burdensome weight of sizzling temperatures and drenching humidity, I dragged myself to the white wrought iron bench fronting El Fuerte’s central gazebo. Every living thing seemed to be in slow-motion. Even a tiny lizard, perched on the arm rail didn’t scamper when I invaded his space. I flopped into the metal seat and closed my eyes to keep out the salty drops that trickled down my forehead. The empty square baked in the intense afternoon sun as rat-race toxins and stressors melted away one bead of perspiration at a time. I left the 21st Century and invited the ambiance of ‘Old Mexico’ to come and sit with me. I could see Humphrey Bogart’s character, “Fred C. Dobbs,” scouring a backwater Mexican settlement like this one for some luck. Visions drifted by of him buying-up bottles of hooch from the three-shelf liquor store and vittles and mining supplies from the poorly lit tiendas, as he geared up to uncover ‘The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.’ We arrived in El Fuerte, Sinaloa, Mexico on a late May afternoon for our one-night stay at the city’s most beautiful hacienda. The 18th Century Hotel Posada del Hidalgo provided a historical spot to prepare our minds for the stupendous vistas waiting for us on the train journey through the Copper

Canyon. We settled into our charming room graced with late 1800’s antiques, but the air-conditioner controls on the adobe wall brought the real squeals of delight. Ah, the joys of a colonial setting blended with modern amenities. In 1968, well-known Mexican hotelier Roberto Balderrama Gomez, bought this mansion that follows the slope up seven levels to Fort Montesclaros. He turned the “Casa Vieja,” the oldest section, into the magnificent hostelry for train travelers, the Posada del Hidalgo. This portion was originally owned by Don Alejandro de la Vega, father of Don Diego de la Vega, known to many as Mexico’s Robin Hood, Zorro. Founded in 1564 by Spaniard Francisco de Ibarra, El Fuerte has acted as a gateway to adventure for 500 years. Originally called San Juan Bautista de Carapoa, this town provided access to Spanish-ruled Arizona and California before the fierce Zuaque and Tehueco tribes destroyed it. In 1610 Jesuit missionaries took over the colonization, subdued the indigenous warriors using an evangelical approach and renamed it after the Spanish Fort, El Fuerte Montesclaros. In the mid 1800´s, the pueblo functioned as the chief trading post and stagecoach stop for silver and gold miners panning for riches in Urique and Batopilas, both located near the canyon floor.

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American engineer Albert Owens envisioned the Chihuahua al Pacifico Railroad in 1897. Since 1961, when the 406-mile route officially opened, El Fuerte has been recognized as a western access to the Copper Canyon. The railroad remains the life line of this city of 30,000 people. It would shrivel in the heat without commercial hotels, restaurants, and tour agencies to service travelers venturing into the canyon. My husband, Ernie, and I usually ‘hit the ground running’ at any new destination, but our El Fuerte exploration deteriorated into a slow-paced saunter. We soaked up history while the sun robbed our energy. Following the inviting, clean Rio El Fuerte that zig-zagged through town, I wondered if any heatstroked tourists had ever jumped into the river for relief. The swift rapids and 30 ft. plunge proved to be natural deterrents for me. I had read that the river draws rafting enthusiasts from around the world. Fresh water black bass and langostino fishing prevails and wild float rides after the rainy season provide an exciting zip down the channel. Refurbished Spanish mansions dating back to the 1750’s with arched porticos exposing manicured gardens helped us forget the oppressive heat. The central Plaza de Armas offered shade under colossal palms, beckoning benches and a blistering breeze. A few cowboys, donning 10-gallon hats and damp leather chaps, clip-clopped their horses through the dusty streets, kicking up billowing swirls as they passed. Once we reached el Centro, a handsome Mexican, curling his drooping handle-bar moustache, sweltered outside a colonial restaurant on the square. He lured us inside, calling to Ernie, “Señor. Ven al dentro.” The cowboy seemed to know that we’d accept any respite from the scorching sun. We slurped on huge plates of bright red, fresh-water langostinos, called cauques, smothered in garlic butter and downed ice cold Pacifico beers. We had crossed from Hell over into Heaven.

Tables covered with old newspapers absorbed the pungent oil that slithered down our hands while we peeled those succulent beauties. I remember the sensual pleasure I felt when the young, dark-eyed waiter gently wiped away the greasy evidence dripping down my chin. A meal, a subtle gesture—a moment that I can still feel, see, and taste. Back at the hotel, while we sipped margaritas by the pool, a surprise visit by Zorro added a hokey, but historical flare. Wearing a half-mask, bolero hat and an alluring smile, the bandit rode a jet-black horse with silver studded saddle and pranced through the gardens. Zorro and Tornado took me back to 1957, when at 11 years old, I sat glued in front of the rabbit-eared TV set, fascinated by my first introduction to Mexican culture. After a good night’s sleep and a hearty Mexican breakfast, we asked the hotel driver to take us to the train station. Three miles outside of town, a deserted wooden structure emerged from the dust. We kissed our pre-paid vouchers when we saw the ticket window deserted as well. The rickety building offered no services, two dilapidated benches and two semi-functional bathroom units. When the train finally steamed into the station, the conductor announced the stop would only be for five-minutes. We grabbed our luggage, boarded quickly, and found a right-hand seat for best views. Eager for what is billed as ‘the most thrilling train ride in the Western Hemisphere,’ we left behind indelible images of ‘Old Mexico,’ El Fuerte. Side-Bar Explorers heading from west to east into Mexico’s Copper Canyon on the Chihuahua al Pacifico Railroad (CHEPE) have several departure options. Leaving from Los Mochis, on the Sea of Cortez coast, the train pulls out at 6AM, not reaching the center of the canyon for nine hours. A more palatable and less exhausting route begins in the steamy, colonial city of El Fuerte at 9AM, 75 kilometers north of Los Mochis. Spending a few days in the charming environs of this Pueblo Magico gets the trip off to a historical start. The entire tour package through the Copper Canyon, including the Hotel Posada del Hidalgo in El Fuerte can be arranged through Balderrama Hotel Collection. Go to www.mexicoscoppercanyon.com or call toll free US 1-800896-8196, or in Los Mochis, Mexico, 52668-712-1613. Carol L. Bowman

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GARLIC — A Culinary Cure-All? ) * *UDYHV %\ 5DOSK ) *UDYHV

gh arassse aras sed eing harassed by vampires, vamp am mpi pires res, witches evil che hes or or e vil vi il spirits? Try cchewing on he h hew ew wiing g o n a clove of garlic. arrlilic. ic. Laid Laid d low low w with a bacterial Garlic rial infection? inf nfection? G arlic just might provide relief. Bothered by hypertension, high cholesterol, or coronary problems? Even modern scientists conclude that garlic can be beneficial. In Mexico, early spring heralds the harvesting of the year´s first crop of garlic. And although most of it will find its way into flavorful stews, soups and other culinary delights, a goodly amount will be channeled into other uses. While its popularity here as an aphrodisiac, a purifying agent and a talisman is widespread, the medicinal properties of garlic are gaining perhaps an even greater recognition, not only in Mexico, but throughout Eastern Europe, the Middle East and Asia, the prowess of garlic as a potent medicine is legendary. Ancient writings from Egypt contain anecdotes praising garlic’s role in fighting infections from battlefield wounds. (In fact, it has been utilized for this purpose as late as World War I). Pliney, the Roman scholar, listed 61 garlic remedies for maladies ranging from madness to coughs to impotence. And the Chinese use of garlic as preventive medicine dates back to before 2000 B.C. Since the 1960’s, over a thousand scientific research papers have been published on the curative aspects of the herb, focusing primarily on its effect on hypertension, coronary ailments and cancer. Indeed, a growing

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

body off re research b bo ody dy o rese searc arch suggests help prevent a host that it may h ellp prev of chronic diseases. Garlic compounds have been found to reduce blood clotting tendencies by reducing the stickiness of blood platelets. Scientists at the New York Medical College recently concluded that ingesting a clove of garlic a day could reduce blood cholesterol levels by as much as nine percent. Doctors at Rutgers University in New Jersey have found that some of garlic´s components act on blood vessels to reduce blood pressure. Other studies have identified compounds in garlic that block the formation of several types of carcinogens. And French researchers reported in 1994 that in experiments with rats, a garlic extract was successful in slowing the development of an Alzheimer-like disease. So what is the magic ingredient that gives the “stinking bulb” such potency? Garlic is rich in sulphur-containing compounds that have a variety of beneficial properties. It is generally agreed that a compound called allicin is the antibacterial component in garlic and it is suspected that it may contribute to the ability of the herb to help lower cholesterol and protect against cancer. But many other compounds are formed when garlic is cut, smashed or bruised. Scientists have had a difficult time trying to single out which of the over seventy constituents of garlic produce which beneficial effect. In spite of all the studies conducted, none have proved conclusively that garlic alone was the single factor producing the specific positive result. Yet, studies indicate that garlic may serve as an adjunct that helps enhance the immune system, curb coronary risk factors and block the action of carcinogens. Yet another favorable aspect is the lack of side effects-if one discounts breath and body odor and perhaps a bit of indigestion. The bottom line seems to be that while garlic is not the “cure-all” some might profess, it does have medically beneficial properties. And what modern miracle drug will ward off evil, fight disease and add flavor to your favorite recipes—all for a pittance?

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f you are afraid to speak up, put a mask on. You won’t believe what comes out your mouth.” Guerrilla Girls Typical of street artists, Guerrilla Girls are women graffitiest who hide their identity by wearing gorilla masks - whose clandestine street messages protest cultural inequality, while their unity creates a challenging mirror image of male power groups in the art and political worlds. What began as a plea for recognition by marginalized people throughout the world as graffiti - consisting of their street pseudonym and poignant words painted with bright colors and stylized calligraphy on trains and buildings worldwide, markings that were significant expressions of their disdain for the establishment - over time became today’s wild, creative Street Art. While still seen as vandalism, street art has become an open forum unrestrained by commercial requirements placed on institutional arts enslaved within capitalism - an art form where the limits of creativity are nightly tested by waves of young artists seeking proactive change in rigid cultures and societies that eschews basic needs of humanity. Motivated by their lack of access to wealth, power, and voice from within disenfranchised communities, street artists reach out with their painted messages to alter social structures, liberate marginalized communities, preserve the environment, and gain benefits that will enable humans to live with dignity and meaningful presence. They want, Kafka suggested, “...to squeeze through an opening and ask - what do I want to be?” and gain freedom from control by corrupt, non-functional governments, corporate domination, and cultural greed and injustice practiced by obdurate capitalist.

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Street artists frequently work in small groups and hide their identity with anonyms which enable profound change in how they perceive themselves. Swoxe, for example, is the street tag for the young Chapala artist this article focuses on - a young man who, in community with other artists, has gained self-respect, companionship, and peer approval, qualities once denied to him by society.

Swoxe’s painting on the wall of a local barber shop began as graffiti featuring his name, but - through masterful calligraphy, executed with dynamic forms, bold colors, and rich texture and pattern - enters the realm of ‘fine art.’ In (Photo one) a satisfied Swoxe sits, masked, in front of his transformed graffiti. While calligraphy remains central, his use of harmonized colors which move through and into and out of the picture plane, coupled with his variable use of line and dot patterns, create an emotionally explosive artwork. Swoxe’s wall painting of an anthropomorphic, half human and half elephant, Ganesha, Hindu god of beginnings, intelligence, wisdom, and creativity - an image taken from Indian mythology which stuns viewers (700 BCE), and with refined detail, sensuous color, delicate pattern, and sophisticated integration fashions a unique world where trees of life grow outward from Ganesha with their beautifully curved branches surrounding rich tapestry created by Swoxe’s practiced calligraphy. Shot at night, his work glows with beauty and spiritual life. (Photo 2)

culture and society has become a powerful change agent, and major movement, within the world of art. “If we wash our hands of the conflict between the powerful and the powerless, we side with the powerful.” —Whitewalls

This transformation in Swoxe’s approach is reminiscent of New Yorker, Jean Michel Basquiat’s (1960 -1988) move from biting graffiti artist, Samo, his street tag, to internationally acclaimed artist whose painting Untitled sold for $110,000,000 dollars - a dream that must tempt new generations of street artists who, unpaid, place their visual messages in the public arena accessible to all who choose to notice. While Swoxe’s future is yet to be determined, humanity’s future is being shaped in the streets. Street art painted on private and public property as both spontaneous gift and challenge to existing

* Swoxe’s paintings - created in community with other artists - may be seen in Ajijic on the Malecon, and on a bar on Constitution, in Chapala upon the stairway up the mountain, on Juarez street behind Coppel, in San Antonio on wall of Ganesha Spa, and on various structures throughout the Lakeside community. (link to photos) https://w w w. flick r.com/pho tos/163831079@ N03/? Rob Mohr

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Interactions

s I go about my daily encounters I learn a little something more about Mexico. Not everything I learn makes sense to the American in me, but then I have to remember that I only am making conclusions based on what I observe. Of course, the Mexicans are doing the same. While standing in line waiting to pay my bill at Telmex, I was a little offput by the closure of their drive through pay window, and wasn’t in the best of moods. But then I watched the woman in line in front of me. She was furious that she couldn’t get her Telemex bill. I wondered why she was dealing with the problem with the cashier instead of the customer service representative. And she was screeching at the cashier, and turned to me and was angry that they didn’t even bother to learn English! I was caught between shame and laughter. My turn had come from another cashier, and I looked at the cashier and said “Lo siento.” I’m sorry. Then as I paid the bill, I asked why the drive through was closed. He indicated it was for security reasons. Guess that is a good of a reason as anything. But what did the two Mexican clerks learn about our culture? When I first came to Mexico, it was difficult to learn the procedures of getting a landline, Internet, etc. I took someone with me who could speak Spanish, because I didn’t. I didn’t start going alone until I had a little better

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

handle on the language. As a clerk in a business, I expect them to speak their native language. I don’t expect them to speak English. Of course, when I get lost in my request, I am relieved when the clerk says, “I speak English.” I laugh and tell them I’m trying but apparently not succeeding. Their reaction is usually to tell me my error and help me through it. And I find they often ask me about something English--a business transaction with a cultural learning curve to boot. I’ve also observed an American intolerance to noise. I remember being in a business when an angry customer came in and asked where she had to go to get those “damned rockets” to stop. They were noisy, were always going off, and scaring her dogs! The other customers, mostly Americans who have been in Mexico for a while exchanged glances at each other and laughed at the audacity of her remark. Someone suggested that she move further out into the country, or, perhaps, return to America. I’m amazed by the people who move here from their own country, and expect everything to be done like it is done back home. Color me confused, but I don’t believe that everything done in the USA is the “best” or “only” way something can be accomplished. I’ve learned so much here, and still have so more to learn. One thing I do think could be done a little better, is electricity. I have seen CFE make many positive changes since we moved here. And it isn’t their fault when a truck takes out the pole or a transformer blows. But this week, we’ve lost our electric three times. A minor inconvenience, storm or weather related. But when I look up at the electrical poles, it simply boggles my mind that the electric wires and wonder how they even work at all. My experience here has taught me to have flashlights, lanterns and candles available especially during, the rainy season which is officially here a little early this year. Victoria Vi i SSchmidt h id

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%\ *DLO 1RWW

SEX!

dislike writing stories about sex because I have to rely on memory. When one suffers from CRS, (Can’t Remember Stuff), this becomes very tricky. As I recall, sex is supposed to involve passion. I feel passionate about many things, i.e. vodka tonics, Scottish terriers, airport security, etc. None of which, has anything to do with sex. Consequently, you can anticipate that my ideas on this subject are a bit askew. As a child, the message was clear: you don’t touch any part of your body or make contact with orifices without explicit parental instructions. A finger up your nose doesn’t seem particularly provocative. Little girls were forced to deal with the issue of “sugar and spice.” Fifty years later, I am still analyzing what baking items have to do with sex. How horrifying for male chil-

dren who had to constantly experience the threat of blindness. Children are required to participate in the barbaric ritual of toilet training, which negates the “no touch” rule. “Son, just hold your binky over the toilet bowl and watch what happens.” Imagine the confusion, how do I do this without touching myself and what the hell

is a Binky? They are expected to just go along with this process on blind faith? Adolescents look to their parents for guidance and explanations about body changes and sex. Who told us anything? We were the generation that grew up with “The Brady Bunch,” two adults from failed marriages who obviously know nothing about birth control, hook up and let the housekeeper raise the kids. “Love Boat” was another great example. Through coercion, you get your love interest on a boat, then you stalk them around the ship, hope they panic and give in. We are the generation of “Free Love.” We freely got pregnant, caught venereal disease and spent jail time. Some bargain! We don’t know how or what to tell our kids about sex. They do what every generation has done; they experiment. Oral sex could be a bit painful if your partner has a pierced tongue, nose and lips. The posts on those earrings could leave some serious scratches. Picture some poor teenage boy getting his tongue caught in his girlfriend’s vulva ring. Having an acne-pocked, spiked haired, body pierced adolescent

male, who holds up his baggy tom jeans with a semi-erection, would be a real turn on for me. Kids today have it tough; people ask them what sex they are and laugh hysterically when they answer. Isn’t it great to be entering our twilight years? We’ve paid off the mortgage, gotten the kids through college and kept our affairs a secret from our spouse. We can accept that some things will never change. Men still don’t know what turns a woman on and women gave up trying to turn their husbands off. Nature does that for us. As a generation, we’ve learned that regardless how hot and steamy our sex life was; passion fades and there had better be a lot of money to take its place. “Boomers” are faced with one more major challenge, grandchildren asking about sex. It is cruel to continue passing along inaccurate information or lies. Grandchildren are computer literate. They can check out the crap you tell them. So, let’s give them truths: a pig’s orgasm lasts for 30 minutes (I’m ready to be reincarnated), humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure (now you know why Flipper was always smiling), some lions mate over 50 times a day (how does he get them to say “Yes”) and the male praying mantis cannot have sex while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male’s head off, (you thought Lorena Bobbit was a bit rough). The final pearl of wisdom you can offer your grandchildren is when someone hassles them, it takes 42 facial muscles to frown, but it only takes four muscles to extend their middle finger. Gail Nott

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

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Life Is Funny That Way &RXUWHV\ RI 0DUJLH .HDQH Author Unknown—A True Story

any years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. Capone wasn’t famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the Windy City in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder. Capone had a lawyer nicknamed “Easy Eddie.” He was Capone’s lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was very good! In fact, his skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends, as well. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all the convenienc-

es of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block. Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him. Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son whom he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had the best clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Money was no object. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be better than he was. Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn’t give his son; he couldn’t pass on a good

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name or a good example. One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. He wanted to rectify wrongs he had done. He decided to go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al “Scarface” Capone, clean up his tarnished name, and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. Within the year, Easy Eddie’s life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago street. He had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer at the greatest price he could ever pay. Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, and a clipping from a magazine. It read: “The clock of life is wound but once and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour. Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time. For the clock may soon be still.” *** . . . And now the rest of the story: World War II produced many heroes. One was Lieutenant Commander Butch O’Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier USS Lexington in the South Pacific. One day his squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had neglected to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told O’Hare to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a formation of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet. The American fighters were out of communication range, and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn’t reach his squadron and bring them back in

time to save the ship. Nor could he warn them of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must divert them from his fleet. Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, O’Hare dove into the formation of Japanese planes. The wing-mounted 50 caliber blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as he could until all his ammunition was spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at planes, clipping a wing or tail, damaging as many planes as possible, rendering them unable to stay in the air. Finally, the wounded Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Butch O’Hare and his battered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon landing, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from his gun-camera mounted on his plane told the real tale. It showed the extent of Butch’s daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft This took place on February 20, 1942, and for his action, Butch became the Navy’s first Ace of WWII, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Medal of Honor. A year later, at the age of 29, Butch O’Hare was killed in aerial combat. His home town, however, would not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O’Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this courageous man. So, the next time you find yourself at O’Hare International, give some thought to visiting his memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honor. It’s located between Terminals 1 and 2. So what do these two true stories have in common? Air Commander Butch O’Hare was “Easy Eddie’s” son. Margie Keane

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Sandy Olson

Phone: 331-283-8529 Email: sandyzihua@hotmail.com OPEN CIRCLE Sunday morning finds many Lakeside residents at the Lake Chapala Society and Open Circe, a forum on a variety of stimulating topics. A social hour with coffee and snacks at 10 am is followed by an interesting lecture and discussion at 10:30. June 10 Experiences with Sathya Sai Baba Presented by Michael Warren This is a story of an academic and spiritual journey. Michael and his late wife Marianne were devotees of the Indian guru Sathya Sai Baba for almost two decades during the 1980s and 1990s. Their first of eight visits to his ashram near Bangalore was in 1980. At that time, Marianne was working on her PhD and her topic was the enigmatic saint Shirdi Sai Baba, who died in 1918. Sathya Sai Baba claimed to be his reincarnation. Michael will talk about life in the ashram, classical Indian philosophy, and the charismatic guru Sathya Sai Baba himself. Michael is a poet and playwright and has published his collected poems under the title A Particular Blue. He is a member of the Not Yet Dead Poets Society and is also a contributor to their 2017 anthology Romancing the Muse. Michael and Marianne were among the original founders of Open Circle—a spin-off from the New Dimensions group—in 2001. June 17 Gratitude, Forgiveness, and the Spiritual Path Presented by Gale Park This presentation explores the subject from the viewpoints of several traditions, including Buddhist, Native American, Christian, and New Age thought. It delves into the ways gratitude and forgiveness enhance spiritual growth, personal health and happiness and suggests ways to begin to forgive the seemingly unforgivable. Gale Park is a writer and artist who particularly enjoys writing and teaching about spirituality. She has studied and drawn inspiration from many spiritual traditions but has focused Gale Park on the study of shamanism and druidry since the year 2000. Her shamanic teachers have included a Peruvian curandera, a ceremonialist in the Native American tradition, an eleventh generation Siberian shaman and an internationally known Peruvian shaman. June 24 Rementia: New Choices for New Agers Presented by Kassandra King, BA, NHA, RCFE Kassandra’s presentation will focus on creating new possibilities outside the traditional clinical model of care for those wishing to stay at Lakeside throughout the travails of aging. She will introduce options based on communal cooperation and the individual’s psychosocial needs. Kassandra’s interest in this field began as a volunteer at a young age. She enjoys the wisdom of elders and uses her natural abilities to connect with the cognitively impaired. With a BA and certification in longterm care administration, Kassandra has worked as a nursing home administrator at Alzheimer’s care facilities. As Public Policy and Education Director, Kassandra served at two chapters of the Alzheimer’s Association. She spends her time between San Diego and Lakeside, doing private consulting and rementia care training. Her first published book Getting REAL about Alzheimer’s—Rementia through Engagement, Assistance, and Love, comes from 25 years of Kassandra King experience. July 1 Who are you going to believe? Me or your own eyes? Attention today. Presented by Phil Rylett We don’t pay that much attention in our daily lives. Why should we? It’s exhausting! And distractions are fun! But whether we are enjoying having our attention misdirected in a magic show or having our attention manipulated by crafty politi-

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

cians, our attention is very important to a lot of people we interact with. Someone is paying attention. But it is not us. Phil Rylett is chair of The Lakeside Freethinkers and regularly presents topics on how we think. And how we think we think. A native of UK, Phil has an accent which gives him more credence than he deserves. Don’t be fooled. VIVA LA MUSICA GOES TO THE PHILHARMONIC Here is the schedule for the next two months for the Jalisco Philharmonic performances at the Teatro Degollado. Sunday, June 10 Balakirev Oriental Fantasy. Also Rimsky-Korsakov, Khachaturian, and Aruthurian: trumpet concerto. Marco Parisotto conducting. The bus leaves at 10:30 am for the 12:30 pm performance. Sunday, June 19 Gustav Mahler Sixth Symphony. Marco Parisotto conducting. The bus leaves at 10:30 am. Friday, June 29 Gustav Mahler Ninth Symphony. Marco Parisotto conducting. This concert is in the new Conjunto de Artes Escenicas. The bus leaves at 5:30 pm for the. 8:30 concert. The ticket price for this trip is $600 and $700 for non-members. Thursday, July 5 Mozart Concert for Three Pianos. Liszt, Beethoven (Wellington’s Victory). The group stops for dinner in the restaurant district of Guadalajara. The bus leaves at 4:30 pm for the 8:30 performance. Sunday, July 10. Brahms Violin Concerto, and Bartok. Marco Parisotto conducting. The bus leaves at 10:30 am for the 12:30 performance. Tickets will be available at the Lake Chapala Society Thursdays and Fridays from 10 to noon or call Rosemary Keeling at 766.1801. The cost for Viva bus trips to the Degollado is $450 ($550 for non-members), except for the June 29 concert at the new Conjunto. Buses leave from the carretera near Farmacia Guadalajara. LOCAL BOYS MAKE GOOD Two Have Hammer Will Travel alumni have found full time employment. President Michel Ouimet tells us that Calvin Reyes, who was a student in the HH carpentry shop for three years, is working for Honest Abe, a shop on the carretera on the way to San Nicolas (next to Oh Shirt!) Calvin is working there on furniture repair, kitchen renovation and shelf construction, under the supervision of Maestro Abráham Cortés. Michel praises Calvin: “He’s very smart and focused, a quick learner and is extremely mature.” Calvin was born in the US and spent his early years there. He’s almost 15 years old. Here, he had a little shop at home while he was a student. He produced and sold such items as shelves and double toilet paper holders at the Great Chili Cookoff Another success story is Jorge Andres. He started in classes around age 10 when they were held at the Lake Chapala Society. HH member Richard Banbach says, “I remember him vividly. The kids were always pok- Calvin Reyes and Maestro Abráham Cortés ing each other.” Jorge works for Maestro Lalo Robledo and has been there for over a year. He was born in Ajijic. His father died about ten years ago. He is a jack of all trades, according to Richard. “Lalo gives him a job and he works very well without supervision. He’s very focused and responsible.” Note: Swing by the Have Hammer workshop in Riberas del Pilar some morning and take a look at their furniture catalogs. Lalo is a master craftsman and can replicate anything you may want to order. SHUT UP AND & WRITE! One of the books aspiring writers turn to is Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg. One of her phrasJorge Andres and Maestro Lalo Robledo es is an effort to encourage writing by saying “Shut up and write!” That inspirational comment led to the formation of popular SUAW groups all over the world For instance, in my home town of San Francisco there are 5683 members.

Continued on page 44

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How it works: people get together at cafes for timed writings, two or three for 25 minutes each. (I don’t know of any cafes that hold 5683 people but they get that handled, somehow).They normally meet once a week. Here in Ajijic the group meets on Wednesdays from 1-3 pm at LA133 in San Antonio, at Independence 133 by the plaza. New members are welcome. Organizer Joanna Babiak says, “We welcome all writers of any ilk. No prompts, critiques or instruction. Just two or three 25 minute sessions of writing. That’s it, that’s all, besides an initial meeting and greet before we set the timer and totally optional sharing or other writer talk between sessions. Writers are free to join us for 1, 2 or all 3 twenty five minute sessions.” Check the main website: www.shutupwrite. com. For local information, call Joanna at 331.739.8479 or email her at canadacalling88@ kyahoo.ca. LOOK UP! Patrons of Luz (aka the “dollar store”), on the south side of the Ajijic Plaza, will notice a new mural recently unveiled Left to right: Joaanna Babiak, Carol Vandenheuas a celebration of the vel, Gale Park, Camala Devi and Jeremy Monroe. Lake Chapala Garden Club’s 40th birthday. Artist Isidro Xiloti , who created this bright new work, is the author of some of the best murals to be seen around town. ‘He is a highly talented man. He is certainly the best choice of artist for the job,” said Beto Munoz, Director of the Centro Cultural Ajijic. Juan Manuel Briones, owner of Luz, thanked the Garden Club for choosing his business. ’’We are now a big attraction for tourists with their cameras.The new mural has been a great boost for our business.” ROMANCE IN THE VILLAGE Viva la Musica begins its summer concert series, “Romance in the Village,” at the home of Rosemary and John Keeling on Thursday, June 21 at 4 pm. A champagne

Isidro Xiloti, Juan Manuel Briones, Judie Keck, President LCGC, Beto Munoz (Photo by Amanda Murray) reception at 3:30 will be followed by a program featuring The Marval Duo, Roberto Markus on violin and Rosa Maria Valdez, piano. He is from Slovakia and she is from Sinaloa, Mexico. They will be playing a program of music from Mexico, Spain and Slovakia. Tickets will be available at the Lake Chapala Society Thursdays and Fridays from 10 to noon and also at Diane Pearl Colecciones and Mia’s boutique, The cost is $500. The address and map will be on the ticket.

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WE GET TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED The play by Lucas Hnath, A Doll’s House, Part 2, picks up where Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House leaves off. The protagonist Nora slams a door shut at the end of Ibsen’s play and now we find out what happened next. She has become successful and now wants a divorce. Her husband Torvald needs to sign the legal papers. This play received eight 2017 Tony Award nominations. We won’t want to miss this one. It’s directed by Lila Wells. The show runs June 29, 30 and July 1. The Box Office and bar open at 3 p.m. Reservations are by email at: nakedstagereservations@gmail.com. For those who use Facebook, look for The Naked Stage for breaking news and updates. The Naked Stage is at Hidalgo #261 on the mountain side of the carretera in Riberas del Pilar, across from the Catholic Church. Parking is available in the parking lot of the Baptist Church, behind the theater.

Fred Koesling, Kathleen Pharis, Sharon Lowry, Jennifer Wisniewski, director Lila Wells PAT Y PACO If you happened to be strolling on the beach near Maria Isabel restaurant last month you might have seen the filming of the final stage of a 40-minute narrative film titled Pat y Paco. It is, to oversimplify, the story of two boys and a stolen bicycle and what happens next. Director John Friesen says. “Pat y Paco unfolds in the magical realism Latin storytelling tradition. It’s an authentic community project with an all volunteer cross-cultural cast and crew—Mexicans, Americans and Canadians. It’s a true labour of love, with everyone including the director, writer and a top, award-winning cinematographer contributing their professional skills and talent without pay.” In the pictures taken during camera rehearsal are (left to right) actor Yves (well known restaurateur), director/writer John Friesen, and camera operators Lawrence Matez and Brad Gorman, Missing from the picture is Jennifer Munoz, the production co-ordinator who has been with the project since filming began two years ago.. Director Friesen tells us the film will be completed some time in 2019. It’ll be shown in various venues in the Lakeside area and in film festivals in Mexico, Canada, United States and Europe. Check this interesting website: patypacoproject.com. It’s updated regularly. MARK YOUR CALENDARS We’ve heard from the planners of Feria 2018, which is November 2-11 this year. The feria is where shoppers find high quality Mexican folk art: clothing, alebrijes, pottery, jewelry and lots of other goods. Artists come from all over Mexico for this event. Feria Maestros del Arte’s website www.mexicoartshow.com gives information on all aspects of the Feria - even hosting. For Feria questions (general information, volunteering, artists), contact feriamaestros@gmail.com.

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Days Gone By &RXUWHV\ RI 3DXO 7LWWHUWRQ

o you remember? Would you believe the email spell checker did not recognize the word Murgatroyd? Heavens to Mergatroyd! Lost Words from our childhood: Words gone as fast as the buggy whip! The other day a not-so-elderly (I say 70) lady said something to her son about driving a Jalopy and he looked at her quizzically and said “What the heck is a Jalopy?” He never heard of the word jalopy! She knew she was old.... but not that old. Well, I hope you are Hunky Dory after you read this. About a month ago, I wrote down some old expressions that have become obsolete because of the inexorable march of technology. These phrases included “Don’t touch that dial,” “Carbon copy,” “You sound like a broken record” and “Hung out to dry.” Back in the olden days we had a lot of moxie. We’d put on our best bib and tucker to straighten up and fly right. Heavens to Betsy! Gee whilikers! Jumping Jehoshaphat! Holy moley! We were in like Flynn and living the life of Riley, and even a regular guy couldn’t accuse us of being a knucklehead, a nincom-

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

poop or a pill. Not for all the tea in China! Back in the olden days, life used to be swell, but when’s the last time anything was swell? Swell has gone the way of beehives, pageboys and the D.A.; of spats, knickers, fedoras, poodle skirts, saddle shoes and pedal pushers and Saddle Stitched Pants. Oh, my aching back! Kilroy was here, but he isn’t anymore. We wake up from what surely has been just a short nap, and before we can say, “Well, I’ll be ‘a monkey’s uncle!’” Or, This is a “fine kettle of fish!” We discover that the words we grew up with, the words that seemed omnipresent have vanished with scarcely a notice from our tongues and our pens and our keyboards. Long gone: “Pshaw, The milkman did it. Hey! It’s your nickel. Don’t forget to pull the chain. Knee high to a grasshopper. Well, Fiddlesticks! Going like sixty. I’ll see you in the funny papers. Don’t take any wooden nickels. Wake up and smell the roses.” It turns out there are more of these lost words and expressions than Carter has liver pills. We of a certain age have been blessed to live in changeable times. For a child each new word is like a shiny toy, a toy that has no age. We at the other end of the chronological arc have the advantage of remembering there are words that once did not exist and there were words that once strutted their hour upon the earthly stage and now are heard no more, except in our collective memory. It’s one of the greatest advantages of aging. Leaves us to wonder where Superman will find a phone booth. See ya later, alligator! Okey-dokey.

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%\ %RQQLH / 3KLOOLSV

usan had difficulty breathing when she reached the hilltop and saw her old friend standing alone amongst dead brush and a stump-strewn moonscape. Sunlight glinted off the crooked metal plaque erected next to the tree. Early this morning, like every other morning when Susan hiked with her walking stick in hand, and unlike every other morning, knowing it would be her last day at the assistedliving apartment, she took a cab to the nature reserve and spent two hours hiking through brambles and Scotch Broom. She knew it was time. It had been years since Susan’s health had allowed her to visit the tree she’d saved by living in the onehundred-plus-year-old Douglas fir canopy. She approached the old one, touched its limbs and felt its weak life-energy. The old woman cleared her throat. “They’ll be coming, you know,” Susan said to the ancient tree. She groaned when she shifted her arthritic hips and leaned against it. Pine needles fell around her. She shielded her eyes and looked up between the red-needled branches that reached out like the hands of a drowning person asking for help; they outnumbered the healthy limbs.

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

“Yes, it will be soon,” replied the last of the old growth trees in his deep raspy voice. “But we have lived beyond our expectations and during a time when people got involved. Some protested, others called their politicians, or, as you did, put their lives on the line for what they believed in. Nature mattered back then. The forests got a reprieve. I educated school children and reminded older generations of a time when the land was green and lush. And you were honored by many. Now our story is obsolete. We are forgotten. It was difficult being the last of my kind. I had to watch the chain saws kill off my family, one by one.” The old woman moved slowly to a small patch of green grass growing between the tree’s roots. Then she sat with care. She laid her head against the rough textured bark, looked up through the branches and smiled. “I seem to remember your not being all that enthusiastic when I first climbed up into your canopy,” Susan said with a chuckle. “And when I brought up platforms, supplies, and tents I felt the tension in your limbs. We ended up being a great team but if I remember correctly, in the beginning, you were not a willing partner.” The tree made a shushing sound with its branches. “True. I thought you’d come to chop me down with strange new tools.” They laughed. Susan chewed on a grass stem. “What was it forty, or was it fifty five years ago? I can’t remember. What I do remember is how much I learned from you during the 400 days we lived with one another, and kept the logging companies from culling you and the rest of the forest. Remember the spotted owl family that lived above my tent? You seemed quite amused when I got shat upon—and the squirrel that stole my food? The birds that lost their fear of me? How I treasured the view of the forested mountains and valleys from your uppermost branches.” The tree sighed.

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HOW TO GET YOUR STEPS IN %\ &KDG 2OVHQ

“

ou’re just going to have to get a little more exercise,” my doctor was saying to me as I was wondering if 3:00 p.m. is the start of happy hour here on the West Coast—it’s 5:00 p.m. in Ajijic, after all. I‘m here for my annual check-up—it’s a Kaiser HMO and they don’t know I live outside of their region. “You know walking is a good exercise for ‘people your age’,” my doctor continued. “Okay, doc, I’ll do that,” I answer back. I had read about the 10,000 stepsa-day fad thing, and decided that is what I will do. So I go out and buy a $10.00 pedometer and start the next day. If 10,000 steps are good, why not 12 or 13,000, I ask myself. A week later while on the golf course, I have severe pain in my left foot and ankle. It is like Paul Bunyon is driving spikes into my foot. We are returning to Mexico in a few days so I go to the Kaiser emergency clinic. This is

not to o be be concco o on nfused wi with with h a publicc EER; R I get R; g t ge mmetaken in iimmediately. ly. To make a long g story short, I have fractured two bones, s, one in my foot and one in my ankle and get placed in a “big g boot” for six weeks. eeks It’s betbet ter than a plaster cast, but the big boot is like walking with my two-year old grandson hanging on my leg, and it certainly didn’t help my golf game. Back in Ajijic, and after six weeks in my big boot, I start my step regimen again, but this time I’m going to be smarter! Remember the objective is steps, not distance or a cardio workout. Here is my advice as to how to get your steps in without hurting yourself. First of all, don’t take a 10,000-step walk. It is too much, almost two hours! Make your goal 8500. Remember how

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

your target exercise pulse rate goes down, as you get older? The same should sh hou apply to steps. At 75 years of age I figure 8500 year steps is more than enough. step And by the way, not only will you have walked about four miles you’ll have abou also burned an extra 500 calories. calo Here is how you can do H it. When flossing and brushing your teeth, don’t do just stand there admiring yourself iin the mirror, like the Evil queen in Cinderella saying, “Mirror, mirCinder ror on the wall... wall....” Walk! You can get 600 steps in while flossing and brushing (two and a half minutes each). About this ttime, put on some lively rock and roll or reggae music (that’s what I like and it has a great beat) and just move or dance around for about 5 minutes. You will get in another 700 steps. Now the hardest part, for gringos anyway, is to forget about being efficient! The goal is steps, not efficiency. For example, if you have two wine glasses to take from the bedroom to the kitchen (what are they doing in the bedroom anyway?) make two trips! It will give you twice the number of steps! Do this for 10 minutes picking

up around the house (remember, one thing at a time) and you will get in another 1200 steps—and your house won’t look like a tornado hit it. Okay, that’s 2500 steps before you even leave the house. Now for the balance of your 8500-step goal you need to recall, once again, that the goal is steps, not distance or time. Here are some ways to get the balance of your steps in: Who says you have to take long or even regular steps? I thought I took 36-inch steps, but find that it is really closer 30 inches. I corrected my pedometer and legitimately increased my step count by about 15%! I used to chuckle at guys shuffling along like a toddler chasing an ice cream truck. Now I know what they are doing, they’re getting their steps in by taking more steps than I used to take for the same distance. A ten-minute walk becomes at least 1200 steps, rather than 1000. The next time you head to Walmart, don’t try to snag the parking space closest to the door, park up by the auto parts store and get an extra 300 steps each way. And while you are in there shopping forget your normal aisle-byaisle efficiency—just wander around or take a lap or two before you start filling up your cart. Also, you can get more steps in the shortest amount of time if you simply walk faster. Quicker and shorter steps will mean you can reach your goal in just another 40 minutes, rather than the one hour and forty minutes it takes the average person to walk 10,000 steps. All right now, tomorrow get in 2500 steps before you leave the house. Then add another 5000 with a 40-minute walk taking quicker steps. When you have about 7500 steps, call it good. I know what you’re thinking, “He’s 1000 steps short of the 8500 goal!” Not to worry, you’ll get the balance of your steps just walking around the rest of the day and making cocktails. After all, it has to be 5:00 p.m. somewhere!

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COLUMNIST

BRIDGE BY THE LAKE %\ .HQ 0DVVRQ

The great thing about duplicate bridge is that it reduces the luck factor in the game. Every hand in match point games can be interesting and challenging as you are striving to score better than the other pairs holding the same cards. A low-level contract such as 1 no trump making 2 can be a great result for your side if all, or most, of the pairs sitting in your direction make a lower score. Similarly, if you

defeat a contract while others are letting it make, you will also do very well in the comparisons Notice I said duplicate “reduces” not “eliminates” luck. There is still a certain amount of good fortune needed to do well even at the duplicate version. Such was the case when the illustrated hand was played at The Lake Chapala Duplicate Bridge Club. South opened the bidding 1 spade, as

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

did surely every other player in the room in that seat and North responded 2 hearts, which in their system was forcing to at least game. South now showed her second suit, clubs, at the 3 level and North was faced with a quandary: to settle for the probable safe game of 3 no trump or to make an effort to explore at least a small slam? North was an aggressive player so he bid 4 clubs in the hope that this might spark his partner to climb to greater heights but to his disappointment all she could manage was 5 clubs. Now North was faced with his second predicament on the same hand: should he pass and risk a poor result because everyone else is in the higher-scoring 3 no trump, or should he take the plunge and hope his partner could bring home the slam? To his mind there really wasn’t much choice, so with little delay he bid the small slam. West took a few moments to ponder her opening lead and eventually hit upon a low trump. As North put the dummy down he could tell from his partner’s expression that she did not consider it a thing of beauty. Undaunted, however, she proceeded to play

the following tricks: she captured East’s club queen with the king, ruffed a spade in dummy, played a heart to the king, ruffed another spade in dummy, cashed the heart ace, ruffed a heart in hand, ruffed another spade in dummy, then another heart in hand and cashed her final trump, the ace, as both opponents followed. Nine tricks were in and now all that remained was to hope that the player with the last trump also had been dealt three diamonds and so it transpired and 6 clubs duly came home for a clear top board. And the decision to play in a small slam was justified by the confirmation following the game that had North-South stayed in 5 clubs and made 6, they would have had a very poor score as 3 no trump made 4 (or more!) at most other tables. So on this hand good luck was certainly on declarer’s side! Questions or comments: email: masson.ken@ gmail.com Ken Masson

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Not Now. Really? %\ 3DXO $OOHQ

ome people are conscientious enough in their selfawareness to deeply weigh issues and challenges. This guides their response. This is â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;good thinkinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; as long as the issue doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get thorny or time-sensitive. Other people are less alert and seem to avoid any challenge. They simply want to be occupied with less confrontational matters. Yet, what does a person do when faced with something unavoidable? This is when they want to wave some kind of wand of hope, yet thatÂ means making yourself vulnerable, and this involves risk. This is the time when we say that something is â&#x20AC;&#x153;put in the back of our minds.â&#x20AC;? Though this may not be scientifi-

cally accurate, it shows an inability to face facts. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re saying to ourselves, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Hope thisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll go away.â&#x20AC;? Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve had conversations with senior citizens and others who seem to be locked in to this line of thinking. An example might be when the doctor says that you have a serious or terminal illness. You can deal with the diagnosis or pretend that it is not seriously important. Really? Faced with this, is it really wise to say, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Not nowâ&#x20AC;?? More critical than this, we see the testimony of the cemetery with its headstones. When will anyone deal with this? Not now. Really? I had several opportunities of talking with a man in the hospital who was the father of a close friend. With a serious illness, I talked with him many times about his life and what he believed about the end of life. I urged him to settle his eternity now, but he always said, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Not now.â&#x20AC;? It was not long before he was in a coma, and then died. Not reckon with your eternal future? Really? We all have an eternal spirit, part of our Creator/Godâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s plan. Heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s had the first word, and He shall have the last. What happens when this body ceases to exist? Many say, â&#x20AC;&#x153;I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to think about it.â&#x20AC;? Really? No pretense. It wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t go away. God has the only victorious way for you. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Not nowâ&#x20AC;? gets you nowhere. No one can predict the last breath. All power and choice is gone.Â Why fight His matchless blessing?

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El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

Saw you in the Ojo 55

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In a two-seater Cessna chartered out of Ensenada, I was headed for the island of Cedros off Baja’s Pacific coast. A fishing boat was to ferry me further west to the uninhabited Islas San Benitos, bearing additional provisions for Bruno Vailati’s Rome-based documentary film company, awaiting migrating killer whales— orcas; legendary Ramon Bravo would film them free-diving. But I and my pilot, Vicente Cuevas, were in trouble. There was no landing on Cedros; the island was socked in, and the sun had set. After three unsuccessful passes at the runway, Vicente banked and dipped eastward, back towards the peninsula—in darkness; by now all light had drained from the sky and we were without benefit of moon. In as casual a tone as I could muster, I asked, “Back to Ensenada?” “No, no night landing in Ensenada,” he said. “No night lights there.” I pressed on hopefully. “But in an emergency, yes?” Vicente’s succinct response left me mute. “No sufficient fuel.” Cedros lies opposite Baja’s midriff, a scant distance across the water, but in 1972, in that wasteland of desert, there were no roads on which a small plane could land. Vicente volunteered, “Bahia Tortugas. Strip there. Workers fly out salt.” A saltern, I wondered? But how far away, and what about fuel? But I ceased speculation—and talk. My pilot needed no distraction, only a hand steady on the stick and focus on destination “Turtle Bay.” I never glanced at the fuel gauge, but fixed on the falling altimeter, my point of reference with reality. A cocoon of calm enveloped me—insulation against panic? Vicente, jaws clenched, was drenched in sweat. I wanted to help but felt helpless. I dug into my tote for treats bought at the last minute, unwrapped them mechanically and broke them into bits. “Chocolate,” I said. Vicente devoured it all. Time was a blur; we could have been flying hours or minutes. With altimeter approaching zero, our plane’s belly barely skimming the terrain below us, Vicente began circling and searching--and searching. And my attention shifted; I felt a compelling need to know the place where I might die—just that, nothing more. In the faint glimmer of our running lights—our only light in that dark night, stars lost in overcast—I looked out to shadowy forms of boulders strewn randomly over a forbidding landscape. Yet I was not beset with philosophical ruminations, or holy dread of imminent mortality. My life did not pass before my eyes in a single flash. With equanimity and in wonder, I realized I was without fear.

Then, suddenly, WHAM! From one moment to the next we hit—not tarmac, but a long disused straightaway of gravel and rubble. At what seemed ungodly speed we rocketed and hurtled, pitching and rolling, then slammed to a teethrattling halt miraculously not capsizing. Our plane barely at a standstill, Vicente was out like a shot, shouting at me to follow. My knees were buckling. “OUT,” Vicente shouted again; our convulsive landing had put us at high risk. I took one deep breath, slid down onto terra firma, upright, but unable to make out what I was seeing and hearing. Here in this wilderness a hundred souls had come to greet our imperiled flight, cheering and applauding. And everywhere there were lights. Still trying to take it all in, I was introduced to a gentleman grasping Vicente’s hands, then reaching for mine—the mayor of Bahia Tortugas, Antonio Robles. He and the inhabitants of this tiny hamlet—men and woman, children and ancianos—had come out in force with every imaginable light available, aligning themselves along a narrow dirt road that led to the strip. Having heard, then seen our plane searching in vain for the runway, they’d lit our way to safety with the headlights of ancient pickup trucks, jalopies and bicycles, and on foot with flashlights, lanterns and even sheltered candles. The memory of this sight and my gratitude to a village that saved two lives never ceases to move me profoundly. Vicente and I next found ourselves in a warm, inviting room, sitting around a table with Antonio, his two sons and his wife, Rosi, whose enormous bowls of steaming fish soup were as fine as any bouillabaisse ever put spoon to. Our hosts’ concern for our well being was palpable, and they were keenly interested in the work that had brought me, initially, all the way from Rome, to these far-flung parts. After our supper Vicente and I were led to the primitive hostel that had lodged the salt workers in their day, my room with cot, chair, and sink, a shared lavatory down a narrow passageway. Rosi had brought us linens and blankets, but left me with a momentito, to return with a pillow. She patted it gently in place, then enfolded me in an abrazo that I treasure to this day. I felt as cosseted as a child—lost, then found by a loving mama, embraced by goodness at every turn. I stretched out, tensed muscles relaxing, senses heightened. I was alive and flooded with joy. I savored every breath I took. My love for the people of Baja Tortugas overflowed into an expansive love for all souls everywhere. I marveled that in the moments before our rescue I had found in me stoicism I’d never known existed. I felt invincible. And serene. Beyond the single window of my little room I saw that the stars had come out…. At first light I stripped and gave myself a cold water sponge off—not the Hilton but where I was meant to be. Vicente’s room was empty, his bedding neatly folded at the foot of his cot. I set out to find him, but now an eager young man posted nearby approached. “Vicente is with plane, checking. Everything good,” he told me, smiling. “You take breakfast now.” And breakfast too! But where? I hadn’t long to wait. Women were emerging from their houses, gathering together and murmuring importantly amongst themselves. Hearing café, leche and Americana, I concluded that all were in agreement that Americans took milk in their coffee. An anciana who had the milk took me by the hand to a patch by her front door and offered me a chair at a small table. She and a younger woman, her daughter, bustled back and forth, laid down cloth and napkins and what was clearly their prized tableware. A little boy peeped out from behind a curtain inside, perhaps puzzled how it was that this pale, blue-eyed stranger who arrived in the night in an airplane was taking breakfast in his garden. Thus, congenially, we sat together, grandmother, daughter and I, the two of them chattering away but including me in their talk. I understood only the occasional word, but smiles were enough. My café leche and bolillos warm from the oven were wonderful. Passersby waved to me, gentlemen, young and old tipped their caps. Then, my messenger reappeared. “Come,” he called out from the end of the road, smiling even more broadly than before. “Now we putting fuel.” So many smiles, such kindness. The salt air was cool and crisp, the sky cerulean. It was a perfect day for flying. THE END

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

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IANA!! I can really see Diana?” I shouted with joy. I was standing in line in Leicester Square at the halfprice/day-of- show ticket booth. The Royal Australian Ballet Company was performing one of my favorite ballets, Giselle. My husband had no interest in attending, and decided to spend the evening in the Sherlock Holmes Pub near the theater. I knew I could get a really good single seat and had decided to go by myself. As I approached the cashier’s window I saw a small sign taped to the window saying, “Her Royal Highness, The Princess of Wales, will be attending tonight’s performance.” I was so excited I didn’t even care if people were giving me strange looks. I was

going to see Princess Diana! Clutching my ticket I made my way back to the hotel, thinking, “Oh, my gosh, what shall I wear?” I had never met a real live princess before! We were in London on a concert tour and

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

I had packed my long black skirt, fancy white blouse and black jacket, which I wore for performances. I decided this would have to suffice. But my hair! What was I going to do about my hair? I raced down to the concierge at the hotel and asked if he could possibly find me a hairdresser for that afternoon. He made a call and voila, I had an appointment in one hour at JeanPierre’s salon just around the corner from the hotel. I arrived at the salon and was instantly greeted by the owner/stylist, Jean-Pierre. He pranced over, fingered my hair and said, “Madame, eees thees a special occasion?” “Oh, yes,” I told him. “I am going to the ballet.” “Mon Dieu – zee ballet? Weeth the PrinCESS?” “Oui” I told him, which was the only French word I knew. “JeanPierre will make you look mahvalous, dahling,” he told me and proceeded to work his magic. I was a bit skeptical, but he curled and styled and teased my hair and when he finished he handed me a mirror and stepped back. “Eees fantastic, no?” he asked me. Oh how I wish I had thought to have my picture taken. It was the most beautiful hairdo I have ever had. I felt like a princess myself, ready to go to the ball. Our taxi arrived and whisked us off to Covent Garden. People were milling around the entrance to the Royal Opera House, and I hurried in to find my seat. Fifth row center – a terrific seat. But I was much more interested in seeing Princess Diana than the ballet. People began taking their seats, and the lights dimmed. Still I had not seen the Princess. The air crackled with suppressed excitement and anticipation. Suddenly everyone stood up. I had no idea what was going on, but I got to my feet just as everyone turned around. There on the upper level, almost exactly behind my seat, I saw the door open and there she was! She was absolutely stunning, in a beautiful blue gown, with a diamond tiara sparkling in her hair. She was fol-

lowed by four of her “ladies in waiting” and made her way to her seat. Everyone remained standing until she was seated, and then the performance could begin. I barely remember the ballet, although I’m sure it was wonderful. But all I could think about was that I was in the very same room with Princess Diana. I must confess I did sneak a few quick glances at her with my opera glasses. I have always been fascinated by the British Royal Family, and especially with Princess Diana. Prince Charles was nowhere to be seen, but this was not surprising, as the rumors had already begun to circulate about “trouble in paradise.” The house lights came up for the interval, but no one moved. I realized that we must first wait for the Princess to leave before we were allowed to stand. She stood and left her box and then the rest of the audience went for their champagne or gin and tonics. The chimes rang, and we all hurried back to our seats, remaining standing until Princess Diana returned to her seat. When the ballet was over, the curtain calls finished and the prima ballerina had received her bouquets it was time to repeat the protocol for leaving. We all remained in our seats, but I turned to look at the Princess one last time. She stood and began to leave, but stopped, turned around, and gave the “royal wave” and a big smile to all of us. I swear to this day that she was looking directly at me! When people ask me what are some of my fondest memories, I always tell them that attending the ballet with Princess Di is towards the top of my list! She was very gracious and beautiful, exactly what you would expect of the People’s Princess. Kathy Koches

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he first ph p pho phootos taken ak ken n of the earth arrth h from outer space pace would seem to have h diminished man’s sense s of importance. Earthsrtthssky News recentlyy published a photo o taken of the earth h by the Voyager I spacecraft from 3.7 billion miles out in the solar system. I struggled to even locate our island home, a tiny blue/ green dot lost in a sea of nothingness. Voyager I is now 11 billion miles away, a distance from which the earth cannot be seen at all. I have never been able to wrap my mind around the concept of either an infinite or a finite universe, the latter presumption leaving unanswered the question of what would lie beyond a limited cosmos. It is a given, though, that our earth, that all we are or ever have been, that the entire human story, the story of our planet itself, equals only a miniscule grain of dust, so insignificant as to practically not exist at all. Neither can I comprehend the phenomenon of time. Time does not exist for some cultures, like the Hopi people of northern Arizona, but if we accept it as reality, then it extends forward and backward into all eternity. Our lives, the life of our entire solar system, perhaps of all that has ever existed or ever will exist may then amount to less than the blink of an eye. The temptation to throw up one’s hands in despair at such realities is a huge one for many, to conclude as Shakespeare’s MacBeth does: Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. In his wilderness memoir Deep

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

Woods, Wild W ood dss,, W ilild Waters, Douglas Dougla as Wood desscribes cribes the panicked rresponse esponse to this reality as existential dread, it a fear of being alone, insignificant, lost, aadrift ad rift in an indifferent universe. u un iverse. On a starry night many years ago, I stood t d alone l on a bluff in a northern wilderness, as the waves of an inland sea turned to silver and Jupiter cast a ray of light across the watery reaches, and repeated the age old question posed by the Psalmist, “What a thing is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou dost care for him?” No celestial response reverberated among the cedars and hemlocks in response to my query, but I experienced a strange sort of peace by simply asking the question. The star spangled vastness inspired not dread but a sense of awe and, strange as it may seem, thankfulness. When I was very young, two or three years old, I would lie on the grass and wonder at the blue skies of summer overhead, imagining them to be a sort of thin ceiling, pondering what might lie beyond it. Mine was a small boy’s world, finite and secure, a comfort zone tucked away from the ravages of World War II, ongoing at the time. My grandfather, a small subsistence farmer with only the rudiments of formal education, imagined our world to be flat, because the Bible speaks of the four corners of the earth. My father’s generation saw their universe expand to include human footsteps on the moon and unmanned vehicles exploring the Martian landscape. My generation’s cosmos extends forever into time and space. What is the meaning of man’s existence, suspended as he is on his dust mite somewhere among infinite wastes? Do his efforts have any import at all, or, as the ancient writer known only as Qoheleth says, are they all van-

ity and a chasing after wind? That is the essential question. Qoheleth says in so many words that meaning cannot be ascertained through reason but that life is worth living anyhow, that one should accept reality, what good things come to him, and enjoy his time here. One can seek to flee from reality through religion, but, as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks tells us, the Abrahamic faiths—Judaism, Christianity, Islam— while sometimes serving as opiates, are more often vehicles of protest, of one shaking one’s fist at heaven and asking, as some old folks in Chaim Potok’s novels do, “Master of the Universe, what can you be thinking?” There will be those who conclude that there is no meaning, that what is simply is, and that is that. All that is or was or ever will be is a consequence of a gigantic cosmic accident, a miniscule burp within incomprehensible infinity. If good and evil exist and if evil is made manifest through cruelty and injustice, then it would seem that we are compelled to stand in opposition to such dark forces. To the extent that we practice kindness, generosity, justice, we contribute to the moral edification of the universe of which we are a part. To the extent that we do not,

we contribute to the contamination of that whole. Dr. Loren Eiseley’s essay “The Star Thrower,” from his book The Unexpected Universe, has been retold in various forms many times over the years. Eiseley was walking a tropical beach when he observed groups of people picking up stranded shellfish and boiling them alive in order to add the shells to their collections. Some distance away he observed, in stark contrast, a lone man methodically flinging beached starfish back into their watery homes. When asked about this activity, the man answered that he only collected “the living”. What difference could the kindly Star Thrower’s actions make on a beach covered with stranded starfish, where acts of cruelty were taking place all around him at the same time. According to one version of the story, The Star Thrower responded, as he prepared to return yet another specimen to the sea, “It matters to this one.” Perhaps man’s ethical decisions have larger consequences than his minute state of physical being within the cosmos would seem to imply. Everything we do or fail to do matters to someone. Whether the sufferer is a stranded starfish, a wild elephant pursued by a poacher, or a fellow human victimized by illness or persecution,

neutrality is not an option. I leave it to greater minds, such as the recently departed Stephen Hawking, to explain the mechanisms of the universe. One errs when one turns to religion—any religion—for scientific explanations. Neither can science provide answers tothe eternal question, “What is the meaning of it all?” Dr. Lorin Swinehart

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“

luck, cluck, cluuuuck!” The chicken’s stress mirrored my own. I could hear her while in the RV’s bathroom as she chose to nest under the black tank for warmth. I can’t blame her, if I was a loose chicken I would look for the warm spot to battle the Texas winter too. When I returned the egg crates to the next-door neighbor, he scoffed, “There are no eggs. It’s too cold for them to be laying.” I didn’t mind. I still threw my vegetable scraps out the door to them while they scratched in my yard for grubs. When my husband pulled our RV out of the yard a few days later, we learned why the little chicken sounded so stressed that morning. She laid a nest of eggs right under the black tank and there was one exceptionally large egg in the nest. These chickens remind me of the

expats here in Mexico. Some learned to find warmth and continue producing despite harsh conditions. Others, having reached the autumn of their lives are no longer producing but still have enough weight to last through the winter. It is the third group of chickens that concern me. These birds don’t have the weight to carry them through the winter and the ground is too hard, so they don’t know where the next grub will be found. I traveled to town for the Lake Chapala Writer’s Conference in March. I

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

arrived on Wednesday and realized I forgot a few key items. Knowing it would be hard to find things in my size, headed to Walmart hopI he ing for the best. As predicted I could not find what I needed no and had to improvise. an The men’s department Th had socks that could work, and no one would work ever know the difference. now you know. Except n After getting everything Aft together, I headed to the togeth ccheckout ch ecko line. Three gringas stood in line and one gringo me. Each of the ladies byfell in behind me passed of hotdogs that were d a package k left at the end of the conveyor belt, just enough of the package left on the stationary part to keep from sliding along with everything else. I must admit, I did not pay the nitrate laden meats much attention either. I was concerned with getting back to my hotel room and preparing for the opening reception. The gentleman behind me asked if the hot dogs were mine, which I answered in the negative. He was distressed these packages were left behind and would get warm. I was becoming distressed too as his attitude was a bit gruff. He grabbed the hotdogs and reached past me to put them beside the register. He commented the hot dogs should not be wasted. I said he did a good thing and turned back to the register, perhaps a little too indifferent towards his concern. By this time two gringas had moved through and the last one was trying to pay for her groceries. Her card was declined. The clerk tried three times, all three times the card was declined. The gringa was clearly distress. I glanced at her items, mostly food. She asked the clerk to try one more card, and it was declined, too. Defeated she turned away. The look on her face showed herd is tress

ran deeper than the embarrassment of having her cards declined. I called her back and paid for the groceries, a little over 600 pesos. “How will I ever pay you back?” she asked in disbelief. “You won’t pay it forward to the next person in need when you are able.” “I meant to go to the bank on the way here, but thought it would be okay. I should have gone to the bank,” this time she spoke without her eyes meeting mine. “Don’t worry,” I said, “It has happened to all of us.” She left with hope and a little food. What would happen to this lady if she didn’t have help in her moment of need? How many retirees are having a hard time scraping enough money together for food each month? I began to understand the gringo’s concern with saving the hot dogs. Food should not go to waste when there are people who are hungry. As I meet more expats, I am again reminded of the neighbor’s chickens. Many are here because the season of life where eggs are abundant has ended. It is the time when resources are limited, grubs are scarce. When I chat with expats the conversation usually turns to why Mexico? The typical answer is, “I cannot afford to live in the US or Canada anymore. My pension does not cover my expenses.” This is also true for many expats who live here full time. The money just does not cover all the expenses, even in Mexico. I sometimes lose sight of the fact that pensions are much smaller than what is needed to live comfortably. I reached out to several charities lakeside and found no mission in place to feed expat seniors. That is not to say no one is helping. Carol Curtis, President of Operation Feed in San Juan Cosala told me she witnessed a restaurant giving extra food to a man in need. He did not have enough money to pay for the meal he ordered. Instead of turning him away, the servers said they forgot to put something in his takeout and scooped more food into the containers. When I approached Indian Curry, located at Plaza Centro Laguna, about this story the servers confirmed this is a regular occurrence. Shockingly, one man said 20-30% of their customers do not have enough money to buy food but they are never turned away. As I continue reaching out to those who can help, a small group of people are coming together to serve expat seniors in need. If you are interested in helping, know someone who needs help, or are in needy ourself, please email me at writeranarasgo@gmail. com.

Saw you in the Ojo 63

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nly an exceptional screenwriter, one who wrote, directed, and coproduced a major Hollywood motion picture, could take that movie and more than twenty years later turn it into a thought-provoking novel. That writer/director happens to be Alejandro Grattan-Dominguez, editor of El Ojo Del Lago for the past 23 years. Hitting a low point in his Hollywood career, Alejandro had the idea for a fresh movie script while spending homeless nights in a barber’s chair at a friend’s shop. Having no paper with him, he began to scribble the story on the back of a political flyer—and that was the birth of Only Once in a Lifetime. The screenplay centered on cultural snares that Mexican immigrants face when trying to assimilate into the American fabric and a humorous look at the human response to tragedy and despair. After a year of writing, a string of production and casting disasters, followed by improbable miracles, Grattan provided the movie industry with the first full-length film depicting the Mexican-American experience and the first American-made film that featured a nearly-all Hispanic cast and crew. However, for all the parameters to come together at the precise time to bring this movie from premise to production to premiere could really happen ‘only once in a lifetime.’ At its national debut in Texas, the film received “thunderous applause and a standing ovation” according to San Antonio’s Express News. The Los Angeles Times called it “Remarkable . . . something new in American movies.” The Hollywood Reporter said … “It transcends ethnic concerns to embrace universal dilemmas.” No more barbershop chairs for GrattanDominguez. He now had an executive office and public acclaim. Standing ovations also followed screenings at the Motion Picture Academy Theater in Beverly Hills and most importantly at the premier at the Kennedy Center Honors Ceremony in Washington, D.C. Due to the film’s acclaim, it was selected to be among three films to represent

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

the United States at France’s prestigious Deauville Film Festival. Much more recently, a fund-raiser showing of the film at Cinemas del Lago in Ajijic benefited the local children’s program, Los Niños Incapacitados. So what propelled GrattanDominguez to dust off the characters in his movie and give them new life on the pages of a novel? What in his past nagged at him to explore the challenges Mexican immigrants to the US encounter and the difficulties that confront the human spirit? What encouraged him to do the reverse of the expected in Hollywood; to enhance his original script into a novel, instead of the customary journey of a book’s adaptation into a screenplay? I sat down with him to uncover some answers between the pages. After moving to Ajijic, Mexico in 1987, Alejandro often reflected on the relevancy of the original movie plot. The culture of his adopted homeland and his own background of an Irish father and a Mexican mother encouraged him to expand the story. To enrich character development, the book’s author added a detailed look into the early life of “Francisco Obregon,” the story’s protagonist. The tale now begins in Ajijic, Mexico in early 1940, where a visiting Hollywood screenwriter and his wife become enamored with the antics of a 10-year-old street urchin. The homeless boy displays an artistic ability to draw sketches and a mesmerizing innocence. “Adrian Grant” and his wife eventually formulate a plan to

become benefactors for the lad. Grattan reminisced about just such a waif whom he had metat Rosarita Beach in Ensenada, Mexico. “I remembered that Mexican boy and decided to use him as a model for the boy that my movie character might have been.” When writing the book, he wrote a composite of actual interactions with this charming kid to help the reader understand the inner character of “Francisco.” The book and the movie start to parallel when “Francisco,” as a young adult, artist and his beloved bride head to Los Angeles, a dream “Adrian Grant” always had for the boy. As the story progresses, Francisco’s life in the US collapses because of several personal tragedies. His paintings begin to reflect despair and melancholy. He struggles through the realities of US bureaucratic quagmires. Finally, he questions the very meaning and worth of his life. Then, an amazing turn of events brings the reader directly into Francisco’s chaos. The book is a page-turner to the very last page. There’s also another touching aspect: pet lovers beware—you will be hooked. Having read all seven novels written by Grattan-Dominguez, hints about the his background, family,

fascinating experiences, love of animals and his wild ride through the American film industry are woven into the pages of each story. Only Once in a Lifetime is no exception. The movie itself can be seen, along with another Grattan film, No Return Address, on Turner Classic Movies. The novel Only Once in a Lifetime is now available on Amazon. com, paperback $7.95 or Kindle version, $4.11. Carol L. Bowman

Saw you in the Ojo 65

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he title to this article has caught your attention, has it? Hugh Hefner, an American erotic magazine publisher, once said, “Sex Sells,” and the Mexicans use it in abundance for advertising here. When walking into a liquor store near the Centro on a weekend, you will see young women dressed in tight uniforms holding platters with several different samples of tequila, vodka, or rum. The employment ad for this position in the local paper reads, “Help wanted. Must be female, between eighteen and twenty-three years old, thin, and attractive with no children.” You will never see that type of ad in the California papers for fear of legal retribution. These young, pretty women are everywhere; in grocery stores serving little samples of cheeses and meats. In the mall kiosks selling cell phones or hair curlers. Enticing customers to come in at the entrance to a fine restaurant. Applying makeup on each other while selling cosmetics in a department store. All dressed in tiny outfits and tall heels. They don’t need to know much about whatever they’re selling, they just have to look the part. I noticed that the department stores also hire gay men to sell cosmetics and hair products as well…..I wonder how that ad goes. *** I had never been to a sex-themed motel before, but I know they exist in the United States. My husband and I

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

accidentally came across one in Mexico on our road trip here. It was close to dusk and we had been on the road since dawn. We were both very tired, so we turned in at the first hotel we came across. It was nicely landscaped and had beautiful, tall adobe arches at the entrance under which a guardhouse sat. We asked the guard what the price was for one night. He informed us that for twelve hours it would cost $195 pesos, around $15.00 US. I thought it was somewhat strange to rent on a twelve-hour basis, but the price was very reasonable. We had a large load on top of and inside the car, so we were glad to see that included in the price was a lockable garage. We walked up the stairs and into a spacious, clean room. As I looked around, I realized why these rooms rented half-day at a time. It included a king-sized bed with a large mirror on the ceiling above it, a sitting/viewing area with two couches, one facing the bed and the other facing the stripper’s pole which stood very prominently on one end of the room next to the wash basin. On the nightstand, in a glued down ashtray, were complimentary mints and condoms. There was a phone and an industrial sized tissue dispenser on the wall next to the bed. Next to the door was a rotating wall butler where refreshments could be served without disturbing the occupants. The little television that sat on a rack facing the bed, we found out, played nothing but hard-core pornography in HD. We dropped our bags, looked at each other, and began laughing hysterically. If we were not so tired from driving all day, this might have been fun! Hmmm. Although, I was not so sure about that copper stripper’s pole….it looked pretty dang flimsy. Both of us collapsed into bed, turned off the porn, and watched ourselves fall asleep in the mirror. Teri Saya

THE IRISH SOLDIERS OF MEXICO %\ 'U 0LFKDHO +RJDQ 5HYLHZHG E\ -LP 7XFN

t long last—a book that treats the tragic story of Irish soldiers who deserted to the enemy during the MexicanAmerican War as neither hagiographic soap opera (brave Catholic soldiers aiding an embattled Catholic nation) nor a Manifest Destiny morality play (traitors getting their just desserts). Forming what they called the Battalon de San Patricio (St. Patrick’s Battalion), these 260 men became popularly known as San Patricios. What author Michael Hogan brings to this embarrassing episode in our history is scholarship. This is hardly surprising. Hogan is the author of eight books, one of them the, highly-regarded Making Your Own Rules. A member of the Organization of American Historians, he is also a consultant to the Advanced Placement Program of the College Board. Currently based in Mexico, he heads the Department of letters and Humanities at Guadalajara’s American School. What initially impressed me was the depth of Hogan’s research. Though this is not an overly long work (less than 250 pages), the author has not only consulted every book written on the subject but also manuscripts, papers, documents, monographs, newspapers and both primary and secondary accounts by participants and contemporaries. Much of the research material is in Spanish, which constitutes no problem for the bilingual author. Hogan never permits his own IrishCatholic heritage to stand in the way of scrupulous objectivity. He understands how the Irish soldiers—so discriminated against in the Army that they were not even allowed to have Catholic chaplains—would go over to an “enemy” with whom they shared a common faith. At the same time, he also sees how a trend from regionalism to federalism would be the perfect tinder for a doctrine as arrogantly chauvinistic as Manifest Destiny, the belief in continuing territorial expansion, especially at the expense of people whose skins were darker and whose religious views differed from Anglo-Protestantism. As people stopped thinking of themselves as Virginians or New Yorkers and begin acquiring an identity as Americans, what better way to demonstrate their nascent Americanism than to extend it as far and as forcibly as they could.

But those inclined toward condemning the San Patricios should bear in mind that the Mexican War was, with the possible exception of the Vietnam conflict, the most unpopular in U.S. history. Hogan’s list of prominent contemporary peaceniks reads like a gallery of distinguished Americans. Thoreau went to jail rather than pay taxes to support the war, Lincoln denounced it in Congress. John Greenleaf Whittier and James Russell Lowell wrote poems against it, and Ulysses S. Grant, who served in Mexico, describes the conflict as “the most unjust war ever waged by a stron-

ger against a weaker nation.” Whether your inclination is historical or cultural, this is one book on Mexico you won’t want to miss. (Ed. Note: Because this exceptional book is now on Kindle, we decided to republish our review which originally came out several years ago. The Kindle and Createspace versions contain new information both on John Riley’s death and updates on research, related novels, films and commemorations. ) http://www.amazon.com/IrishSoldiers-Mexico-Michael-Hogan/ dp/1463502451/ref=tmm_pap_title_0? ie=UTF8&qid=1418841964&sr=1-1

As for the anti-Catholicism, that was pretty much an accident of chronology. In colonial times, the Puritans persecuted Quakers like William Penn and Dissenters like Roger Williams. In the 1840s, when the Mexican War took place, there was a massive wave of Catholic immigration and Protestants banded together to persecute Catholics. Later, Catholics would unite with Protestants to bash Jews. In the future—who knows? JudeoChristians may well form a united front against Muslims or Buddhists. We hear much talk these days about what I would call the “Vichy Syndrome,” describing people who serve an oppressor as auxiliaries against their own kind. Edward Said refers to Arafat’s Palestinian Authority as the “Vichy Palestinians”; leaders of a Kanaka separatist movement call native Hawaiians who serve in the state legislature “Vichy Hawaiians.” One of Hogan’s most fascinating profiles of a “Vichyite” in the Mexican War has nothing to do with the Irish soldiers who went over to the Mexican side. Instead, it focuses on the repellent figure of Lt. Col. (later General) William S. Harney, an Irish-Catholic officer in the U.S. Army who became notorious for his sadistic treatment of captured San Patricios. As a Catholic in an anti-Catholic army, Harney felt he had to be more royalist than the King and, so to speak, more Catholic than the Pope in demonstrating his loyalty. Brutal, incompetent and lustful, Harney had been frequently charged with disobeying orders and of sexually abusing Indian women during the Black Hawk War and then hanging them the next day. As a group of San Patricios was waiting to be executed, Harney knocked out the teeth of one man who had taunted him. Yet he was politically well-connected and ended his career a general.

Saw you in the Ojo 67

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n August 6th 1862, a young man enlisted in the Union Army in Belvidere Illinois. He was short for a soldier, only 5ft 3in, but his size did not hold him back; he served with great bravery, witnessed by his fellow soldiers, and he signed on for three years of service which he endured without injury. His name was Albert Cashier: but, unbeknownst to his comrades, Albert Cashier held a secret, a secret that would not be revealed until decades later. Nineteen years before this date, Jennie Hodges was born in Clogherhead County Louth, Ireland, and at age 16, she took a boat to Liverpool and then she travelled to New York, as a stowaway. Illiterate, and without any family, alone, her prospects were slim. She undertook menial work in farming before moving to Belvidere. There she made the decision that would forever change her life: after President Lincoln’s call for soldiers she decided to pose as a man and enlist in the 95th Illinois Volunteer Infantry. And so, from August 6th, 1862, Jennie Hodges would be known as Albert Cashiers: she signed her enrollment form with an ‘X’ and she signed on for three years. Medical examination was cursory; recruits only had to show their teeth, hands and feet. In time Cashiers was well liked; he (we shall refer to him as ‘he’ for now), never shirked in all the skirmishes and his regiment, a part of the Tennessee Army under Ulysses S. Grant fought in over forty battles, including the siege of Vicksburg. All during this time his identity was never revealed: at times his comrades joked about his lack of facial hair, and his habit of keeping his uniform buttoned up to his neck (Cashier wanted to hide his absent Adam’s apple), but his bravery in the field would tend to seal his masculinity. His preference for privacy for bathing and sleeping were not seen as something odd- it was simply accepted. Incredibly, after three years Cashiers survived the war and on August 17th 1865, he was mustered out. He decided to continue living as a man: this was practical in terms of employment opportunities, and furthermore, he would be eligible for a military pension. And so, he settled in the town of Saune-

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

men, near Pontiac, and worked for the Chesbro family as a general handyman. He worked hard, and his congeniality, though reserved in nature, earned him respect in that tiny community. His employers built him a small wooden one room house nearby their family home, where he would live and work as a janitor, cemetery worker and street lamplighter. In 1911, Cashier was hit by a car driven by his employer and was admitted to the nearest hospital where the physician who attended made the discovery of her sex. A discussion ensued with the Chesbros and it was decided the matter would not be disclosed. After this incident physical work would be a challenge and Cashier was transferred to the Soldier’s Hospital in Quincy, Illinois. Again, the identity was revealed but the staff decided to keep the secret. In 1914, Cashier’s health deteriorated, her mental state was worsening and she was admitted to the Watertown State Hospital for the insane. Here her secret was finally out: the staff would make her wear women’s clothing after fifty years. The revelation was published, the headlines were sensational, and many of Cashier’s fellow soldiers came to visit her. One said of her “I am so saddened . . . I left Cashier a fearless boy of 22, and at Watertown I found a frail old woman of 70, broken, because she was compelled to put on skirts.” On October 10th1915, Jennie Hodges, who had masqueraded as a man for 50 years passed away. She was buried with full military honors and today there is a second gravestone alongside the original that reads ALBERT D. CASHIER. COG 95 CIVIL WAR. BORN JENNIE HODGES in GLOGHERHEAD IRELAND 1843-1915. She lies buried in the Chesbro family plot. Today, the sleepy town of Saunemin still remembers its strange inhabitant from years before, with mixed feelings, where Cashiers small wooden house has been restored as a museum. Robert James Taylor

THREE SCORE.... And More e %\ (G 7DVFD

ust about every retiree here in Ajijic knows what it’s like to hit sixty. It’s the milestone. And it’s like walking into that milestone. It hurts. For some, it feels like the first gentle transformative step into the hereafter. And so every time they get heartburn, it’s a Cruz Roja call. For others, it’s a time of celebration for having made it so far. When I was a kid as soon as somebody reached 60, we started praying for them. Not to stay healthy. To go to Heaven. I covered 34 aunts and uncles in my night prayers. It’s probably why I’m an insomniac today. Yet others see it as a time of freedom: 3 score. Looking forward to more “scores” to come. Something you might hear on any weekend at the Hefner mansion. Today, we all know 60 is the new 40. Unfortunately, that could mean another mid-life crisis. Somehow, you can’t win. Yes, aging plays tricks on you, a slow shape-shifting and clumsiness that belies one’s self image. Sixty years ago, 60 was very different from today. 60 meant your pants were belted just under your armpits. Teeth soaked in a glass all night. You watched Lawrence Welk, napped and exercised at the same time – in your rocking chair. Family would talk about you in the third person: Did he have a hat? Should I button up his sweater? Does he have his Geritol? That’s how I remember 60, 60 years ago. But I’ve concluded one thing for sure about age: we’re really all the same people today that we were at six years old. The difference is that the world just treats us all differently at age six and at age sixty. For men, for example: When you were six, you pretended to be Superman. At 60, women pretend you’re Superman. When you were six, you might have had an imaginary friend. At 60, on Facebook, you have a hundred imaginary friends. At six, you might have given your bus seat to a 60-year-old woman. At 60, a 60-year-old woman would have to headbutt you for that seat. At six, there was that “you show me yours,” viva la difference stuff. At 60, same thing, but you’re talking liposuction scars. At six, you went to bed with books like 101 Dalmations. At 60, after a few drinks, you’d go to bed with Cruella De Ville. At six, the opposite gender was the enemy. At 60, nothing has changed.

For those who haven’t reached 60 yet, let me say, don’t despair. Sixty has its advantages. Women dig it when you tell them you were a Green Beret, for example. Whether you were one or not doesn’t matter. Works for any guy, all you need is a scar from falling off your bike. And men think women at 60 are capable of playing every possible female role all at once: the sexually astute mistress, the loving and wise companion, and best of all, mama in surrogate. You just have to play your cards right (including credit cards). And then there is all the discounts you get. I think the discounts are a hint that late baby-boomers could wind up living to be 90 to 100 years old or more. And penniless. Medical science, being what it is, has made some important strides toward providing us with greater longevity without having the common courtesy of asking us if we could afford it. So what do we get: twenty, thirty more years and 5% discounts on denture cream. Things always have a way of working out. So it looks like at 60, we should all feel pretty positive that our time isn’t up and that there’s still a way to go. After all, it wasn’t that long ago when our stooped, asthmatic Victorian forbearers seldom lived past age 40. (And who could blame them?) And what about Australopithecus? If he made it to 23, the pandemonium on the savannah would go on for weeks. But try telling him he still has another 80 years of chasing mammoths around, and he’d get a heart arrhythmia just thinking about it. Yes, of course, we’re all on meds, but I want to sum up by being positive: youth really isn’t wasted on the young. Would you ever want to go back to four years of high-school gym classes? Ed Tasca

Saw you in the Ojo 69

The Ojo Crossword

THE TIME TO BE GOOD U RZ Q %\ -XG\ '\NVWUD %URZQ

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ACROSS 1 Musical Composition 6 Speak indistinctly 10 Dial 14 Raise one´s shoulders 15 Tropical edible root 16 Ca. University 17 Hog´s nickname 18 Telephone sound 19 Stretched 20 North northeast 21 Unskilled worker 23 Remains 25 A spinning toy (2 wds.) 26 Queasy 27 Little boy in cartoons 30 Background 34 1997 Madonna movie 35 Primary color 36 Yea 38 Former Russian ruler 39 Hearing part 40 Mediterranean island 42 Lodge 43 Car rental agency 44 Pull_(sweaters) 45 Words of similar meaning 48 Odors 49 Munch 50 Ferment 51 Mexican deep fried food 54 Motor vehicle

55 Beg 58 Den 59 Greeting memo 61 In style 63 unmake 64 As previously cited 65 Type of wood 66 Paradise 67 Cart for hauling heavy things 68 What a phone does DOWN 1 Sports channel 2 Slim 3 Goad 4 Made a hole 5 Of Egypt 6 Razor sharpener 7 Set down 8 Vase 9 Hair growing formula 10 Unsuccessful 11 Academy (abbr.) 12 Hint 13 Dines 22 Aurora 24 Sandwich 25 Opposed 27 Cafe 28 Levels 29 Fool 5HTXHVW 31 Belongs to us 32 Woody part of plants 6PDOO EULJKW ¿VK 35 Large group 37 Back talk 40 Furthermore $ႈUP 43 Medicine type 46 Nerve cell 47 Cereal 48 Artist´s creation 50 Chum 51 Smoke duct 52 Acres 0LOLWDU\ RႈFHU 54 Opera solo 55 Competition at the Greek game 56 Made music vocally 57 Lock openers 60 Abridged (abbr.) 62 Kimono sash

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

he” is the most frequently used word in the English language and each of the e e other words in my title is the most common word in the Engnglish language for its part of speech. pee eech ch.. This is no surprise for the word ord d “the. “The” creates specificity. It helps elps lps up to define and narrow the field. It wins us precisely what we want. Ours is an era of so many choices—a plethora of brands of everything from potato chips to lipstick. Don’t even get me started on coffee. Starbucks alone maintains that it offers 87,000 combinations of coffee choices! Reason enough to need a bit of “the” in our vocabulary. Plain coffee Americano decaf with soy milk and stevia? That is “the” choice I make every time. “To” is indicative, I think, of our modern need to be elsewhere. A Ted Talk that I recently viewed showed a video that depicted all of the airplane flights occurring simultaneously, then all of the ships en-route. If it had tried to depict commuter traffic, I’m not so sure that much of the U.S. would have been lit up, rendering any distinction between vehicles or routes to be impossible to make out. We drive to work, to play, to school, to recreational facilities. Then on the weekends we drive elsewhere to “escape,” but in doing so, are trapped in more traffic. In airports, we watch people coming off a plane to come “to” where we are as we await the opportunity to board the same plane to go “to” where they just came from. We are almost constantly going “to.” I was surprised that “time” is the most commonly used noun in the English language, mainly because, with all of our labor saving devices, somehow we have less time rather than more. If someone disagrees, please, please inform me of how you have managed this. I no longer even have time to read unless I listen to an audiobook and combine my reading with other activities such as driving, working in the studio or kitchen or while trying to fall asleep at night. So why is the word “time” so frequently used? As I tried to figure out why, a number of phrases I’ve used in the past 24 hours swam into memory. While preparing to leave for two months at the beach, I have almost constantly worried about not having “time” to arrange for everything I needed to

arrange for in order to leave on “time.” I won’t bore you with the list, but it is long and varied and has kept me so busy for the past two weeks that I found my “time” had run out last night. I was due to leave this morning, but had not found time to say good bye to best friends, let alone time enough to write my blog and finish packing. So I delayed my departure by a day in order to gain “time” to depart in a more leisurely fashion. I made “time” for things important to me, such as this essay I am writing right now and the possibility of saying good bye to a friend whom I haven’t seen for weeks because neither of us has had the “time.” Perhaps it is our complaints of having so little of it that cause us to overuse the word? The most commonly used words that I am most heartened by are best when combined. “Be good.” What better advice for each of us and what message is most needed in a world of cyber shaming, corporate greed, Isis and the seeming impossibility of gun control, let alone control over the kids and crazies who refuse to exercise it? It is a selfish world we live in. “Be” is too often considered in regards to only ourselves. But “good?” It seems to be an aim that more and more of us yearn for—hoping to combine it with “be” in order to restore sanity and love and caring for our fellow human beings––whatever their skin color or religion or social group or national background. Perhaps in our choice of most commonly used words, be they conscious or unconscious, we are all sending ourselves a message. Like a crossword puzzle, we just need to combine them in the right way. It truly is the time to be good! (If you’d like to see other most commonly used words, go HERE. https:// en.wik ipedia.org/ wiki/Most_common_words_in_English Judy DykstraBrown

Life Ongoing

formal, commitment before God, in a ceremony we call marriage? Not marrying leaves some leeway, depending on your beliefs, which you may or may not find personally advantageous. There are reasons for each decision that only those making them truly know. For me, it was so joyous to see the wedding of Harry and Meghan as they seem to each be 100% committed to the other. May their lives be filled with love, pure motives and may they continue to give loving examples to others, both through their relationship and through their

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loved watching the royal wedding and seeing all the details that had been so carefully planned and which were so perfectly executed. One joyous day in front of millions, how refreshing! After so many years of vilification, having Prince Charles escort Meghan Markle down the aisle was a nice touch. Charles did what the crown demanded. He married a young, beautiful, wonderfully innocent girl who was just at the beginning of becoming. They had two sons together. Both spouses were miserable, but the continuation of the lineage was established. Each spouse grew in their own separate ways. The ultimate outcome was divorce. Life at times can be difficult enough and even more so when not having a complete commitment with your partner. Some can live with that, some cannot. I’ve heard it said that “true honor is in living with a commitment even after the situation under which the commitment was made has changed.” I’m not sure I agree with that as there are so many variables possible in that equation. After Diana died, Charles was allowed to marry Camilla. Love and commitment by both sustain them. Now at last, the public sees this future monarch being the elegant and thoughtful man we want to think it has always been in his heart to be. I was especially touched by his reaching out to take the hand of Meghan’s mother as they walked into the antechamber to sign papers. The silent but powerful lesson here is that true kindness and inclusion doesn’t care about color. One of the things that struck me about the wedding is the innocence of the young. When you marry in your youth, you seldom think that someday there will be a time for parting. When you marry, you two “become one flesh.” You become part of one another and in a good marriage the two separate people, good in their

examples of love in action with the people they help. For myself as an older person, (but as an incurable romantic,) I do believe that love is the answer to so much in our current lives. Hopefully it also has within it the fire, strength and courage we all need to live comfortably within our belief system and with confidence and joy, on our own Christy Wiseman path to eternity.

own right, become synergistic as one. A couple goes through life and creates a history, often raising children, working out differences, having shared experiences, hopefully having a true helpmate. Then, often as you retire and begin to enjoy the life you’ve both built, one partner is called to God and you are left alone, with memories and wishes for even one more day. Do it now. Have your “one more day” now, if “now” is still yours to have. I was so pleased to hear that special word, “protect,” instead of “obey” in the vows Harry and Meghan were making. Each at different times in their lives may need to become the stronger and the rock, protecting the other. When “eternity” clarifies its definition, you must make a choice. Do you live in memories or do you let go of the past so that you can have a future, understanding that the past always will be a big part of what makes you who you now are? For those whose partners died, once in awhile, if your marriage has been a good one, you are lucky enough to find someone you enjoy, (coming with their own baggage,) and you have other choices. Can you be inclusive and loving and be a helpmate once again and adjust once more to the vagaries of another formed personality (since that period of life has been accomplished?) The transition from the decision can take a very long time and is often tied to an inability to change or to a lack of desire to do so. You can learn to be independent. There are advantages. It is now yours to decide in what ways you want to create the rest of your life path in a way that is right for you. I personally like the verse, “Grow old along with me…” Were it so easily accomplished! Hopefully it will become a reality for Harry and Meghan. Or do you just move in together and live as “an item,” but without any firm,

Saw you in the Ojo 71

Over 60 years of â&#x20AC;&#x153;People Helping Peopleâ&#x20AC;?

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News

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Social Security Assistance Contact: FBU.guadalajara@ssa.gov or U. S. 880-772-1213 from 8 a.m. to 11 p.m. EST. The 880 number will work, but it may depend on where you are calling from, and/or the type of chip youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re using, (whether for U.S. or Mexico), or the type of plan you have with your telephone service provider. You may call 001-883-772-1213 from a Mexican landline. Calling later is better; you may talk to a real person. Or you can install Skype on your computer. A Skype account will allow you to make free calls to anywhere in the world.

Spring Garden News The LCS Garden Team of volunteers deeply appreciates the participation of this seasonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s snowbirds and those friends who have opted to â&#x20AC;&#x153;pay it forwardâ&#x20AC;? in the gardens. We are delighted to be the recipient of the generosity of two people who realized we had some huge trees that needed pruning and offered to finance it. Our gardens have burst into bloom and many trees and plants are coming out of their dormant stage. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re preparing for new growth and anticipating the spring beauty to come. Visit our beautiful gardens or join us by becoming a garden volunteer.

Costco Returns Thursday, June 21 Look for Costco representatives at the Blue Umbrella Patio on Thursday, June 21 to get information on upcoming sales and special offers and open or renew your Costco memberships.

El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

Sixth Annual LCS Childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Art Camp Save the date! Our most popular community program will run its Childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Summer Art Camp from10 Â a.m. to 12 noon every day from Monday, July 30 to Friday, August 3. Last year, about 120 kids attended. We can accommodate about 130 children for this yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s program. If you would like to volunteer at Art Camp, make a financial contribution, or donate materials, email Danielle PagĂŠ Â at childrensart@lakechapalasociety.com.

Introduction to Lakeside for Newbies â&#x20AC;&#x153;Introduction to Lakesideâ&#x20AC;? available to LCS members only. Topics include: Daily Life â&#x20AC;&#x201C; including banking, shopping, medical services, transportation; Housing - major housing developments, utility payments, maid and gardening services; Cultural Insights â&#x20AC;&#x201C; greetings and other social protocols, fiestas, holidays, religious observations. Join us in the Sala at 9 a.m. Thursday, June 14. Cost is $250 pesos. Register in the office or on the website. Open to members only.

LCS Language Classes

Volunteers Needed

LCS offers a variety of Spanish language courses and classes for those of you who want to learn Spanish or brush-up on your language skills. One of them is sure to suit your schedule and interests. Exploring Spanish: Held every Wednesday from 12 to 1:30 p.m. and Saturday from 11 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. in the Sala. Members only. Free Introduction to Spanish This casual class for beginners covers the Spanish alphabet, simple vocabulary, phrases useful about town, and information about Lakeside and Mexican culture. Please note: June classes have been cancelled. The next session will begin held begin July 10. Classes are usually held the first Tuesday of each month and continue for three weeks. This class, held in the Gazebo, runs from 12 until 1:30 p.m. Tuition is $220 pesos. Members only. Warren Hardy Spanish Classes Classes meet two days a week for an hour and a half each session at the Wilkes Education Center (Biblioteca). The program is based on the Warren Hardy Spanish language course designed for the adult student. Several levels of instruction are available to suit the student’s proficiency. Classes run from July 2 to August 20. Register for classes at the LCS office or on line. You may also register at the Blue Umbrella Patio during the week of June 25 to June 30. A representative will be there to recommend the appropriate class for your skill level. Tuition for the course is $900 pesos; the required textbook is an additional $670 pesos. Other instructional materials may be purchased separately. This is a members only class. Your membership must be current for the duration of the class. For more information about the Spanish classes visit www. lakechapalasociety.com. Please note: Conversaciones en Español will return this fall on October 8.

If you are interested in any of the volunteer positions indicated below, or if you would like to offer your skills and time to any of LCS’ many programs and activities, contact volunteer@lakechapalasociety.com, fill out a form on the LCS website, or pick up one at the Service Office. Events Coordinator Our sterling events coordinator, Karla Boentgen, will be retiring soon and we are looking for someone to take over her responsibilities. The sucessful candidate must understand marketing and promotion, have experience in producing successful events that make a positive impact on the target audience, have excellent supervisory and organizational skills, must be able to prepare and work within budgets, and have experience with catering, decor, and entertainment The successsful candidate should have fresh ideas and suggestions to enhance an event’s success. Position requires five to ten hours a week. Handyman We are looking for an experienced and knowledgeable worker who can maintain and repair the interior and exterior of buildings on the LCS campus. We also host many events throughout the year that require special support for the events team. Must be reliable. This is a volunteer position requiring five to ten hours a week. Data Base Manager: Volunteer position requiring five to ten hours a week. LCS depends on three separate databases: Membership, Customer Relations Management (CRM) and Accounting. This position focuses on the CRM and membership databases only. Duties: data entry into the CRM, synchronization and maintenance between the CRM and membership databases, and extracting useful reports for the Executive Director. Advanced understanding of MS Access databases including MS Excel. May work at LCS or off-site. The data base manager will report to the Executive Director.

LCS’ New Docent Program

Thursday, June 28 Costco/Galerias Mall Shop retailers like Sears, Best Buy, and Super Walmart and dine at popular restaurants. Cost to members is $370 pesos and $470 for non-members. Departs promptly at 9:30 a.m. All trips depart from the sculpture in La Floresta. Tickets must be purchased no later than two days before any trip.

LCS is launching a valuable new docent program similar to those now operating in many museums and airports. Docents will work a four and a half hour shift helping members and visitors navigate our campus and guiding them to our services, facilities, programs, and special events. Docents will also provide assistance to the Information and/or Service Desks when required. If you are an LCS member interested in volunteering as one of our docents, just complete a volunteer application in the LCS Service Office. Program coordinator David Huff will describe the program and your responsibilities. Training will be provided. Please note: LCS’ regular blood pressure screenings usually offered Mondays and Fridays, will take place on Mondays only until further notice.

June Bus Trips

Attention U.S. Citizens: Voter Assistance Democrats Abroad will return this summer to assist U.S. voters. They will take requests for absentee ballots and make ballot boxes available every Tuesday from August 28 through October 23 from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. Voters may also submit ballots to the U.S. consulate during regular monthly visits. Check dates on the website.

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Video Library June June 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 Health and Legal Services * Becerra & Galindo Services Thurs 10:30-12:30 Blood Pressure Mon 10-12 Hearing Aid Services (S) Mon+Sat 11-4 Ministerio Publico Wed June 6+20 10-2 My Guardian Angel Tues 10-12:30 Optometrist Claravision (S) Thur 9-3 Skin Cancer Screening (S) 2nd + 4th Wed 10-12 US Consulate** (S) Wed June 13 10:30 Sign up 10 Lessons(C) Beginner’s Photography 2nd+4th Mon 12-2 Cardio Dance Exercise Fri 12:30-1:30 Chair Yoga Fri 2-3:30 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 Spamish Wed 12-1:30 Sat 11-12:30 Fitness through Yoga Mon 2-3:30 Intermediate Hatha Yoga Tues+Thur 2-3:30 Introduction to Lakeside 2nd Thurs 9-1 register and cost Line Dancing Tues+Thurs 10-11:15 PEP and Prueba Mexico Series register and cost; check office Photography Club 1st+3rd Mon 12-2 Stretch and Balance Exercise Tues+Thurs 8:45--9:45 Tai Chi Chih Fri 10-12 Taller Comunicacion Ninos de Mexico Sat 11:30-1check Tech Help Desk Thurs 12-2 Warren Hardy Spanish Classes Mon-Sat sign up+cost Write-to-a-Prompt Writers’ Group Thurs 10-12 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* Social Activities (C) All Things Tech Fri 10-11:30 Bridge 4 Fun Tue+Thurs 1-5 Discussion Group B Wed 12-1:30 Film Aficionados Thurs 2-4:30 Games Group Mon 1-4 Mah Jongg Wed 2-4:30 Next Chapter Book Group 2nd Thurs 12-2 Scrabble 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 10-1 Lake Chapala Painting Guild 2nd Fri 1:30-3:30 Lakeside AA Mon +Thurs 4:30-5:30 Needle Pushers Tue 10-12 Open Circle Sun 10-11:30 SMART Recovery Mon 2:30-4 Toastmasters Mon 7-8:30 p.m . Ticket Sales

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Mon - Fri 10 a.m. to 12 noon .

All video rentals are now for five days. We can copy your old videotapes onto DVDs cheap: only $50 pesos for members and $75 pesos for non-members.

Tech Help Desk Mike Goss, one of our techno-wizards, will answer your questions and try to solve any problems you may have with your devices. Consultations are held Thursdays from noon to 2 p.m. at a table outside the Sala. This popular feature is very well attended, so arrive early.First come; first served.

Tech Classes Cancelled Please note: Our tech classes have been cancelled for the moment, but will resume in the near future. Check the Service Office or the website for the latest information on upcoming class schedules.

US Consulate Passport Checklist June, 2018 Proper form must be completed and signed. Simple passport renewal MXN Pesos/$110 USD Form DS-82 Book and Card MXN Pesos/$140 USD Form DS-82 Renewal age 15 and under MXN Pesos/$115 USD Form DS-11 Lost or stolen passport MXN Pesos/$145 USD Forms DS-64 & DS-11 Two photos 2”x2” or 5 x 5 cm. (without glasses) Important news from the US Consulate: Fees must be in the exact amount required for consular services. No money will be exchanged if your check is incorrect for passport renewals and notarizations. Check the LCS website for up-to-the-minute exchange information or visit the LCS Service Office. Bank checks must be made payable to “United States Disbursing Officer on Behalf” in Mexican pesos only. Applications for a bank check require a payment. Call the LCS Service Office for the cost of the bank check. Your original passport and a photocopy must be submitted at the bank in order to complete the transaction. Bank checks in pesos are available only from Banamex located at Avenida Francisco I Madero 222, Col. Centro in Chapala. Do not sign or write anything on the check. No cash or credit cards will be accepted as payment. No first time applications will be accepted. Do not print your application one page. Use one sheet per page. Notarizing a document requires MXN Pesos/$50 USD per impression. You must present an official and current US or Mexican ID such as: a US Passport, US Driver’s License, Mexican Passport, Mexican Driver’s License, or a Mexican Voter Card (IFE) to have documents notarized.

TED Talks

Thursday Film Aficionados

Tuesdays In the Sala 12 noon to 1:15 p.m. Members only. Bring your card. June 5 How to Build and Rebuild Trust Frances Frei, Culture Builder and Professor at Harvard Business School What do we do when trust, the foundation of everything we do, is broken? Frei gives a crash course in trust: how to build it, maintain it and rebuild it -- something she worked on during a recent stint at Uber. “If we can learn to trust one another more, we can have unprecedented human progress,” June 12 We’ve Stopped Trusting Institutions and Started Trusting Strangers. Rachel Botsman, Trust Researcher Something profound is changing our concept of trust, says Botsman. Today we increasingly rely on others, often strangers, on platforms like Airbnb and Uber and through technologies like the blockchain rather than institutions. This new era of trust could bring a more transparent, inclusive and accountable society -- if we get it right. Whom do you trust? June 19 How Airbnb Designs for Trust Joe Gebbia, Designer, Co-founder of Airbnb Gebbia bet his whole company on the belief that people can trust each other enough to stay in one another’s homes. How did he overcome the stranger-danger bias? Through good design. Now, 123 million hosted nights (and counting) later, Gebbia dreams of a culture of sharing which fosters community and connection. June 26 The Paradox of Choice Psychologist Barry Schwartz takes aim at a central tenet of western societies: freedom of choice. Has choice made us not freer but more paralyzed, not happier but more dissatisfied.?

Open to LCS members only. Bring your card. All films shown in the Sala from 2 to 4 p.m. No food. No pets. June 7 Like Stars On Earth “Taare Zameen Par” 2007 India An 8 year-old boy is thought to be lazy and a trouble-maker until the new art teacher has the compassion and patience to discover the real problem behind his troubles. (156 minutes) June 14 The Insult “L’Insulte” 2017- Lebanon After an emotional exchange between a Lebanese Christian and a Palestinian refugee escalates, the men end up in a courtroom involved in a case that gets national attention. Academy Award nominee for Best Foreign Language Film. (109minutes) June 21 Quiz Show 1994 USA A young lawyer investigates a potentially fixed game show. Charles Van Doren, a big winner, is under investigation in this true story that won Academy Awards back in the last century. (128minutes) June 28 Faces Places 2017 France A director (Agnes Varda) and a muralist form an unlikely friendship while journeying through rural France creating art. This film was an Academy Award nominee for Best Documentary. (88 minutes)

LCS’ First Children’s Chess Tournament Our popular children’s chess program will hold its first chess tournament on June 9 at 11 a.m. on the Neill James Patio. Free and open to the public.

Free Friday Family Films for June Free Spanish language films are shown every Friday at 7 p.m. at the Wilkes Biblioteca Publica de Ajijic at Galeana #18. Open to the public. Bring the family. June 1 Espirt, El Corcel Indomable June 8 No Hay Funcion June 15 Madagascar 3 Los Fugitivos June 22 Beethoven Aventuras de Navidad June 29 Peter Pan

Check It Out! Our amazing website is a place where you can register and pay for classes and events.

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 - Carole Wolff (2020); Vice-President - Sandra Britton (2019); Treasurer - Vacant (2019); Secretary - George Radford (2020); Directors: Azucena Bateman (2019); Tim Boardman (2020); Dee Dee Camhi (2019); Nicolas Hanson (2019); Philip Newbold (2020); Janis Sirany (2019); Elizabeth Villaseñor (2020). Immediate Past President: Ben White * Executive Director - Terry Vidal

The LCS Newsletter is published monthly. Deadline for submissions is the 14th 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.

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El Ojo del Lago / June 2018

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