MAKING A RAINBOW

Yesterday, I helped make a rainbow! Not a real one, mind you. None of us has that kind of divine power! It was the centerpiece of decorations for the up-coming community dinner. Some friends and I created our masterpiece on a styrofoam board, out of crepe paper, tissue paper, glue sticks and staples. It was a time-consuming job, but the red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet result was an attractive imitation of the real thing.

That process of playing creator started me thinking. The rainbow is more than just a brightly colored sky ornament which proclaims the rain has ended. Since Old Testament times, it has been a sign of hope. That seven-colored arc was God’s sign to Noah that the flood was over, once and for all. The folk tradition says that leprechans know where there is a pot of gold to be found at the rainbow’s end. Dorothy, in the Wizard of Oz, sang of a land "somewhere over the rainbow... where troubles melt like lemon drops...." Most of us, when spying that graceful display of celestial colors, smile with the hope that things are going to get better.

So, as we cut and pasted yesterday, I realized that I needed that seven-colored harbinger of hope. Why? Well, for nearly ten years, the little RV park that serves as our winter home has been a refuge of peace and security; an island of tranquility in the midst of the world’s sea of turmoil and trouble. This season, despite the wall that surrounds our peaceful little park, some of the problems of the world have disrupted our peace and quiet.

Last fall, one balmy night, many of us were awakened by an ear-splitting explosion. Fire was immediately visible just outside the park’s surrounding wall. Staff quickly awakened all residents on the endangered side of the park, and we watched as an enormous blaze lit up the night sky. We learned later that a semi-trailer truck had been hijacked, dumped along the tiny country road just outside our park, and torched. We breathed a sigh of relief that no one we knew had been hurt.

During the winter, several stash houses were raided in the small town five miles away where most of us do our grocery shopping. Illegal immigrants, who had paid hefty fees to a guide for help in crossing the border, were then immediately confined to one of many dingy, run-down, over-crowded stash houses by their guides. Sometimes the immigrants are forced to work without pay; others are held while their captors attempt to collect ransom from their families.

This spring, some of us have been awakened night after night by the sound of gunshots fired nearby. Two weeks ago, our neighbors around the corner in our park heard the sound of breaking glass. They went looking for the source of the sound and found a bullet hole in their front window and the bullet lodged in the window blinds. No one was hurt, but many of us were shaken by the proximity of the danger.

Two weeks ago, within a mile, there was an incident of road rage. One driver allegedly cut another driver off in the flow of traffic down our road. The second driver pursued the first, cornered him, and then told a juvenile in his car to shoot him. The second driver was shot in the face with a shotgun. He survived, but is hospitalized in San Antonio.

Three days ago, on our morning walk, we noticed a column of thick gray smoke rising just outside our park’s main gate. A friend went out to investigate and reported that, on a deserted little gravel road, someone had torched a van bearing California license plates. Such disposal of stolen cars is so common that this incident didn’t even make the news!

So, as a result of these invasions of my peace and quiet, I needed a sign of hope; a rainbow for Easter. Our human-crafted replica of God’s heavenly bow now hangs in the gathering room of our park for all to see. It reminds me that Easter is a season of hope, despite the tragedies and insecurities of life. A rainbow, in all its seven-colored glory, declares to us:

"How Our Problems Evaporate."

BIKING AND BIRDING AT BENTSEN

 Last Thursday was a fun day. Thursday is the day for our weekly bike ride, but this week seven cyclists were joined by ten bird watchers for a joint trip to Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley State Park. Our birding buddies had engaged a naturalist and a tram for a couple of hours for a pleasant and informative trip around the park. We bicyclists rode close enough to the tram to hear the commentary of the naturalist.

 The park is on the Rio Grande River, south and west of McAllen.  The nearest city is Mission.  The Web site of the Texas Historical Markers Commission describes the interesting history of Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley State Park:

“Marker Number: 376
Marker Text:
Before colonization, this valley was a lush thicket of woodlands and brush, nourished with rich soil deposited by the Rio Grande. Throughout the lower valley the landscape represented a broad variety of plants and animals. Types more common north of the river coexisted here with those more common to the south.
Land grants were made to the original Spanish settlers of the Rio Grande Valley in the 18th century. The divisions were called porciones, each a narrow strip of land with access to the river. The grant here was part of porcion 50, awarded to Jose Antonio Zamora by the ancient jurisdiction of Reynosa (Mexico).
At the beginning of the 20th century, developers and farmers began large-scale clearing of the land. By the 1930s, much of the Rio Grande Valley had been cleared for citrus groves.
In 1944, more than 586 acres of native landscape here were saved and donated to the Texas State Parks Board. Cedar elm, hackberry, and mesquite mix with ebony, Mexican ash, and anaqua trees. Along with the brushlands, they provide habitat for countless mammals, reptiles, and resident and migrant birds. The park preserves a part of the valley's ancient environment for the education and enjoyment of its visitors. The parkland was donated on January 28, 1944 to the State Parks Board by Lloyd M. and Edna Ruth (Dolly) Bentsen, and Elmer C. and Marie J. Bentsen.
Texas Sesquicentennial 1836 - 1986.”

 The donors of the land were the parents and uncle and aunt of the well-known Texas Senator Lloyd Bentsen.  The naturalist shared with us the story that the Bentsens’ original intent for the land was to clear and cultivate it.  However, on a careful survey of the acreage, the Bentsen men came upon an impressive large grove of Texas ebony trees.  In the shade of those majestic trees, they agreed that the land was too valuable in its natural state to be cleared for cultivation.  Immediately they began making plans to donate it to the State Parks Board for preservation.

The park currently includes 764 acres and serves as the headquarters of the World Birding Center and its nine birding locations in the Rio Grande Valley.  It is a prime site for bird and butterfly viewing.  More than 325 species of birds and 250 species of butterflies have been identified within the park.
 Some of the birds we saw on our trip last Thursday are unique to the Rio Grande Valley.

A few of the most brilliant and beautiful are:

 the green jay

 the golden-fronted woodpecker

 and the Altamira oriole.

Certainly one of the most entertaining birds of south Texas and north Mexico is the Chachalaca. 

 This fascinating little creature is sometimes called the Mexican chicken.  They usually travel in groups and can be very assertive and raucous, especially when food is involved.  Their name mimics their noisy call and, in fact, comes from a phrase meaning “talks too much.”

 The weather for our biking and birding trip was perfect; sunny with temperatures in the low 80s.  (“Chamber of Commerce weather” they call it around here!)  The company was great and the naturalist was quite knowledgeable.  So even strong winds and a bit of sun pink couldn’t tarnish our sparkling "triple B" day!

ENCHILADA ENTERPRISE

The menu for a church dinner depends on where it’s held. In the mid-West, it’s usually chili or spaghetti that is served. In Louisiana, folks gather to eat seafood gumbo and Po’ Boy sandwiches. In the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, stacks of pasties are enjoyed by those who gather around the tables. In Boston, no doubt, baked beans and clam chowder are the main attractions. In north Texas, barbequed ribs are popular.

In south Texas, however, everything, including church dinners, have a Mexican flavor. For over forty years, the little Methodist church we attend in Edcouch, Texas, has annually served a fund-raising dinner of enchiladas made by the members of the congregation.

For all of you non-Texans, perhaps we need to explain the nature of an enchilada. A small tortilla is rolled around one of various fillings: meat, beans, or cheese. The rolled tortilla is then nestled tightly in a pan with others of his kind and they are generously covered with grated cheese and a thick sauce. I suspect that every cook has her own favorite recipe for enchilada sauce including ground meat or refried beans, and tomato sauce, and spices which can vary from bland to three-alarm fire in the mouth! The enchiladas are then baked in the oven until bubbly and served hot with rice and beans, some type of salad and a sweet pastry for dessert.

As you can guess, making enchiladas is labor-intensive. But it’s also fun when it becomes a party! About twenty of us gathered on the appointed Saturday morning in the former fellowship hall of the church. (It and the Sunday School rooms are now rented out to a Head Start program for local children.) Tables had been set up and prepared with coverings of wax paper, stacks of warm tortillas and piles of grated cheese.



We carefully scrubbed our hands, took a seat and began rolling the first of the 3000 enchiladas that would be needed that evening. It’s a simple enough routine but the folks who have been doing it for 35 or forty years have exacting standards for the finished product!

1. Take one warm tortilla. Put a small handful of grated cheese near one end of it. (Don’t use too much cheese or the supply will run out before we reach the magic number!)

2. Gently roll the tortilla around the strip of grated cheese until it is a compact little roll. (If you get in too big a hurry the tortilla may tear and have to be discarded – or eaten. If so, we might run out before the 3000 are prepared.)

3. Lay it tenderly in the prepared pan, lining up exactly nine of your culinary creations in each row. (It has to be nine because each serving at tonight’s feast will be three.)

4. Take a deep breath, and start all over again, and again, and again!

Helpers kept us supplied with warm tortillas, piles of grated cheese, empty pans to replace those we filled, and wax paper so we could stack the finished product in the larger pans. Sometime in mid-morning fresh doughnuts and pastries from the local bakery were passed around.

Before we knew it, we were done. We had rolled about 3000 tortillas, enjoyed several pots of coffee, finished off the doughnuts and pastries, caught up with local news, discussed some church business, admired the homemade pies coming in for the upcoming feast, and begun to set up for the evening’s event.

We’re glad we’ve had the opportunity to learn this new south Texas skill! No doubt it will be invaluable to us in our old age! After several years of experience as described above, our advice to you is this: never roll enchiladas alone. It’s lots more fun in a crowd!

"BELIEVE IT OR NOT" TRAFFIC

On our way home from a local shopping trip yesterday, we witnessed the unbelievable! We were northbound in the right lane on a four-lane street, waiting for the light to change from red to green. Traffic was heavy and the lines of vehicles waiting with us were long and closely packed together.

Suddenly, a large old car turned left off the cross street, heading south on our street. With little hesitation, it then turned left again, right into waiting line of vehicles on our left! At a right angle to the direction of the stopped traffic, the car inched its way between the tail of the truck in front to our left and the front of the car stopped beside us. We couldn’t believe our eyes.

The driver continued creeping forward until the nose of his gas guzzler was aimed at our front bumper. His car was now crosswise to our direction of travel. We were close behind the truck in front of us so it was a tight squeeze for the crazy car to get through. Ever so carefully, the dumb and daring driver continued his forward progress between the grill of our truck and the tailgate of the truck ahead. It must have been frustrating because he began to point his finger at us, making stabbing motions, as if to say, "Back off! You didn’t leave me enough room to get through!"

We did not move. We could not move. The vehicle behind us was too close. Besides that, we were in "traffic shock," unable to comprehend what was taking place. We listened for the sound of scraping metal – but it didn’t happen. The driver squeezed past us, blindly crossed the right turn lane, and zipped into the gas station on our right.

All we could do was stare at each other in response to this jaw-dropping traffic maneuver. Then we broke out in the laughter of disbelief. If we hadn’t seen it with our own eyes, we never would have believed that idiots like that would be allowed to drive! (Perhaps the anticipation of encounters like this is why he drives an old clunker.)   A new item for Ripley’s "Believe It or Not."

ENOUGH ALREADY

I don’t want to sound ungrateful,

Lord, I’m thankful for the rain.

I’m glad to see the flowers bloom

And grass get green again.

The drought is finally broken

As raindrops fall so steady.

But really, don’t You think that it

Has rained enough already?

The drought caused folks to pray for rain.

(Perhaps I’m being petty!)

You answered "Yes" and showers came

For weeks! Enough already!

Our world has turned from dust to mud,

and all we touch is gritty.

Our clothes are damp and clammy.

That’s rain enough already.

Your rain falls on both good and bad

The Good Book tells us so.

But what about Your sunshine?

Oh, how we’d like to know

What we can do to bring it back.

Those rays would make us giddy!

Please send the sun to cheer us up.

We’re soaked enough already!

ETERNAL DANCERS

They must be at least in their 80s.   Almost everywhere and anytime we go out dancing we see them. They are stately and attractive, neatly and modestly dressed in fashions of several decades ago.   Their faces show the signs of a wisdom gathered over a lifetime.

He is tall and distinguished, a gentleman with manners learned in the days when men opened doors for women and pampered them in other ways.   She is a lady from the top of her perfect hair-do to the soles of her color coordinated shoes.   She wears thick glasses but they cannot hide the smile in her eyes that lights up her whole face.   They are oblivious to the crowded dance floor and the noise of the other dancers as they gaze affectionately into each other’s face.

And, hour after hour, they dance.   In the midst of the dance floor, they waltz, two-step or invent their own steps to the varying rhythms of the music.   Their steps are tiny and their movements sedate, but always faithful to the beat.   They rarely sit out a dance.   When one piece of music ends, they wait patiently on the dance floor in each other’s arms for the next piece to begin.  They seem to have an endless supply of energy for dancing.

One evening she came into the ladies’ room just as I was going out.   I remarked to her how much I enjoyed watching the two of them dance.   She smiled, thanked me, and said, "Yes, we do like to dance."

I went on to express my amazement at the energy and stamina which enabled them to dance every dance without resting.   "Well," she replied, "we’ve been dancing since 8 o’clock this morning, and we do that most days of the week."

I left her presence shaking my head in disbelief.   How do they do it? I am at least ten years younger than they are.   And yet, I get tired and have to sit out a few dances every hour to rest.

I’ve not yet discovered their secret for having endless energy for dancing – or anything else, for that matter!   But research tells us that activity is the key to healthy aging and longevity.   If that is the case, those two may live forever!   I can almost see them dancing right into eternity!


 mshr

INFLUENZA INQUISITION: TRIAL BY VIRUS

The word "Inquisition" originally meant a formal time of questioning in search for the truth. In the 1300's, however, the Pope used that word to describe a series of heresy trials he conducted across Europe.

The proceedings were formal and considered legal by the church. However, the accused had no rights in the trial, did not know the charges against him and was denied any defense. The goal of the proceedings was for the accused to confess his error, repent and be restored into the good graces of Mother Church.

Punishment for the non-repentant was death by public burning at the stake. If, as the fires were lighted at the feet of the condemned, he showed any sign of repentence, he was given a more merciful death: his throat was slit to hasten his demise before the flames consumed his body!

Two hundred years later in Spain, the process of Inquisition gained a new level of notoriety and terror. King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella had finally banished all the (Moslem) Moors from their land and had forced all Jews either into exile or conversion to Christianity. They convinced the Pope to mind his own business and let them take care of their own heretics.

The Spanish Inquisition discovered that the quickest and most reliable way to move an accused heretic to confess his sins was by torture. They perfected various forms of external persuasion: an early form of water-boarding, "holding the feet" of the accused "to the fire," suspending the condemned up off the floor by a chain connected only to his upward-extended arms.

Punishment for the non-repentant was always the same: death by public burning at the stake. Some historians estimate that perhaps as many as 2000 hapless Spaniards - of both genders and all ages – died in this way before the practice fell out of favor in 1530. Statistics are not available on death penalities administered by Inquisition courts in Spanish colonies in the New World.

What, you may wonder, does this have to do with anything? I don’t know. However, after nearly two weeks of confinement against my will and torturous misery, I’ve concluded that I must have unknowingly offended the high priests of the "ïnfluenza gods!" They snatched me away into the prisons of the Influenza Inquisition, where I languished without help or hope.

The initial capture was so sudden and sinister that I hardly remember it at all. I felt cool and began to chill; everything ached and I was totally energy-less. I remember wondering, "Is this how it feels to be dying?" For two and a half days I did not know where I was, who I was, or whether I really was at all!

Then, of course, there was the misery. There was not a part of my body that did not ache! But, how clever are those viral torturers of the Influenza Inquisition! Instead of importing tools of torture from the outside, they just turned my natural body processes against me! They invited in some of their bad bacterial buddies to join in the misery-making. The "bacteria boys" seemed to prefer my throat, neck, ears and sinuses! Eating became yet another new kind of torture.

The only questions being asked in this Influenza Inquisition were my own: "What did I do to deserve this?" "Why me?" "Where did I catch this?" "Why am I being tortured like this?" "What am I guilty of?" "What heresy do you want me to admit to? I don’t care what it is, I’ll confess to it!"

After three days of this on-going torture, I decided to appeal to a Higher Power. I called the doctor! He was not the least bit intimidated by my viral and bacterial torturers. He checked me over, did a blood test to determine that there was, indeed, a bacterial infection as well as the flu.

Then he pulled out his 21^st century arsenal of anti-illness miracles: a shot of antibiotic, and prescriptions for a Z-Pak and high powered cough medicine. He sent me home and kicked the Influenza Inquisition back out into outer space where I hope it stays for all eternity! Now, sixteen days after the beginning of this nightmare, I am regaining power over my own bodily well-being little by little!  Thank God (the real, true One, that is!), I am finally recuperating from my recent trial by virus!



22 Jan 2012 - mshr