Photo Blog Added!

Sometimes pictures can tell a story all of their own.  I try to include simple 'snapshots' with most of my entries here, but some are not part of a story or perhaps, they are their own story.

I have added a link to a project I am working on, "From the Hip".  If you like photographs, and would like to see Mexico the way I do, please take a look.

I think the project is important because the shots are spontaneous, and shot with a simple digital camera.  No frills, no posing, no tricks.  The shots were as they happened and as I saw them.  They are not necessarily things of beauty nor portraits. These are images I saw that struck me...so I pulled and shot.

If you do take time to  look them over, please feel free to leave honest feedback.  Any comments are appreciated, as well as constructive criticism...and I will update periodically.

I hope you enjoy them!  Click on the image/link to go to site.

From The Hip

White Rolls & White Power

I find it embarrassing to see grown men in grocery stores, standing in the shadows of their spouses like lost little children.  I cannot understand why the male species cannot find their way through a grocery store coherent and efficiently.  Live by example, I was always told; so I do. 

When we make our sojourn to the grocery store, I lead by example.  I must admit, I have a rather good ability to spot items and on the next visit, be able to precisely to and grab them.  Mostly, it is items that may seem obscure at the time, certain steak sauces, oyster sauce, frankfurters in a jar, etc.  Maybe it is a ‘guy’ thing, to spot certain potato chips, drinks and other oddities.  Tonya and I step into our local store, and I ask her to refresh my memory of items we may need.  Then I fulfill my duties as a competent shopping partner.

Tonya usually starts off in the produce.  I immediately head off to the dairy section.  I grab the milk, butter, yoghurt and may grab eggs while I am at it.  I take it all back and put it in the basket.  Then I usually set out for the legumes and pastas, possibly stopping by the paper goods aisle to grab paper towels and toilet paper.  I have quite a knack for getting the best deals on toothpaste, so I take care of that when needed.  If I pass the pet aisle while I am making my rounds, I always stop and grab treats for the dogs.  I am always checking the liquid soaps out too, watching for a good deal.  Currently we have some melon scented junk that doesn’t foam up worth a crap.  I always feel like my hands don’t get clean enough with this green, melony rubbish.  Of course, I always go by the wine section and see what looks tasty for this week’s liquid accompaniments for our meals.   By the time I have done my part, Tonya and I usually rendezvous in the meat section and get whatever it is we need from there.  The last things we grab are snacks.  Tonya likes a good amount of junk food for munching at night.  We both stand and debate over which cookies sound good or which cakey-type snacks we will get into.  Another last call is the bread section.

It is the bread section where my recent encounter took place.  I am getting tired of my regular cereal routine for breakfast, so when Tonya mentioned getting some bread, I was thrilled to switch my menu up and immediately made my way to browse all the bread and rolls on display.  I walk to and fro, eyeing up potential tasty bits, carrying the aluminum tray and tongs in hand.  I retrace my steps and make my final decisions as to who will be ‘tonged’ by me.  As I am grabbing my assorted rolls, Tonya comes over and takes a look to see if there is anything that looks good to her.  She sees a ‘biscuit’ and asks if it is gross if she gets one and makes a sandwich with it.  I grab an extra for her so she can try it out.  She says she is going to go grab some ice cream that she sampled while wondering in the produce section.

I make my way to the counter and prepare to hand my tray laden with rolls over to the cashier.  At the last second I remember I want one of those long, cinnamon things.  They look like flat French loaves, but they are twisted and cinnamon flavored.  These cinnamon things are above the baskets filled with loose rolls, or ‘bolillos’.  I eye the cinnamon things but can’t get to them just yet.  There is an ‘alternative’ looking type guy standing in front of the bolillo baskets, grabbing some loose rolls.  I notice the worn friendship bracelets on his wrist as he is grabbing his bread.  He has a ski cap on his head and quite a sizeable beard growing out.  I just don’t these ‘hipster’ types who insist on wearing ski caps in hot climates.  Today is quite toasty outside, so it really perplexes me.  I am watching the guy choose his bread and patiently awaiting my turn to be able to reach over him and grab what I want. 

I notice that his head had been shaved, and little hairs were starting to grow out.  For some odd reason, this immediately makes me look to his feet to see what kind of shoes he’s wearing.  Is he an ex-skinhead who now is mellowing out in his later years?  He looks pretty laid back, with jeans and a white t-shirt.  If it weren’t for his casual, everyday attire I would say he was probably some terrorist in training.  He looks like some guy who is getting an earful at the local mosque.  His beard somewhat full, but still a bit awkward…like he is just getting into his ‘role’ of one of Mohammed’s warriors.  For a moment I wonder if I am standing next to a misplaced Mujahidin.  Then again, I don’t recall mosques being a popular item here in Mexico.  Now that he’s got his rolls, he turns and faces me.  We are facing each other.  Since he is facing me directly, I can see what is on front of his t-shirt; likewise, he can see mine.  I am looking pretty cool.  Boney legs showing from my shorts, messy hair, unshaven and proudly displaying my choice of design on my shirt; two boxers, one knocking the other guy out and below the guy throwing the punch is the word “Me” and the guy reeling has the word “You” under him.  He stares at the image for an instant.

It is kind of funny how us two dudes size each other up while waiting to pay for our bread.  I am quite surprised at was adorning his chest.  A replica of the Nazi totenkopf in front of a horizontal diamond, colored in the colors of the old German flag; red, white and black.  There is the symbol that looks like a rounded, three pronged swastika.  Across the top, in old German style letting it reads something about “The Brotherhood”.  Needless to say, I hardly reckoned on coming face to face with a brown White Supremacist while buying bread.  I took a quick once over twice.  It does not make sense.  A dark Mexican guy wearing a ski cap and friendship bracelets as a White Supremacist.  Then again, seeing the hair growing out from under his ski cap, it sort of does.  Maybe he was a skin head and now he is in some difficult transition period where he is Mexican, but loves white people but is considering Islam.  The shorn head and tee shirt make complete sense.  The Taliban beard and ‘white-power’ garb do not. 

Weirder still, is the fact that he is holding a few small bags of cat food. 

I reach over and grab my cinnamon stick.  He rethinks his needs, and turns to grab another roll.  When he turns, I notice the ‘white power’ symbol on the back of his t-shirt.  Odd, very odd.  Once, about four years ago while in a shoe store I saw a Mexican guy wearing a t-shirt with a swastika and the eagle on it.  I thought that a bit brave at the time, but this alternative guy takes the cake for cultural confusion.

I walk away with my goods, making sure I smile at the cashier and saying “gracias”.  She shoots a big smile back at me.  Tonya and I meet about midway in the store.  She asks if I am all done, and I say yes.  We head toward the checkout lanes.  As we choose our lane and start to unload, I notice that one guy ahead of us is the ‘white power’ hipster dude.  He looks at me one final time, as if he is trying to size me up some more.  I meet his glance as I am unloading my groceries.  After he leaves I ask Tonya if she noticed the guy.  Obviously not.  I know for a fact she would not recognize any white power garb, especially here in Mexico.  I explain to her what the guy had on.  She quickly dismisses it as just another Mexican trying to be cool, and obviously wearing a t-shirt they did not understand.  I disagree; I think he knew perfectly well what it was.

When we get home I go to the computer and type in random searches of white power and white supremacy. I want to see if I can spot the exact t-shirt and see if it is tied to anything in particular.  Amazingly, about two entries down is a news story which was publish last November, which blows open the connection between the Aryan Brotherhood and the Mexican drug cartels.  I shudder to think that in actuality, I may have just stood face to face with a guy who is double trouble; a cartel member who has allegiances to the Aryan Brotherhood in prisons that lie stateside.  Imagine the revelation!  I read the article and it makes for perfect sense.  I have somewhat of paranoia as I continue on with my Googling.  If ‘the man’ is watching me on my computer, he is going to have a heyday with my browsing white power apparel.  I never found the shirt, but found some similar items.  I did, however, laugh when I saw the ‘white power’ assortment of coffee mugs.

The Finger

Tonya had her finger broken while walking the dog.  How?  Our biggest dog saw a pigeon.  For some strange reason, he has developed a real aversion to pigeons. Stranger still, this has only developed since coming to Mexico.  So, one morning we go out for the typical morning walk and Tonya returns with a broken finger.

I can’t recall, but I think it was over a few days that her concern grew about her finger.  Obviously, after a day or two, it had become swollen and stiff.  She could not move it.  We agreed that we should put it in a splint.  First impulse was the old housewives way of dealing with it; popsicle sticks.  However, popsicle sticks are not an everyday item in a Mexican household.  I set out to find an alternative and rummage through kitchen drawers.  There is an old corkscrew thingy in one of the drawers.  It has a flat case.  I decide that this case would serve as a good support for the sore finger.  I go upstairs and get some medical tape and Tonya is well on her way to recovery.  I have a fleeting thought that in some other time; perhaps I could have been a great field surgeon.

The makeshift splint lasts for a few days, and while we are out walking we decide to pop in to a pharmacy to see if they have some real ‘pro’ type splints.  They do!  Tonya is ecstatic that now she can undo the white medical tape and corkscrew case and slip on the shiny aluminum shield on her finger, with the bright blue padding.  This is seriously top grade medical stuff…and even has a bonus smaller splint for tiny fingers included!   We walk to a nearby park and with childlike enthusiasm; she rips open the package and slides her aching finger into the new splint. Aaahhh, it feels so much better already.

Tonya wears the aluminum guard for a few weeks, but feels nothing has progressed.  She has randomly bumped it and twisted it in the goings on of daily life.  Each time an accidental bed or bump happens; she cringes and says she should see a doctor.  One night while sitting on the couch she finally decides to take the ring off her finger.  She is visibly more relaxed and sits rubbing her tender finger, “I guess I should have taken the ring off ages ago.  It actually feels like blood is moving through it now.  It feels better already” she says beaming.  Amazing how such a simple discovery can make a world of difference.  Why the thought of taking a ring off a swollen finger didn’t occur earlier is beyond me.

One day while eating breakfast Tonya expressed concern over her finger.  I told her there is a clinic not too far away, we should just go.  She agrees and after she showers and readies herself, we step out into the heat and pollution which is Mexico City in the summer. 

The local clinic has only two guys and a small child sitting there.  It is like a long hallway, with one door midway and the other at the end of the hallway.  There is a placard on the wall showing the costs for the different services provided.  The names of the doctors are painted on the walls, as well as where they got their degree and what time of day they are in the office.   We are exactly at the midway point, and I am looking at the door across from me.  The guy at the end of the hallway is sitting alone, and looks a bit anxious.  He gets up and politely knocks on the door and nothing happens.  To my left, the guy with the kid just smiles at us while the kid walks around and explores the waiting room.  I wonder what he’s in for, because the kid looks fine.  I decide he is waiting on someone behind the door in front of me.  I was wrong though, because not too much later, he stands up, grabs his bag and tells the kid it is time to go.  They step out onto the sidewalk and head off into who knows where.  It was a few minutes later a man peeps out from the door in front of us.  He tells us to come inside.

It is a small office.  No windows.  There are two chairs in front of his tiny desk.  I don’t know why, but I stood there and Tonya sat down and he pulled off the splint and gently pulled and touched it.  On the wall above his desk, he has a few ‘official’ looking papers, a diploma and a color reproduction of a surgeon with a guy standing beside him looking as if he is speaking with him.  It is Jesus.  This is a picture of Jesus in the OR with his arm around a surgeon, doing some very tedious work.  I am quite amused by this.  Actually, there may not have even been an effigy of Mary in the office, but only Jesus helping out.  I like it!

The doctor tells Tonya she must get an X-ray. He hands her a shabby Xeroxed map, and says we have to go to the same chain of drugstore/clinics ‘Dr. Simi’ and let them do an x-ray at a larger branch.  We walk about 20 minutes to the other branch.  The lady behind the counter greets us and asks what we are there for.  She informs us that they do not do x-rays here anymore, and you have to go to another location even further away.  She hands Tonya a tiny piece of paper with typed instructions on it.  As we walk away she suddenly remembers that the other location only does x-rays until 3pm.  It is now 10 minutes after 3.  We step outside and Tonya is obvious upset.  I tell her we will go first thing in the morning.  As we walk away there is a naked man standing in front of us.  He has only a remnant of a torn t-shirt around his waist.  He is filthy, and stands and talks to himself like a crazy person does.  I grab my camera and take a shot.  “This is the naked man we passed in traffic a few weeks back” I told Tonya.  She doesn’t recall the naked man in the intersection, but she is quite ashamed that I snapped a photo of the naked guy in tennis shoes on the sidewalk. 

The next morning we are up and at ‘em.  After breakfast, Tonya calls a cab and we are making our way to the bigger branch of Dr. Simi’s.  The waiting room here is much bigger, and full of patients waiting to see whoever they are here to see.  We sit, expecting to have to wait quite a while.  In one corner there is a TV showing something.  The screen is an assortment of bright specs, as it flutters in and out of static.  Doing a quick once over, I notice a small sign with a number showing.  I tell Tonya she should probably take a number.  She gets up, grabs a number and sits back down.  If we go by this, we do have a long time to wait.

The waiting room is like a garage facing the street.  There is no glass or doors, just a wide open front, with those garage style doors pulled up to show a packed room full of assorted folks. “You like this” Tonya says, as she notices me taking it all in.  No sooner had she spoken than the ‘pharmacy’ side of Dr. Simi’s starts blaring out typical ‘Tejano’ music at full volume.  A guy in a white medical style smock grabs a mic and starts yelling out whatever it is he is yelling about over the loud accordions and oompah-beats.  I turn to Tonya and answer her, “I do.  I particularly like the music selection”  It is a bit much, and even she laughs at the whole scenario.  Tonya decides to go to the desk to ask what the system is here.  It turns out that the number system is for those waiting for a doctor.  For the diagnostic side, you pay before you play.  She tells the girl what she needs and throws the money down.  Now we wait for the guy in the blue smock to come out with her proof of payment in hand, a receipt, and call her up.

Now we are sitting, looking out of the garage doors out into the street.  All of a sudden a guy steps comes in from the street barking about refreshments.  He is hurried.  He has a basket and is yelling out, “Juices, yogurt, cokes, bread”  Tonya looks at me as if asking if I like this guy now.  I roll my eyes.  Life in Mexico is definitely colorful and crazy.  There doesn’t seem to be any takers of travelling refreshment guy, and as soon as he arrived, he walks back out into the busy streets. There would be a few more roaming salesmen selling all sorts of things popping into the waiting room.   All the exhaust coming in straight from the street is burning my eyes.  Tonya is soon summoned and is back in no time.  She says it is like an assembly line, and that the girl who x-rayed her hand didn’t even say hello.  We sit and wait for another person to pop back out with her finished x-rays.

After Tonya receives her x-ray, we sit and stare at one of the doors on the other side of the room.  The numbers above on the little sign have never changed.  We both agree that waiting for your number to be called is a waste of time.  As soon as the door nearest to us opened and some leaves, Tonya gets up and goes over and sticks her head in.  She disappears for about 20 minutes or so.  When I see the door open again, I stand to greet her.  “Yep, it’s broken.  Two hairline fractures”  I ask her what we are doing now.  She has a few slips of paper in her hand and says we have to walk down the street to another place and buy some bandages.  The doctor is going to make a cast for her.  As we are walking, Tonya is telling me how the doctor bombarded her with questions as soon as she walked in.  “Either he is very lonely or just a curious guy” she says.  He asked her where she was born, what she was doing here, if she had gastritis and how he should handle gay patients.  “I had two of them come in last week” he told her.

We get the bandages and then go back to the side of Dr. Simi’s which plays the loud music.  She buys some stuff for an injection and some other bits and pieces.  We walk back into the waiting room, and straight back into the doctor’s chambers.  This time I go in with her.  This time I sit down in front of the doctor’s desk.  He looks at me.  He seems pretty bland.  He looks at Tonya and asks if I am from the US.  He then asks how I am doing here. Odd, he doesn’t ask me; he looks at her and asks questions.  “Does he like tequila?”  She smiles and nods accordingly.  He smiles too, and looks up at me.

He asks Tonya if she bought all the stuff he wrote down on the paper.  She lays it on the desk.  He is glad.  He grabs a few pieces and tells Tonya she is going to get a shot of pain medicine.  As he unwraps the syringe he tells her to get up on the examining bed and get ready.  Tonya asks what he means, and asks if it is in the butt.  He smiles and says yes.  As I watch him do his thing, I look around his office.  On his wall hangs the picture of the surgeon and Jesus.  His is a better version, a clean original one.  This must be some ‘doctor thing’, but it makes me feel better knowing that this guy has friends in very, very high places.

After the shot, he walks back to his desk and starts opening up the bandages.  He tells Tonya that I am going to help him.  I am quite surprised at this.  I automatically assume that I too, am covered by the same policy that these doctors have hanging up in their office. 

He has a very tiny sink in the corner.  There is a plastic bin in the sink.  He calls Tonya and me over.  As he wets the plaster bandages, he tells her to tell me what to do.  Tonya stands with her arm out over the sink.  The doctor starts wrapping the wet gauze around her and keeps telling her to keep her arm straight.  He pushes my hand to where he wants it to be, and keeps asking me to help him wrap it and to hold the gauze.  Truly, this morning I had no idea that I would be assisting a Mexican doctor in his work.  Life is amazing!

After he finishes, we all sit back down and he instructs Tonya on how to care for her hand and arm.  He explains why he put her arm in a cast, and good thing, because neither of us thought it made sense.  I sit there getting antsy because the gauze is drying on my hands and is turning in to a dry hard powder.  I motion to the sink and show my hands, like it is sign language to ask a Mexican if you can wash the plaster off your hands in his sink.  He acknowledges me with a short chuckle, and motions for me to go ahead.  I dry my hands off and he has finished instructing Tonya.  We shake hands and he says he will see her again in two weeks.  We turn and open the door to leave.  He stops us, “Su placas” (your x-rays) he says.  I smile and grab the envelope from him.  As I take it I think a good time to jest with the doc, “Mi placa es su placa”.  He looks at me blankly and replies, “Si”. 

I don’t think he got it…neither did Tonya.