An Assembly of Thoughts and Notions
We are here because I cannot be there. Our neighbour down in NoWhere, Mexico is there because he cannot be here.
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Matter of the Going and Coming by Bridge:
We can now inform people in the real world that going and coming across the United States of America and the Estados Unidos Mexicanos international boundary is no longer a zip and a clip and a chocolate chip cookie.
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| The Reynosa - Hidalgo - McAllen International Bridge at normal light operation levels ___________________________ |
And, yes Virginia, El Gringo Viejo just happened to be in McAllen when suddenly the rumours materialised into certain certainty. As had the Canadians, just a few days before, the Mexicans and
Americans came to an accord to
suspend discretionary border crossing,
especially by private motorcar.
It seemed such an impossibility after having been born, lived in, and pertained to the McAllen area for several hundred years (more or less). Heretofore, in my recollection, this bridge, pictured herein, closed only once. That would be the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, President of the United States, 22 November 1963 - 25 November 1963.
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| Over four million souls reside in the Regiomontano, aka - The Mountainous Kingdom _____________________________ |
There have been various, infrequent halts for a few minutes or an hour or two to address minor problems at various bridges. Normally, however, while the process is relatively slow coming into the United States of America, we have never seen an auto with a skeleton sitting behind the steering wheel.
One must consider that the County of Hidalgo, Texas has a population right at the 1,000,000 person mark. Interestingly, the Municipio (County) of Reynosa also has a population very close to 1,000,o00 souls. Of further interest would be that the lower picture is the access to the expressway to Monterrey,
Nuevo Leon which lies 140 miles to the west.
The metroplex of Monterrey and its satellite towns and cities, its industries, and other attractions, has a population of around 4,500,000 people. The Monterrey - San Pedro de Garza Garcia people refer to the highway between McAllen and Monterrey as "…our private driveway", and in a sense it is true. That metroplex in the heart of Nuevo Leon State has nine per cent of all the population of Mexico.
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| No traffic coming into the Anzalduas Bridge during this period of a semi-close-down of the bridges from El Paso to Brownsville ________________________ |
In any regard, we move along marking time while trying to figure out when criss-crossing the border will be the same old, dull and boring chore. For right now, however, my friend down at the Hacienda de la Vega and I will have to put up with the reality of a significantly restricted use of the international bridges and crossing points.
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The Matter of the Petulant Politicians:
Moving on to more mundane things, we have been but slightly humoured by the shenanigans of the Democrat leadership (?) during the "budget battle". It is something like the folly of the stupidly executed "impeachment" of the President, but even more inept and devious. Of course, when one finds the command group supervising a degenerate plan of falsehoods and baseless rumours, such as the trio of Pelosi and Schumer and Schiff almost any plumbing of the lower elements can be expected.
The Matter of the Petulant Politicians:
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| Charlie is enumerating the various charges he will take before the judge after the deputies put the leg irons on - Clockwise from the top, Curly, Larry, and Moe _________________________ |
The Democrat political party has almost perfected the art of being wholly misdirecting and self-serving, arrogant and illogical, as any political body in the four different centuries our Republic has experienced. It is right on up there with the German National Socialist Labour Party in the sense that whatever point the Democrats are trying to make they must frame it by means of mendacity.
The Southern Poverty Law Centre and the firm of Pelosi, Schumer, and Schiff know that their cheering section is devoid of the ability to excercise critical thought processes. After two or three generations of producing people who think they have the right to steal, murder, destroy, and generally cause mayhem…the present-day Democrat Hierarchy is satisfied that they can lead the Army of the Illogical, those who are dependent on AFDC, selling dope, using dope, and committing mayhem upon the society and its culture.
Somehow, according to the Pelosistas, some people just need to steal, frighten, murder, denigrate, and generally degenerate. The threesome and their allies in the political and popular culture set will almost always draw an invisible iron circle around The Oppressed and explain away all nature of degeneracy and self-indulgence and criminality. Thereby, they essentially give the degenerate and criminal element a hall pass…that says "Hands Off!! Privileged Oppressed Victim!!!"
The routine pulled off by the team of Pelosi and Schumer is something similar to the jackass who has stuck a match into the area between the sole and the top of a shoe of some poor sap. He who then proceeds to light the match plugged into the shoe…letting it burn down to where the wearer of said shoe will experience the classic "hotfoot" and begin to howl in pain. The delinquent thinks that he has won a great victory…perhaps even gaining a gaggle of laughs from those near the event, while he, himself will howl with glee the loudest.
That was something like the trick of the "negotiations" between the Democrats and the Republicans during these most current interactions concerning how to proceed with adapting to America under attack by Red Chinese ambient poisoning. The Democrat apparatchiks think that each understanding and agreement with the Republicans being sacrificed is a Great Victory. Their secondary objective, that being forcing the Republicans to fund Planned Parenthood with public money is that shadow in the back of the room, in the dim light.
In short, the Democrat Socialist team is a depraved, self-consumed, arrogant unit. It stands devoid of the willingness to get out of the way and allow America to return to prosper…morally, physically, and financially.
We have borne witness to the comings and goings with reference to the Coronavirus problem and the variation of the French malaria medicine. Many thousands of years ago, when my father was still a young man, heresigned a position in the Army, and set out to feed the world.
He became a farmer of sorts, in that his first objective was to line up scores of smallholders who had citrus orchards of three, five, and ten acres. Over the years, he and my mother cared for 3,000 and a little more acres of these "dreamer's orchards". They were so named because the Yankees would come to Winter and Myrtle would swoon at the beautiful groves, and the exotic Mexican caretakers, and the fruit itself, and the blossom set during the appropriate times…
Somehow, according to the Pelosistas, some people just need to steal, frighten, murder, denigrate, and generally degenerate. The threesome and their allies in the political and popular culture set will almost always draw an invisible iron circle around The Oppressed and explain away all nature of degeneracy and self-indulgence and criminality. Thereby, they essentially give the degenerate and criminal element a hall pass…that says "Hands Off!! Privileged Oppressed Victim!!!"
The routine pulled off by the team of Pelosi and Schumer is something similar to the jackass who has stuck a match into the area between the sole and the top of a shoe of some poor sap. He who then proceeds to light the match plugged into the shoe…letting it burn down to where the wearer of said shoe will experience the classic "hotfoot" and begin to howl in pain. The delinquent thinks that he has won a great victory…perhaps even gaining a gaggle of laughs from those near the event, while he, himself will howl with glee the loudest.
That was something like the trick of the "negotiations" between the Democrats and the Republicans during these most current interactions concerning how to proceed with adapting to America under attack by Red Chinese ambient poisoning. The Democrat apparatchiks think that each understanding and agreement with the Republicans being sacrificed is a Great Victory. Their secondary objective, that being forcing the Republicans to fund Planned Parenthood with public money is that shadow in the back of the room, in the dim light.
In short, the Democrat Socialist team is a depraved, self-consumed, arrogant unit. It stands devoid of the willingness to get out of the way and allow America to return to prosper…morally, physically, and financially.
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Of Malaria and other Pleasant Thoughts:
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| Not an uncommon sight in the Lower Rio Grande Valley still to this day. |
He became a farmer of sorts, in that his first objective was to line up scores of smallholders who had citrus orchards of three, five, and ten acres. Over the years, he and my mother cared for 3,000 and a little more acres of these "dreamer's orchards". They were so named because the Yankees would come to Winter and Myrtle would swoon at the beautiful groves, and the exotic Mexican caretakers, and the fruit itself, and the blossom set during the appropriate times…
They were good and noble folks…salt of the Earth in all truth and seriousness. But, their lot was to push up wheat, corn, and other dull products; things that are necessary but not very "romantic". Others were retired or veteran military, while some were bankers, retailers, and such. We had them all during that time between Thanksgiving and the 15th of March.
We would have to admonish them rarely, especially when one might find a "Winter Visitor couple" picking fruit while lugging a five-gallon bucket. The workers would run and look for my father to advise him that the rustlers were active. When our men were working sans supervision at tracts ten miles over there and six miles over here, they themselves would exact justice, by charging one or two dollars, depending on how many pounds of Valencia oranges had been "borrowed". Very few of the "Yankees" borrowed oranges.
My father would also plant, plow, and harvest plots ten to fifty acres, he and his workers, planting cotton, corn, and tomatoes…even okra. Normally he would encounter a friend or acquaintance who needed an "advance" in order to plant and harvest another property, and my father would give the petitioner a sum, and then use that same person's land to plant, harvest, and market, all to his own account. A bit old fashioned, but welcome to Texas. My parents were very proud that neither lender nor borrower ever lost a farthing among our friends nor within our family.
The main business was the grove care and the tonnage produced by the strikingly beautiful orchards, augmented a bit by farming cotton…planting in February and hoping for "America's First Bale" in late May or early June.
It was all very noble. My eldest brother, born in May of 1936, was driving tractors and "working" like a real hand by the age of 10. I was a big help by staying out of the way, although my greatest desire was to be allowed to drive the tractors. But a five year old did not pick up jobs like that in those times.
Now we have the two brothers and the father. The father, after leaving the Army (mounted cavalry), began his farming career, but after about a year he was greeted with a case of full blown Malaria. He had the kind that would cause welts, especially around the waist and lower back. This was in 1935, and my mother had to literally run the farm, and then also make her first run at birthing a baby…(May, 1936).
A youngish doctor working out of his own clinic in San Juan, Texas about twelve miles east of our farmstead came out and found a fevered, sweaty, weak man, feeling guilty because he was not out with his Mexican crew throwing sulphur under the orange trees. The fever was 103…the sweats were profound…the aches were very pronounced.
Compounding this was persistent abdominal cramps and vomiting and trying to stand up would result in a stiff round of vertigo so bad that my father could not stand up without support. The youngish doctor was not alarmed, but he was concerned. "How long has this been going on?"
My mother and Augustin the foreman informed that it had started the day before yesterday, and become worse yesterday. The doctor excused himself and said that he would be back in two hours. And he left, late in the afternoon. The destination? Reynosa, Tamaulipas, Mexico. Remember that this is 1935…and the "highway" to Reynosa, nine miles away to the South, was a thump-thump, thumpity thump concrete highway, and there were no lights beyond the headlights.
The young doctor had allowed my Father's overseer to accompany the journey across the Rio Grande…it would be a pleasant adventure. There was a 'Farmacia' just one door off of the main Plaza, quite a fine place…even with a ceiling fan. The Doctor asked the Farmacista if there was any "chloroquine?".
The farmacista declare, "Por supuesto que si!! How many pills?"
Our doctor thought about it, and suggested "Seis?"
"Es algo serio?" inquired the farmacista.
"Si…definitivamente"
The pharmacist sorted out six pills of chloroquine and declared "Seis pesos o cincuenta centavos Americanos," (six pesos or fifty American cents) "Buena surety, informame como reaccione su paciente."
Then it was off to the house just north of McAllen, with the medicine in which the American Doctor and the Mexican Pharmacist had so much faith. On the way back, the Mayordomo was fairly quiet, but he did screw up enough stuffing to ask the young Doctor, "Do you think something might go wrong with El Señor?"
"I have used these pills on Black folks, Mexican folks, old folks, toddlers, rich folks, poor folks, Anglo folks…and they have all come out fine."
After about 25 minutes, they turned down the gravel road to the east and drove the 200 feet and pulled into the rainbow shaped driveway. With a bit of haste, the twosome went to the door and passed on to the main bedroom. The Doctor told my mother that this medium-sized pill will solve the problem. And further, there were five more pills to be taken by 7:00 am for the next five mornings.
My mother offered our maid's room, quite a nice room on the second floor overlooking our patio, and McAllen to the distant south. The Young Doctor decided that would be a good idea…and so Agustin the Mayordomo, the Doctor, and my mother sitting by my father in bed, began the vigil. The Young Doctor had confided that my Father was afflicted with a type of Malaria, but the medicine would win the fight.
And…True enough. In the morning the Young Doctor enjoyed his coffee after watching my father swallow Pill Number Two, noting that the dizziness seemed to be almost gone, along with the abdominal cramps. He left the remain "magic pills" and mixing his Spanish and English between my mother and our Mayordomo, strict orders and guidances were left. "Call if there is any change to the worse!" he called as he headed back to San Juan.
My mother had arranged for a housekeeper from near Puebla in the centre of Mexico. And, as if by magic, she showed up in a taxi at around 10:00, introduced herself to all, and went up to what would be her room for the next twenty years, four days per week, every week. She also immediately took over nursing duties and every sort of domestic requirement.
With the Chloroquine Phosphate, my father was back on the tractor in three days. Ten years later, when my eldest brother was arriving at his tenth birthday, the same thing hit him, knocking him for a loop. Without delay, my father went over to Reynosa and bought the 250 mg. Chloroquine from the same pharmacist.
And while my middle brother missed the fun and games of having malaria, he did get to have measles and scarlet fever at the same time. He had to be hospitalised…for four nights. He was born in March of 1942…and endured a three week period of weakness and listlessness during the early summer of 1947, only a few months after my own appearance on the Planet, April, 1947.
So as not to be left out, while the middle brother had the double whammy that was absolutely no fun, I am sure, my gift that kept on giving was my father's and eldest brother…and it hit in 1952 when I was a child of five years. And it was the Malaria…which I carried for almost 22 years…having a bout every two or three years, thinking each time would be the last time. When I was drafted for the service, my blood draw revealed that the malaria was still wandering around in my gizzard…making me less desirable as a soldier.
We would have to admonish them rarely, especially when one might find a "Winter Visitor couple" picking fruit while lugging a five-gallon bucket. The workers would run and look for my father to advise him that the rustlers were active. When our men were working sans supervision at tracts ten miles over there and six miles over here, they themselves would exact justice, by charging one or two dollars, depending on how many pounds of Valencia oranges had been "borrowed". Very few of the "Yankees" borrowed oranges.
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| Once or twice a year, depending on conditions, the bloom set shows off |
The main business was the grove care and the tonnage produced by the strikingly beautiful orchards, augmented a bit by farming cotton…planting in February and hoping for "America's First Bale" in late May or early June.
It was all very noble. My eldest brother, born in May of 1936, was driving tractors and "working" like a real hand by the age of 10. I was a big help by staying out of the way, although my greatest desire was to be allowed to drive the tractors. But a five year old did not pick up jobs like that in those times.
Now we have the two brothers and the father. The father, after leaving the Army (mounted cavalry), began his farming career, but after about a year he was greeted with a case of full blown Malaria. He had the kind that would cause welts, especially around the waist and lower back. This was in 1935, and my mother had to literally run the farm, and then also make her first run at birthing a baby…(May, 1936).
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| Preparing for the Harvest ________________________ |
A youngish doctor working out of his own clinic in San Juan, Texas about twelve miles east of our farmstead came out and found a fevered, sweaty, weak man, feeling guilty because he was not out with his Mexican crew throwing sulphur under the orange trees. The fever was 103…the sweats were profound…the aches were very pronounced.
Compounding this was persistent abdominal cramps and vomiting and trying to stand up would result in a stiff round of vertigo so bad that my father could not stand up without support. The youngish doctor was not alarmed, but he was concerned. "How long has this been going on?"
My mother and Augustin the foreman informed that it had started the day before yesterday, and become worse yesterday. The doctor excused himself and said that he would be back in two hours. And he left, late in the afternoon. The destination? Reynosa, Tamaulipas, Mexico. Remember that this is 1935…and the "highway" to Reynosa, nine miles away to the South, was a thump-thump, thumpity thump concrete highway, and there were no lights beyond the headlights.
The young doctor had allowed my Father's overseer to accompany the journey across the Rio Grande…it would be a pleasant adventure. There was a 'Farmacia' just one door off of the main Plaza, quite a fine place…even with a ceiling fan. The Doctor asked the Farmacista if there was any "chloroquine?".
The farmacista declare, "Por supuesto que si!! How many pills?"
Our doctor thought about it, and suggested "Seis?"
"Es algo serio?" inquired the farmacista.
"Si…definitivamente"
The pharmacist sorted out six pills of chloroquine and declared "Seis pesos o cincuenta centavos Americanos," (six pesos or fifty American cents) "Buena surety, informame como reaccione su paciente."
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| A bit misleading, although effective The actual measure is 300 mg, not 125 __________________________ |
Then it was off to the house just north of McAllen, with the medicine in which the American Doctor and the Mexican Pharmacist had so much faith. On the way back, the Mayordomo was fairly quiet, but he did screw up enough stuffing to ask the young Doctor, "Do you think something might go wrong with El Señor?"
"I have used these pills on Black folks, Mexican folks, old folks, toddlers, rich folks, poor folks, Anglo folks…and they have all come out fine."
After about 25 minutes, they turned down the gravel road to the east and drove the 200 feet and pulled into the rainbow shaped driveway. With a bit of haste, the twosome went to the door and passed on to the main bedroom. The Doctor told my mother that this medium-sized pill will solve the problem. And further, there were five more pills to be taken by 7:00 am for the next five mornings.
My mother offered our maid's room, quite a nice room on the second floor overlooking our patio, and McAllen to the distant south. The Young Doctor decided that would be a good idea…and so Agustin the Mayordomo, the Doctor, and my mother sitting by my father in bed, began the vigil. The Young Doctor had confided that my Father was afflicted with a type of Malaria, but the medicine would win the fight.
 |
| This is a standard 250 dosage, but its marked 260…It's a wonderland out there. ___________________________ |
And…True enough. In the morning the Young Doctor enjoyed his coffee after watching my father swallow Pill Number Two, noting that the dizziness seemed to be almost gone, along with the abdominal cramps. He left the remain "magic pills" and mixing his Spanish and English between my mother and our Mayordomo, strict orders and guidances were left. "Call if there is any change to the worse!" he called as he headed back to San Juan.
My mother had arranged for a housekeeper from near Puebla in the centre of Mexico. And, as if by magic, she showed up in a taxi at around 10:00, introduced herself to all, and went up to what would be her room for the next twenty years, four days per week, every week. She also immediately took over nursing duties and every sort of domestic requirement.
With the Chloroquine Phosphate, my father was back on the tractor in three days. Ten years later, when my eldest brother was arriving at his tenth birthday, the same thing hit him, knocking him for a loop. Without delay, my father went over to Reynosa and bought the 250 mg. Chloroquine from the same pharmacist.
And while my middle brother missed the fun and games of having malaria, he did get to have measles and scarlet fever at the same time. He had to be hospitalised…for four nights. He was born in March of 1942…and endured a three week period of weakness and listlessness during the early summer of 1947, only a few months after my own appearance on the Planet, April, 1947.
So as not to be left out, while the middle brother had the double whammy that was absolutely no fun, I am sure, my gift that kept on giving was my father's and eldest brother…and it hit in 1952 when I was a child of five years. And it was the Malaria…which I carried for almost 22 years…having a bout every two or three years, thinking each time would be the last time. When I was drafted for the service, my blood draw revealed that the malaria was still wandering around in my gizzard…making me less desirable as a soldier.
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More later, perhaps to-morrow if things become more heated.
EL GRINGO VIEJO
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