Private Letter to Newt and Mitt

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   The news yesterday about Newt Gingrich was not pleasant.   It affected the Old Gringo naught, however, because he will never forget that the Speaker invited Jesse Jackson to a joint session address by somebody or another back in 1990's.   The specific event is not remembered.    The right-wingers in the GOP were stunned, because if he were going to invite a person of colour, there was the number 3 guy in the GOP caucus, J.C. Watts, who is and was an accomplished person, also an ordained preacher, but also a normal person, a member of the GOP, a member of the GOP leadership, a noted athlete, an eloquent and forceful thinker among conservatives, etc........and NEWT invites Jesse Jackson, a slug of an extortionist, poverty pimp, philandering hefty bag full of  %^#&;%%^ and camel guts as a guest of honor.    Good-bye Newt, since 1995, I think it was.    One must remember that Newt is not from Georgia, which is neither here nor there, but rather from the more enlightened Northeast.    Newt is also from the Rockefeller wing of the GOP and quite closely associated with the "reasonable" people who call themselves Republicans and are generally found at the Country Club, dreading the arrival of Jed Clampett and me to their meeting.

       However, the Old Gringo will abide by Reynaldus Magnus's instruction that one Elephant shall not speak ill of another Elephant.....so there.

       Nor shall the Old Gringo raise his voice against Mitt Romney, whom he regards as the perfect candidate for President.....until he says that he believes Al Gore and a hoard of Bolshevik scientists .     Mr. Mitt, one medium volcano spews more pollutants....serious, toxic stuff....in one day into the atmosphere than what has been spewed into the atmosphere by all humankind since the beginning of Creation.   Mr. Mitt, please remember that in the 1970's Jane Fonda told me we were all going to die....because of NUCLEAR WINTER...Global Cooling!!!!    Mr. Mitt, what are you going to say when the next crowd comes out of the St. Frida Kahlo's Chapel of the Church of Karl Marx of the Latter Day Bolsheviks and declares that all cats have to be burned because they have a parasite that endangers left-handed lesbian Eskimos?

Forgive my ire as I crawl back into my darkened cave.

El Gringo Viejo

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A Bit of Admiration

We were talking on the way down from Texas State University graduation ceremonies and we realized what special children we had brought to bear on the world's situation.   Their friends and associates are all dull and boring like us, no nightly police responses for wife beating....no one starring in clips from "World's Dumbest"....no need to drive up to TDC in Huntsville, Texas once every month.

      During my time of it at Southwest Texas State University, it was a great source of pride for the Old Gringo to be able to say "I paid most of my own way through school."    My mother, but not so much my father, was flabbergasted because I had been such a gadfly....lazy, profligate, over-accustomed to being waited on hand and foot, and generally disgusting.    My father had had faith that my redemption would come as upon the wings of a buzzard.....and that I would suddenly feel like doing something and amounting to something.
       So, it is true, that in the main, the Old Gringo did actually pay his room, board, tuition, auto insurance, maintenance, tires,  and various things on his own for the last 2/3's of his stint at University.    Much of that was working at a very fine hamburger shack named Gil's Broiler, a half-block off-campus.  


       So it is a bit of a source of pride and humiliation that first my daughter essentially paid her whole way through University and advanced herself professionally all on her own.    And then her brother has done the same thing, wandering through life doing a thousand interesting things....capping it with things like being an Eagle Scout, a Coast Guard Veteran, and little things like leading Texas State Universithy in beating Dartmouth in the Philosophical World Series Debates this past Spring.    Now he is still working and heading into the ethereal world of Graduate School....happy with his place, station, and progress.


       So, it is humiliating to know what a slug the Old Gringo is and was, but then .....he helped Diana raise a pair of perfect children.....helped pretty much by staying out of the way.    So, The Old Gringo was a very effective parent after all.
More Later, and thanks for your attention.
El Gringo Viejo 

Hope and Change Comes to Cleveland

We have to say good-bye to this little family run operation.   Barry used it as a prop to demonstrate how effective his 3,000,000,000,000 in stimulus and union-funding initiatives.     Like the lady who said " I is living out of my car" and he appointed some staff members to find her a job and a place to live....(never happened)....or the other lady who said that she was waiting to see something positive based on her vote for hope and change.....she lost her job a few weeks later when the artificial prop stimulus money ran out.....and on...and on.    Perhaps Barry could have gotten those ladies to work as maids and servants for his illegal alien Auntie who continues to live under complete subsidy....apartment, food, utilities, spending money, etc. in New Jersey.
       Barry pointed out that this little restaurant was saved because of Chrysler becoming part of the national socialist bailout.    Even the Washington Post said that recent claims of Chrysler's repayment record were essentially fraudulent.

     All OROGs are advised to re-review the webpage for the Quinta Tesoro de la Sierra Madre..   There have been a few tweekings and fiddlings that might be of interest.   It is 90% the same, but completely different as Yogi would say.   We are taking advantage of a bit of a falloff in activity to prepare the way when the star again appears in the West.

      One thing that is a bit funny is that we try to fix the old "manor house" of the Hacienda de La Vega section of the Quinta Tesoro de Sierra Madre's website (down towards the end), and sometimes it disappears, or moves, or jiggles a bit and "loosens up" the script at times.   The house has a few ghost stories associated with it that even the family takes a bit seriously.   Perhaps the ghostly resident(s) either like or dislike having the picture of the house on the webpage.

       It was built, for one thing, where a trouble-maker during the expropriations in the late 1920's led a bit of an armed action wherein several people were killed and wounded.  It is said that that is the reason for the location of the Ejido Cemetery very close by.    All of the expropriations were finished by the early 1940's.    The hauntings, however, began around the house almost immediately with its finishing in 1934.

More later.   Thanks for the interest.   Remember to send five dollars and three questions on a note card to Sister Maria.

The Old Gringo

The Dog

When Alvaro came back to the Quinta to spell the Old Gringo for a bit, he brought a little bundle from Heck in the form of a Labrador puppy.     It was, of course, the thing that we absolutely needed above all else.   

Bebe with his new friend from next door

It is the kind of thing that an old fool needs to have running around trying to be friendly and important and becoming lost in the invisible line of the bifocals  during the middle of the night.    But, he is a Labrador, and he has all those endearing characteristics that a Labrador brings to an issue.   With luck, he will outlive me.

     He was kept inside during the first couple of nights, and he did not whine or whimper.   He only made one small mess and after that was essentially housebroken.....pretty good for a dog....He seems to prefer playing in the front yard and lounging on the "long west-facing corridor" like the rest of the tourists.

      We did lose Trouble, the dog one sees at the entrance with the Old Gringo when he was caught up in a contest of alfa males....Trouble was a dedicated beta male, but failed to move when two really stupid males were fighting and they both pretty much took him apart.    I was informed after the fact, having been in the Austin area at the time.    It was about a week later that Sylvester, our resident black and white tomcat was found quite a ways away.....about a half mile....on the paved road.   He had been run over, so Alvaro brought him back and gave him a decent burial as well.    So....don't have pets or animals around unless you have nerves of putty.

       Anyway, New Puppy a calico Heinz of about 7 months age and Bebe who is about 3 months hit it off well and so now they are en situs.   Bebe had to come inside during the day because of the heat....102 f outside and 81f inside.....he found the master bathroom where we keep a bowl of water for the cats.    The dark, adobe cooled room was much to his liking, so he slept long stretches, sometimes with his paw in the bowl.

       The "general purpose dogs", Prince and Pinto have given Bebe the "benign neglect" treatment, with only Prince growling at him one time.     It was noticed however that both of the older dogs are spending the nights over at Anastacio's house behind the Quinta.    They still gallop out barking and growling at night whenever a real or imagine interloper comes into the nasal radar range.

       Bebe has given considerable effort with some significant success towards making peace and friendship with the cats.    Cleopaetra has become "used to" him, while the other two seem to be a bit more concerned with making sure that he knows who is who, and what space belongs to whom.

Just a bit of estrogen dosage for that portion of the OROG community.

El Gringo Viejo.

ps.    It was decided to hang Alvaro by his toes for three days when I make it back to the Quinta.....or force him to sell raffle tickets to raise money to feed the new dog.

And Then.....tales of great bravery and steadfastness of the Old Gringo

     Not only suffering the other tribulations of the moment, the evening of the day after the Night of the Coralillo, an auto pulled up to our main gate.....at almost precisely mid-night.   Since there had not been any vehicular traffic during the previous 30 hours, the sound of crunching gravel was conspicuous because of its rarity.   A session of listening to ghost stories and tales of flying saucers on overnight radio was just beginning.     Is George Bush secretly running the show in the White House still, and directing the press to project  controversy into the American conciousness so as to divert their attention from the fact that the Rothchilds and Bildenbergers keep moving ahead to gain control of a Planet over which, apparently, they already have total control.

      But none of this radio-addiction would be in the offing.   There was a visitor at the gate.     It turned out to be "La Maestra", a woman  who also built a house a few hundred yards from the Quinta....a much more elaborate house....and who has been a generous friend and associate.    She was the XO for the uncle of our neighbour of the Hacienda de La Vega.   That uncle died about four years ago, and had served for over 20 years in the State's office for wildlife protection and rural development.

       In any regard, this was not a social call.    As I made myself decent enough for presentation, figured out who the visitor was, and fumbled around for the right key and a flashlight, my mind clunked around thinking about why on Earth would any visit be so urgent as to need to take place at this hour.  La Maestra waited at the gate, accompanied by her two employees.   All three seemed agitated.

      "Buenas noches.....or dias, depende el caso" began the Old Gringo....making a feeble bit of a joke about the fact that we were now in the "madrugada" , or the "morning of the next day" phase of the calendar.

       "Hola' don David, disculpe la molestia....." she responds, leaving the conversational door open to a more rapid entry into the real business at hand.

        "En que los puedo servir?",  enquires the Old Gringo, cutting to the chase. (What can I do for you?)

         "You have seen the fire coming towards us?" she answers.    Her staff members nod and seem very impatient to do something....or anything.    These fellows are kind of a combination of two skinny Mutts and Jeffs folded into the scenes of Mayberry RFD, haplessly pleasant.   We are exchanging handshakes at this point.

       I can smell the smokiness, my throat has been paying that price for the past week because of more distant fires in the mountains.    But truly, this is something different.   As my senses adjusted to being outside, it is apparent that there is considerable smoke in the air and the smoke smells hot and fresh.

But, in reality, there is not tell-tale glow, near or far, to indicate immenency of a blaze.   So the question, "Donde esta' el incendio?"

        "It's right there on the other side of the main house of the Hacienda de La Vega!" all three respond.   I do not see it still, as we walk out to the area of the road that leads to both our place and the La Vega.     Knowing that we have to intervene, no matter what the nature of this issue truly is, I began to formulate that plan of attack.

        "Let's go down and tell Ciro.    Do you think he knows?    Have you called him?"     by this time I am walking back to the house to strap on some better shoes and to pick up a walking stick.    The two staff members of La Maestra are carrying long, well-honed machetes.   La Maestra responds that the cell phone signal is not working or Ciro's phone is off or his card ran out.    By this time I am openning up the gate of the Hacienda de La Vega and we are filing through a narrow, thorny uneven fence-crossing, full of all kinds of possibilities, most of them not too good.
        Then the dos of La Vega come.   Huge dogs, loping along, barking and growling.    It dawns on me that one of the characters from Mayberry is new to me.   "Have you been to the Hacienda de La Vega before?" I ask.
           "No",  responds Goober.
           "Get behind me, then!" I order.    He obeys and avoids a close encounter of the first kind with two 100 pound dogs....dogs who trust those whom I trust. Arriving at the Old Manor House of the the La Vega, where Ciro sleeps at night (and at times in the daytime) we begin calling out "Ciro....Ciro!!"   It seems appropriate because that is his name.    The smoke is heavier and finally I can see a bit of a fire line a few hundred yards further on to the west of the  Manor House.    La Maestra was certain that it would be advancing within minutes to the cemetery, her fancy new place, and several other humbler but still significant homes.
            Ciro comes out and we all go through the necessary civilities again, except with two more Mexican Mayberry characters added to the mix.   Ciro opines that the fire is simply the grass furrow that he formed while clearing part of the old orange grove.    He had set it afire at the end of daylight and watched over it until it became clear that it was ready to burn itself out.   This is a line about 300 feet long, 4 feet wide, and about 3 feet high.   Much of the grass and weed material was still a bit greenish, hence the smoke.   He said he would drive over with his helper and check it out, everyone could come.
           So, once Ciro has his necessry paraphanalia and his assistant, they all head off to the fire.    I return to the Quinta, in the dark, with my flashlight because Ciro wanted me to call the owner of the Hacienda de La Vega.    That is something that was quickly reconsidered upon arrival back inside my safe little 'fraidy-hole' because in reality there was nothing, as of yet, to report.    About twenty minutes later, Ciro delivered La Maestra and her staff back to the Quinta and informed me that a couple of the old, dead trunks of some damaged trees actually had ignited from the heat caused by the burning grass, and due to the angle of view from La Maestra's house, it looked as if there was a long line of flames approaching her.    For his part he was going to return with several buckets of water and finish all of the flames.....in short, no problems.
            All of this helped me justify my decision not to call the owner of La Vega. La Maestra's concern had not been misplaced.   The fires have been uncommonly menacing throughout the States of Tamaulipas and Nuevo Leon as well as Texas this late Spring and now early Summer.     It has been a constant fight, especially in the mountains and in areas where there are huge extensions of sorghum and/or corn plantings.     Lightning, stupidity, broken glass, and any number of other things can start these fires but we have had to play the Devil to control and extinguish each blaze.    Army, American Helicopter crazymen, and squads of tough "civil defense" volunteeers have laboured throughout this dry spell in an honorably and largely successful effort....but the trials of Job continue....lessening though, thankfully.


More Later.   Thanks for learning about my simple form of heroism....known as "getting out of the way and letting the people who do the work take the credit".
El Gringo Viejo