The Magnificent Torta and How it Saved the Cinema Part 1 of 2 by KimB

[Editor's Note: This story was written by KimB]

While many people are familiar with the more common Mexican dishes like tacos and enchiladas, not everyone has had the joy of encountering a Torta. A Torta is a Mexican sandwich on a french roll. It is unlike any other sandwich you might have met.

When Mexico was part of the French Empire, they learned and mastered the art of making french bread. And while tortillas are the main staple throughout Mexico, french rolls called “bolillos” are a wonderful discovery.

My first encounter with a bolillo was on my first trip to Mexico. Mom, my Brother and I arrived in Mexico City and of course an adventure happened. Not one we wanted though. Although there were many parts of this adventure, the encounter with the bolillo is what I will focus on for this story.

As in all adventures, something had gone wrong. What had gone wrong was: the money transfer my Mom had made from the USA to the local Mexican Bank had "gone awry" and when she went to the Bank, the money wasn't there. And as this was way way before Debit Cards and 1-800-Call-Your-Bank-For-Help, we had to wait for: The Mail. Not only did we have to wait for the mail, we had limited funds to cover us for the 2 weeks needed for the mail messages to go back and forth.

Neither my Mom, my Brother nor I were strangers with having to "make do" with limited funds and peanut butter was a staple in our household. Unfortunately, peanut butter is not a staple in Mexico and coupled with Rule 1 about food, we had a serious challenge. There wasn't anything we could eat that we could afford.

We hit the local Mercado (outdoor market) and bought bananas. I love bananas but we had to ration them between the 3 of us. It was really tough looking at bananas and not eating one! We went out during the day sight seeing and did whatever we could to entertain ourselves, as long as, of course, it cost nothing.

Mom took us see some of the nearby shops and one was a bakery. There were all sorts of sweets and cookies in the window but all we could do was sniff. I spoke almost no Spanish at the time and wandered towards the back end of the small store. There were three large bins full of “somethings”. Each bin had a “something” of a particular size. Small ones on the right, Medium ones in the middle and Large ones on the left. I had no idea what they were. I watched as people came to the bins and took out the “somethings” and paid for them.

Mom and Brother had already moved along to the next store and I stopped to ask in my poor Spanish: “What is it?” [¿Que es?] and how much the “somethings” cost [¿Cuánto cuesta?]. The Bakers gave me a small one to try [ ¡Cómalo!] and told me it was 10 centavos.

It was Heaven! It was the most delicious bread I'd ever tasted. I might have been just a bit prejudiced since I'd only had bananas for a few days. I raced to tell my Mom and Brother about this wonderful discovery!

Soon, I had dragged them both back to the bakery and showed them the bins of bread. I told them they were only 10 cents each and we could buy TEN for 1 peso! THAT was definitely IN the budget and Mom promptly bought enough for all of us to enjoy.

Every morning, until the Bank mix up was resolved, Mom sent me and my brother to the bakery with 1 peso to buy 10 bolillos to go with our bananas.

[End of Part 1]



Bolillos



Visiting Grandma by Loretta

[Editor's Note: This story was written by Loretta]

From the time I can remember, I hated visiting my grandmother on my mother's side. She was German, decent and very strict. Children were to be seen and not heard. When we came to visit, Dad had to drive 60 miles to Oskaloosa from Fort Des Moines and it took about two hours driving time. In those days they didn’t drive like a bat out of hell.

When we arrived we had to sit on a leather divan, not speak, just sit. It took about a half hour to get up the courage and ask if we could go down to the school play ground and swing and ride the merry go round. We would stay there if we could but mom always gave us a time limit.

I remember mom left us with grandma for a day and grandma made mush for breakfast and set a bowl in front of each of us. My youngest brother, Mark, decided he didn’t like it but I was such a coward in those days, I ate mine. Lunch time came grandma made soup and set us all down to eat but Mark had mush. Mark still turned it down but we ate our soup. Dinner time came and you guessed it, Mark got mush; we got Goulash. Mark never did eat that day. That’s how stubborn he was. Thank god, mom came for us or Mark would have starved.

On our way home from Oskaloosa, we drove through Pella a Dutch town. Mom always stopped at a butcher shop and bought a ring of Pella bologna and the following day she would make potato soup with chunks of bologna in it. To this day, I still remember how good it tasted. I make potato cheese soup on cold winter days and also home made chicken soup. They're alright but they don’t compare to my memory of mom's cooking. You don’t realize until its to late sometimes, that writing down certain things would be very important to have later in life.

I’ll always remember when I was 13 and Louise my older sister got married, Grandma and Aunt Louise (my mother's sister) came for the wedding. Grandma was in her late seventies and over the years lost quite a bit of weight, she was frail and very petite. Looking at her then, I wondered why I was so scared when I was younger.

When it comes to respect, I guess size doesn’t matter.

Pella Bologna

New Computer

I recently found myself without a working computer due to malware and viruses. The full shock of the situation didn't hit me until some days later. When I called for help from both my son and daughter, (both more computer literate than I), they advised letting my virus program run a scan which would take care of the problem.

Considering I pay a hefty sum for such protection, I was relieved to realize the cure was so simple. I had just finished eating supper and the evening was still young. Since the anti virus company worked 24/7, I picked up the phone and dialed their number. I knew the company had secret ways of riding computers of all manner of 'infections', and I would be back online in short order. EZPZ. Right?

At the first sound of English being spoken with an Indian accent, I knew I was in for lots of repetitive requests from both ends of the phone connection, with my end being the first to start things off. I lost track of how many times I asked the technician to repeat what turned out to be his name. He also explained that I would have to fork over a chunk of money in order for him to fix the problem. I must say, he was extremely courteous and assured me it was his pleasure to serve me. The session lasted a bit longer than I had anticipated so I decided to turn the computer off and go watch TV to relieve the stress and anxiety I had experienced.

The next morning when I turned on the computer a 'pop up' appeared that I couldn't X out so I phoned my anti virus company. They did another scan and did some magic maneuvers as I watched them drive my computer. Before they logged out of my computer, they said all was AOK and I was a happy camper even if it had taken a long time to fix the 'whatever'. I knew they were sincere in their taking pleasure in serving me, and I hoped they were as happy as I at not having to repeat every word.

The third technician I called to correct something was a woman whose professionalism was apparent from the first moment she came on the phone, but she too had to go thru the business of repeating instructions. She finished the session and all went well that day. I had the idea that maybe the women technicians were a tad superior in their ability to log into a clients computer, drive it and fix things.

When I complained to my son and daughter that the sessions were long and stressful they said some of the viruses and malware were very hard to get rid of and the problem had become universal.

The forth technician accidentally wiped out my operating system and when he asked me to insert the XP disk, I knew things had gone to HELL IN A HAND BASKET. !!!!

At this point, my virus program and I parted ways. I took my laptop to a pc store and said 'fix it'. While it was in the repair shop, my daughter and her husband surprised me by giving me a new computer which would be delivered the same day my repaired one would be ready for pick up.

My cup runneth over!!!

My cup runneth over!!!

Two Cats by KimB

Two Cats

"I'm different from you!"

"You're not the same as me!"

Argued the two cats up in the tree.

One was above,

The other up high,

Both of their noses stuck up at the sky.

One's tail was limp.

The other's hung down.

One looked unhappy while the other one frowned.

They looked at each other,

And then looked away,

Wishing the strange one would just go away.

Together they perched,

And stared at the ground,

Lamenting apiece, they'd no way to get down.

They sat and they sat,

All thru the day,

Waiting for someone to happen their way.

As the day gave way,

And the night came along,

Hunger Pangs were their Even-Song.

With a swish and a flick.

As fast as can be.

With a mighty leap, they jumped from the tree.

Together they walked,

With nothing amiss.

Their noses touched in quiet friendship.

"You're just like me!"

"You're my own cat's wish!"

Then together they ate from the same food dish.

KimB 2010

Bold Spiral

Bold Spiral by Marion 2010

Gardening by Loretta

[Editor's Note: This story was written by Loretta]

Oh, the memories! We have always had a garden. In Iowa, mom and dad had two gardens: one down by the house and the other at the end of our property.

In the summer time, mom marched us out to the garden, handed us a hoe and showed us to the rows of veggies. She gave us each so many rows to take care of. No one was allowed to leave until all the rows were done. Mine were never done. Louise always finished first and mom had her help the rest of us finish ours. She use to get pissed because she had to do twice as many rows as us. I guess you can say, we fooled around until help showed up. All the people living in the area were basically in the same boat we were: mini-farmers and all the kids had the same duties we had.

When I lived in California, I used to have a garden too. I remember one particular year, I was so proud of how my garden was looking. You know, standing there with admiration when all of a sudden, one of my plants disappeared in front of my eyes! A gopher had burrowed under my garden and was devouring my veggies. I lost half my garden to that little guy.

Needless to say, we had a war on our hands. I finally got him or one of his relatives. I was weeding around the Rose bushes and other flowers when I pulled up a gopher on the end of a plant! First, he scared the "blank" out of me but then I recovered. I grabbed my shovel and beat him to death and threw him in the trash can. It was MY victory! He might have won most of the battles but I won the war.

I’m having similar wars now with my garden. Something is burrowing under my garden, we're always filling in holes but apparently whatever it is, doesn’t like chili plants.

Tonight, part of dinner was a large salad made up of bell pepper, tomatoes and cucumber, which were home grown. Plus onion, lettuce and avocado bought in a store. Very good, if I say so myself. Our cucumbers, both Japanese and regular, are growing so fast I’ve got six of them on my kitchen counter right now and I'm looking in cook books for any kind of recipe that appeals to me.

Last week, my niece's husband decided that one of the watermelons was ready to pick. When it was cut open, we realized it wasn’t and it needed a another few weeks to ripen. Still it was sweet, it just lacked color and time. My beefsteak tomatoes turned out really small. I think someone must have changed the tags.

As far as gardening, I might not be the best, but I'm still trying.

Pocket Gopher

The Park on the Corner by KimB

[Editor's Note: This story was written by KimB]

Mom and I lived in the suburbs of Mexico City for a long time. We lived in a hotel that was a short bus trip from the downtown. Mom spent her days painting and I spent mine exploring or reading and trying not to get into too much trouble.

Our room had no TV or radio and no telephone either, although the main desk could take messages for us. This was a long time before cell phones and text-messaging. But we didn't mind as we could always find an adventure to keep us busy.

The neighborhood had many small shops and a wonderful park. The park was actually a famous one but not one who's history is known to many visitors. It had a wonderful bandstand and in the summer, concerts would be played and everyone who could, would come to the park to listen to the music.

Summertime can be very hot in Mexico City and when the concerts would happen many vendors and street hawkers would come to the park to sell all kinds of things to the people there. They would sell toys and balloons and ice cream to the many families that came to hear the music. But our favorites were the Fresh Fruit Sellers.

They would pull small wagons with big blocks of ice on them and have lots of bins of fresh fruit. There was watermelon, pineapple, banana, jícama and other exotic fruits to select from and for a few pesos we could buy any selection we wanted. The vendor would take a large piece of butcher paper and roll it into a cone. The size of the cone depended on the size ordered. Then he would cut big chunks of the fresh ice cold fruit and start to fill the cone. When it got near the top he would place sticks of jícama around the edge to extend the size of the cone and continue filling it with more fruit.

We loved to sit on the benches in the afternoon listening to the band and eating the ice cold fruit. I loved watching all the people come to park, some dressed up and some not. The children were given toys and balloons to play with and the adults would tap their toes in rhythm with music.

I knew Mexico City very well and often friends would ask me to take their visitors on tours around the city. One place I would take them was to see the famous mural in the Del Prado Hotel(1) by Diego Rivera: “Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in the Central Alameda.” [Sueno de una tarde dominical en la Alameda Central] The mural was famous because for many years it was covered up and not viewable by the public. Rivera had painted in text and originally titled his work: "Dios no existe" [God does not exist]. In 1958 he painted over the words. When it became viewable by the public, it was one of the major pieces of art work that I took the visitors to see.

I would show them the mural and explain a bit about it but I was most proud and always pointed out Our Bandstand in the background.


1.The mural was badly damaged in the Mexico City earthquake 1985 and was moved from the Del Prado which was demolished and is now in the Museo Mural Diego Rivera.

Sueno de una tarde dominical en la Alameda Central by Diego Rivera 1947-48

Sewing

I seem to be spending my waking hours in an ameliorative state... I realized the other day that most of my interests and activities require pursuing some form of further practice, study and/or correction as in my latest project, sewing.

When my sister, Esther, asked if I would like a couple of muumuus like the ones she planned to make for her self using a McCalls pattern, I quickly accepted her offer. Esther is an accomplished seamstress having made clothes for her daughters, son and husband and I knew whatever she made on her sewing machine would be a delight to wear.

I volunteered to do the finishing of the muumuus she cut out for me if it would save her time and energy and she agreed to mail them to me after she did the basic fitting and cutting. Within a couple of days, they arrived at the post office and when I opened the package, I saw two beautiful muumuus, one a light green eyelet, the other blue with flowers. All I had to do was sew the pockets in the side seams of each. Simple, right?

I never thoroughly learned to operate my sewing machine. I do know how to turn it on and off, thread it and fill a bobbin, how to cut fabric using a pattern, but learning basic sewing 101 never got on my list of things to do, consequently, I never learned the tips that make sewing easy, but hey, side pockets don’t show and I can sew a straight seam.

I wasn’t the least perturbed about sewing pockets and after pinning the pieces and threading the machine, I began sewing. When I finished, I discovered the pockets had not been properly inserted, and I’d have to do some ripping. I spent the next 2 ½ hours undoing what I had just sewn in a few minutes.

Before sewing the pockets again I googled for directions on the internet. The videos showing how to sew pockets in side seams was so helpful, my spirits spiked and off I went to do a bang up job, determined to equal Esther’s talent.  Again, I pinned and sewed, only to discover I had attached one pocket upside down and would have to rip again.

I was forced to suffer the reality of my inadequacy once again, but I eventually got the pockets inserted in the right place and in the right manner. The fact that I had spent approximately 4 hours on a sewing job that should have taken about 20 minutes is something I plan never divulge to my loving sister.

Times Remembered 4

[Editor's note: This will be a series of stories posted at irregular intervals]

Labor Day, (September 6th this year), marked the first day of school and the end of summer vacation when I was a child. On one hand we looked forward to having progressed to a higher grade with new teachers, new books and the wearing of new school clothes. On the other hand, it meant the end of long days of play, staying up late at night and going barefoot.
School books were provided by the school, but students purchased pencils and tablets.

Many of the children I went to school with did not live in town, but on farms in the surrounding area. They did not go home for lunch like students living in town. They brought lunches and ate them in the large assembly room during lunch hour. Sometimes in snowy weather, town students would bring lunch to school, the occasion being a treat from their usual school routine.

Being on time was a must and there was no dawdling getting dressed and breakfasted. Children living next door or down the street would join us as we walked pass their houses; the younger ones forming a group and we older ones walking together.

There was always homework and each year assignments increased. The load of books carried back and forth to school every day got heavier as the years progressed. Everyone had a desk in the assembly room where books and notebooks could be stored and if homework for a particular class was finished during ‘study time’, that particular book could be left at school.

After settling into the tedium of class routines, we anticipated school holidays. On November 11th, Armistice Day, (known today as Veterans Day), was celebrated by students being called to the assembly room to observe a minute of silent prayer at 11 O’clock. Classes were then canceled for the rest of the day. A two week vacation started a week before Christmas, ending New Years Day. Toward the end of May, each class scheduled a day of picnicking at one of the local parks.

Report cards detailing passing or failing work were sent home periodically for parents to sign and return. If school work had been satisfactory during the year, students were promoted to the next level. Sometimes promotion was contingent on being tutored in a particular subject during the summer.

We welcomed the three months of June, July and August with their seemingly unlimited days of fun and play, but the last days of August brought realization summer was over and it was back to school for another year.

Stack of old books