HELEN WOODSON. . .

spent most of her adult life in prison (27 years) for opposing (and damaging) nuclear weapons.

Then:

Now:

CARNE DE RES

The weather forecast was windy with a high of 59 today so, as we prepared to set off for market. el sr J and I talked about some cool-weather meals.  We decided beef vegetable soup and a pot roast would be good choices for fall weather.  Then we had to figure out how we were going to ask for the cuts we wanted.  We consulted our Larousse Mexican Cookbook and an on-line chart of different cuts:  Here's the beef.  We wanted chuck, which was identified in the on-line chart as paleta.  There ensued a semi-heated discussion about whether to ask for it by size (gestures tend to work here) or by weight (how big is a kilo of chuck?), which ended with el sr J's being granted the responsibility for talking, since he does the cooking.

Off to market.  None of the cuts on the counter at our butcher's looked like what we wanted.  So el sr J asked for "paleta."  He said we wanted to cook it in the oven.  The butcher gave us that smiling but confused look that told us he had no idea what a "paleta" was.  Of course.  Just as it is with chiles, different regions are likely to have different names for the same thing.  On to Plan B.  I tried a different approach and said we wanted to make a soup with carrots, potatoes and onions and we wanted a cut with some bone for flavor.  Then el sr J, who had another cut up his sleeve, added:  "chambarete."  "Oh," says the smiling butcher and he talks to another guy there who disappears into a locker for about 5 minutes.  (If you remember a previous post, sometimes these guys climb a ladder and turn on an electric saw.  This time all was quiet).  He finally comes out brandishing a cow leg and asks if that's what we're talking about.  Yes.  El sr J told him he wanted 3 pieces from that leg and used his hand to show him where to cut them.  Up the ladder with the leg, down with the 3 pieces.

Look what we got!  Beautifully marbled with marrow bones and lots of meat.  Excellent for soup and stock.  We got 4 quarts.

During the 5-minute wait, el sr J was eyeing up the cuts on the counter and asking about them.  He saw one he liked for the pot roast and here it is:

This cut is called diezmillo.  Don't know what it's called anywhere else.  It's not chuck, but it will do.  

MAS ALMOHADAS

More pillows.  I'm calling these loosely alphabetical.  Loosely, because I don't know the languages, and also because they are mirror images (for technical reasons).

Armenian:

Arabic:

Chinese:

Tamil:

Arapacana:

The small ones are for the patio chairs (I still have one to go).  The big ones are for the sofa.

Instead of eating words, we'll sit on them.

DOMINGO CAMINANDO

We decided to walk again to our prospective--or perhaps I should say possible or potential--neighborhood again this Sunday.  We wanted to see what had been done in a week.

One of the geyser-like fountains on Universidad.  How do you think they'll care for that grass?  By hand, I suppose.

This is the entrance to Invierno, our "p/p" street.  The sidewalk "bubble" on the left has been filled in and there's a new pile of dirt on the right.  

The blue sign says, "OBRAS Q CAMBIAN TU VIDA," (WORKS THAT CHANGE YOUR LIFE).

I'm sure the people breathing in the dust every day agree.

What do you suppose this ditch all the way across the street is for?  

 El sr J snarkily suggests it's an archaeological dig.  More likely it's for drainage.

The mess in the front of "our house" has been cleaned up.  Note that the outside lock is still on the door.

See how wide the sidewalk is going to be?

  The city has built a "bubble" in the sidewalk at each end of the block, and another at the half-way point.  This will make parking impossible (maybe, or maybe people will just park on the sidewalk) at these spots, forcing neighbors to compete for the limited spaces in between the "bubbles."

We went to the end of "our" block, turned left on Primavera and then left again on Cuauhtémoc.  They're fixing up that street too.  More lives being changed.

Some beauty in the midst of construction:

A different fountain on the way home:

ELIZABETH ANN DUKE

Since I took my revolutionary women off the wall in anticipation of moving, I've been kind of lax in adding to the list since I don't get inspiration from seeing them shining in the moonlight in the middle of the night anymore.  But I've still got a lot of women to go.

Here's Elizabeth Ann Duke, born in 1940 in Beeville, Texas.

She jumped bail in 1985 and is still on the lam.  The FBI lists her occupations as teacher and philanthropist. She speaks fluent Spanish.  I'll keep an eye out for her here, although don't count on me to turn in a 71 year-old revolutionary.

DIA DE LOS MUERTOS, PARTE II

We set out for the closest cemetery this morning at 9:30.  The street merchants were just starting to open up their stalls of skull candy, ghoul masks, etc.  Remember Santa Catrina from yesterday's post?  We came upon the following explanation of where she came from (besides the dead) and what she's all about.

As we neared the cemetery we joined the throngs of people on their way there.  The houses along the way were having yard and garage sales and offering food and drink.

There was also stuff to eat at drink at the entrance to the cemetery:

Another view of the entrance:

The city carts away the wilted flowers:

Music is available:

A selection of gravesites:

Father and daughter reflect on the loved one:

These folks brought plastic tarps for shade.  Guess they're going to stay awhile.

A large family sit together on the chairs they must have brought:

See the woman bending down there?  She's cleaning the tomb.

Some intercessions for those who need them:

Flowers, mostly marigolds, everywhere:

Guys with buckets on yokes will supply you with water:

Here's where the water came from:

This guy was re-painting some cryptic information:

A very moving experience I must say.

In the spirit of the day...

...and this, which is one way kids learn to tell time,

...and finally this.

DIA DE LOS MUERTOS

Day of the Dead and it's a holiday, as we just found out when we went to the gym and it was closed.

It will probably be closed tomorrow, too, much to el sr J's chagrin and my pleasure.  The track was open and he went running, which he NEVER does.  And survived.

There is this in the Plaza de Armas:

I'm sure there's special vocabulary for these displays, but I don't know it.

The inside of the main "building."  They were replacing the faded marigolds with fresh ones yesterday.

Native plantings on the outside:

The altar:

And just inside the front door of a supermarket:

Santa Catrina, in basketry:

Skull candy:

We're currently discussing whether to visit a cemetery but can't decide at what point the cult of the dead becomes fatal to our toleration of it.