On Achieving Farthood: See You at Your Next Colonoscopy!

"Como te veo, me vi; como me ves te veras" is and old Mexican proverb that addresses the idea that we all must grow old, saying to the impudent young: "Go ahead and laugh at me, because how I see you I once was, but how you see me, you will one day be!"

It seems that lately all my friends and I talk about is pain, prescription meds, cataracts, enlarged prostrates, and yes my friend Colonoscopies! We gossip about CT scans, MRI's, Sleep Apnea, Hemorroids, and side-effects.

In between, we share the medicinal secrets of fish oil, daily vitamins and the curative properties of Marijuana, tortillas, Fish Oil, Ginger, Garlic and Meditation.

Go ahead and laugh but where I presently am, you will one day be too.

Dr. Oz and Opra mouth their daily mantras against snoring, obesity, fat, and lack of exercise, and we pay little attention to warnings signs until it is too late. There is something frightening about lab work, x-rays, mammograms, and gloved doctors shoving greased index fingers in our rectums to see if our prostrate has grown since last time!

But a colonoscopy? Oh Lord. Luckily, they put you out. As you sit in the tense lobby full of a dozen other patients you wonder "Are they all here for the same thing? Even that good looking young lady over there?"

We watch in horror as previous patients leave, searching in desperation for some sign on their face suggesting it will be horrible. "It's a breeze", one lady says to us, and chuckles, as she is led out of the office.

In truth, the worst part of the whole thing is Prep Day, 24 hours before the procedure and being restricted to a diet of liquid foods, jello! But even that pales against what awaits you at 4 and 6 o'clock that day: having to ingest two (2) 10 oz. bottles of that crap "Sodium Nitrate", and the boweled Vesuvius that follows! Not even my trusted Preparation H was any help!

Anyway, it's all over now and I'm home-free for another 5 years. "Can I get a picture of my hemorroids?" One lady in the adjacent cubicle asked. "Sorry", said the nurse, "but I can give you a picture of mine if you want", she quipped. No thanks.

I was given a photocopy of the inside of my colon; I have absolutely no idea why. Would anybody like to see it? So go right ahead and laugh, but I just attended a funeral for a young female friend who died of colon cancer just days before her 48th birthday. It's really not funny at all.

See you at my next colonoscopy.

San Patricio Battalion: A Mexican St. Patrick's Day

Few history books will tell the incredible story of The San Patricio Batallion, one that seems appropriate to recall during this season of St. Patrick's Day in the U.S. As a kid, the only thing I knew about the day was that if I didn't wear something green to school I would get pinched!

Before 1835, a big chunk of Southwestern U.S. was Mexican Territory, including California and Texas. As the U.S. began its westward expansion, Texas became prime realty for the Americanos who at first sought to live in peace with the Mexicans (Catholics) there. But when American ambition grew, a war broke out between Mexico and the U.S., the so-called Mexican War, or Mexican-American War. President James Polk declared war against Mexico in 1846.

To fill its ranks, the U.S. solicited enlistees from the mass of new immigrants, many of them Irish, seeking to escape The Great Hunger of 1845. These were promised land and wages for fighting on the American side, but the strong anti-Catholic sentiments of their new found country became quickly evident. The "Potato Heads", were a prime target for this discrimination.

The war was not a popular one in the U.S. The Mexican army was no match against one better trained with superior weapons. Moreover, the greed behind Manifest Destiny and westward expansion prompted many soldiers to defect and dessertion rates were high. The Irish soldiers embraced the notion that this was a war attacking ordinary farmers for their land.

But when these soldiers witnessed atrocities, rape, plunder and desecration of Catholic churches in Texas, some (including German Catholics) deserted, joining the Mexican forces to fight against their own country. Mexico, of course, took advantage of the situation encouraging the would-be defectors not to fight against their own religion and stop the U.S. from destroying Catholicism. For foreigners to fight in Mexican Wars was not uncommon and dated back to Mexico's War of Independence in 1810.

Mexican General Antonio Lopez de Santa Ana decreed that two infantry companies of about 100 men each, be formed, calling them "El Batallon de San Patricio (St. Patrick's Batallion)", each with its own captains, leiutenants, and sergeants. They were even permitted to fly their own banner, depicting St. Patrick, a Mexican coat of arms, reading "Libertad Por La Republica" on one side, and the Irish motto "Erin go Braugh" on the other.

The San Patricios fought and distinguished themselves in two important battles, the Battle of Buena Vista (near Saltillo) on February 23-24 of 1847, and in the final battles against the U.S. Marines at the convent of Churubusco on the outskirts of Mexico City on August 19-20, that same year.

Following Mexico's devastating defeat at Churubusco, the U.S. captured and tried some of the remaining San Patricios, found them guilty of desertion, and hung more than 50 soldiers. A few were pardoned, while others were flogged, beaten and branded with the letter "D" (deserter). After the final battle at Chapultepec Castle, the condemned soldiers were hung facing an American flag, raised in triumph over the castle.

The Mexican population rioted in protest over the inhumane treatment of the San Patricio's, threatening 

 to kill American prisoners in retalliation.

When the war ended, the U.S. sought to extradite the remaining San Patricios to the U.S. but Mexico prevailed, spelling out in the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (1848), which formally ended the conflict, that they would remain in Mexico. Incidentally, Mexico lost about 40% of its territory as a result of the war.

Mexicans showed their gratitude to the San Patricios by erecting a monument in Mexico City honoring the "Martires Irlandeses" (Irish Martyrs), and by establishing September 12, the day of their executions, as a national day of remembrance with a plaque at Churubusco. The street in front of the convent is also called Martires Irlandeses.

They are also remembered on St. Patrick's Day, March 17 each year. Maybe the color green on Mexico's flag is not incidental?

Needless to say, the story was not a popular one in the U.S. media or history books and not until 1915, did the U.S. War Department even acknowledge existence of the San Patricio Batallion and the U.S.' treatment of them, after that devastating war.

Surviving members continued to function as a military unit in Mexico after the war, and some later returned to Ireland.

Lest we forget: Que Vivan Los San Patricio's!!

Going On To Pink Slip Heaven: Save Our Schools

Went on a "Save Our Schools" protest march last night which ended up with a rally at my old Alma Mater, San Joaquin Delta Community College in Stockton. But I, being a senior citizen (70), had seriously underestimated the 2-plus mile distance of the march and was forced to rest a few moments on the bridge over the Calaveras River (aptly meaning "skeleton" in Spanish), alongside University of the Pacific, the oldest university in California. The muddy runoff below roughly raced to the west.

The orderly line had begun to split up, people struggled to keep up. Some dropped out or gave up. I was doing it for something. Myself? To maintain an image of old self? For others? Education? Still a mile to go!

Speaking of skeletons, the marchers had secured an old coffin and fixed an effigy of a  cadaver inside, signifying the "Death of Education", carrying it at the front by pall bearers, followed by the revelers. The hundreds who attended were mostly educators, administrators, board of trustee members, union members, teachers and students, from all over the county, Ripon, Manteca, Tracy, Lodi. Moms with children in strollers.

A lone helicopter circled overhead, its blades chopping loudly into the wind, signs and banners everywhere and cars honking in support. It was wild, reminiscent of the old days, the anti-war and Huelga (Farmworker) marches of the late 60's-70's. The media, here and there interviewed people and shot photos.

Roberto Radrigan, the consumate journalist, hoofed it all the way, darting back and forth from the front to the back of the line, shooting photos, once counting passersby with his fingers, and then passing out copies of his local paper, Bilingual Weekly.

As the marchers pulled away, and I joined in, my eyes welled with tears. I tried to understand why. Why was I crying? Me, a grown man? I tried to not let anyone see. My oldest son kept texting me with updates of what was going on in San Francisco, Los Medanos College, UC Berkeley, Oakland where protestors had closed down a freeway, UC Davis, of students being arrested. This was big.

Ours was a law abiding, peaceful march and we made sure to stop at all the red lights, crossing only on green. However, when we arrived at Delta College, I was completely overcome with tears. I felt so grateful that destiny had led me to become a teacher here for 33 years.

I thought of the hundreds of students I taught and how hard I had tried to instill in them the pearl, the gem of free thought.  Just as it had been instilled in me by the incredible teachers who crossed my path in high school, in college. For a moment, I was overcome by gratitude.

For a young Mexican to come out of a poor Mexican barrio in South Modesto, and go to college in the 1950's was nearly unheard of. My two Masters Degrees, one in art, one in English, stand guard on the wall, even as I write this, one to the left, one to the right. My prize possessions. Education changed my life.

Then, the tears dried when the speakers began, and it dawned on me that this, this gift, this pearl was on the brink of extinction in light of proposed cutbacks to California schools of 17 billion! Consequently, Stockton Unified School District has sent out 290 "pink slips". Other local districts follow. Class cuts. Fee hikes. Increased class sizes. Layoffs. The news, not new, was grim.

Afterwards, my wife and I went to Manny's on Pacific Avenue and ate an Avocado Burger on Genova French Bread with a side of chile beans. I felt guilty.  

People need to speak out on this! I think I will: Manny's makes great burgers!

Angel De La Guardia: Our Guardian Angel

As a child, I remember this image on a calendar my mom had pinned on a wall of our bedroom. It gave me a wonderful sense of peace to think that God had assigned each of us with a heavenly defender to keep us from stumbling.

"Pray to your Guardian Angel for protection", she would say.

The bridge which the two children cross in the image is old, and rickety, a board missing on the crosswalk, and could collapse at any moment sending the children tumbling into the cold waters below.

When I think of how many rickety bridges I have crossed in my life, some I might even have lost my life to, was it fate, luck or angelic or divine intervention that spared me?

Surely, to live, is to step out in faith. The boards beneath us are groaning, moaning and crackling; they bend with our weight.

In the middle of the bridge, we can risk going forward, or risk returning.

Angel de la Guardia, protect us.

The Real Cactus Society Meets Today

I saw an ad in our local paper that the Cactus Society has regular meetings and I wonder who they are and what they discuss at their meetings. Do they compare species? Talk or sing to the cacti? Whisper to them? Get into a circle and watch them grow?

As far as I am concerned, the real cactus society is the Mexicans. The history of the importance of cactus in Mexican culture has probably not been written but it might go something like this:

Not only do Mexicans eat many species of cactus, but the plant has many other amazing functions. The Aztecs, for example, used to pluck off a spine, making sure a long thin strand of skin peeled off with it, and then used it as a needle and thread, in one, to sew clothes with. The skin was also peeled off, dried and used as paper to draw and paint on.

They also discovered that a strong rope could be made from the dried skeleton or hemp of the cactus. The dried, cactus spears and trunks, also made for a long, hot burning fire to keep them warm or to cook on.

For Mexicans, eating the new shoots of cactus (my mother stressed they had to be cut before 10 am to preserve the tangy flavor), diced and cooked, and with onions, a clove of garlic, and then topped with freshly diced tomato and cilantro is a delicacy. Another special treat became the "tuna"- or cactus pears - that grow on many species. Carefully removed from spears full of notoriously vicious spines, they are peeled and the seedy crimson, yellow or white, pulpy meat inside tastes like jam!

But beware! It takes a masterful surgeon to avoid the harmless looking needles, like powdery puffs around the pear. While they don't ply their evil upon touching them, the nearly invisible spines tenaciously cling to your hands for days, hounding you each time your fingers brush up against anything, the price of your foolhardiness. It is worth the treat, though.

Throughout Mexico, in market places or along the highways, one can buy them from the Indians already peeled, and chilled over a block of ice! My favorites are the white pears; they are amazingly sweet. Don't sweat the over-sized seeds inside, just swallow them and your body will process them harmlessly and naturally.

The ancients also discovered peyote, a powerful hallucinogenic cactus reserved for the priests and religious ceremonies, still used by groups such as the Huicholes of central Mexico and native Americans in the Southwest.

Pulque, Tequila and Mezcal are alcholic beverages squeezed and fermented from the Maguey and other species of cactus. It must have taken inspired minds to figure this out.

Many say - and believe - that cactus is "la comida de los pobres" (a poor man's food), but I think that even if I was rich, I would still eat them!

So, the real cactus society meets today for lunch. Want to join? Cactus is on the 3-course menu: cactus salad, pears for dessert, with an aperitif of mezal or tequila. for Dues are affordable, but bring your gloves!!

Mexican Folk Art: For A Song and A Dance

As I helped hang the incredible tapestries of Leo De Los Angeles in a recent exhibit at the Mexican Heritage Center in Stockton, I was struck by the incredible journey this art form has taken from its ancient Oaxacan- Zapotecan roots, from grandfather, to father, to son, of being peddled in plazas and tourist sites to buyers from Los Angeles, Las Vegas to Copenhagen, to an insignificant cultural center showcasing Mexican heritage in Central California.

The prices for his pieces range from $700. to $5000. for a spectaluar blanket 8'x10' in size! A giveaway when you compare this to what a Navajo blanket or Persian rug demands! Peanuts. Yet, people around here raise their brows at the prices. They don't know. In San Francisco, people would not blink twice.

For too long, American and European tourists have flocked to Mexico purchasing exquisite art and folk art for a song and a dance. They thrive on the rush of haggling with the local artists and craftsmen and sadly, the artisans have bought into it too. They expect it. Especially from their compatriots who are relentless at the art of "repelar", of being able to strip down any poor vendor to pennies on the dollar. Besides, most Mexicans see little value in folk art. That is for the tourists.

"Pido S500 pesos, senor." "I'll give you $250" "No se puede, senor. Es mucho el trabajo... deme $350? "I'll pay you $300, no mas." "Andele pues, Senor... $300" And we slink off with our treasure to  brag about how we "stole it" to our friends back home. We're talking "pesos" here, say $12.50 for each American dollar! Cacahuates.

Meanwhile Mexican art galleries and high-end crafts outlets will sell the same piece for $300. "American", while the indian or indigenous artisans get peanuts again. Not only has the peso seen devaluation, but so has anything "Mexican".

In the popular imagination, genuine handcrafts are confused with tourist trinkets at "Tiajuana"  market places. The plaster donkeys, and stereotypical figurines of a lazy Mexican leaning up against a cactus abound.

It's a sin which began with the European invasion of Mexico in the 1500's, when the Spaniards demolished all things representing the indigenous peoples, books, art, sculpture, paintings, and architecture. Dazzing gold masterpieces of jewelry and art, where melted into gold bricks and shipped to Europe.

Fine art was stripped from throughout Mexico and shipped to Europe, eventually finding its way to the homes of the rich and museums world wide. The actual Quetzal head dress of Moctezuma, the last king of the Aztecs, a showpiece of gold and irredecent emerald plumes, found its way to a museum in Vienna, a copy of it was left for the Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City! 

It has since betwen returned.

Now the art of collecting has moved to e-Bay, and specialized cites plying Mexican Folk Art at exhorbitant prices. 

All but gone are exciting forays throughs deserts, mountains and jungles to villages and market places where the art is actually created.

And nearly extinct is the joy of buying it from the artisan himself, not from smug dealers or collectors.

In The Ancient Zapotec Tradition: A Ten.

I met Leo De Los Angeles some months back, at a Multi-cultural Fest that was held locally. He was wandering around with his little son who kept tugging his shirt, encouraging him to stop at our booth.

I was manning the booth for The Mexican Heritage Center in Stockton, and Leo introduced himself as a weaver. I told him about the center, explaining that central to our mission our was to exhibit local Latin0/Chicano artists, and to showcase the beauty and history and of Mexican culture . I invited him to visit us.

Not long after, Leo showed up at one of our meetings with a binder full of photos of his exquisite tapestries and carpets. We were stunned.

Thus, grew the concept for our latest exhibit titled "El Arte del Telar" (Art of the Loom). As we hung the show, I grilled Leo about his art, a craft handed down to him as a child from his grandfather and father in Oaxaca.

He referred to them and himself as "diestra" weavers. For a while, he seemed pressed to define the word, then smiled as he found the syonymn: "master weaver". His natural humility remained intact, even as he said this.

Yes, Leo is a master weaver in the tradition handed down to him by the ancient Zapotecs of his birthplace.

When I pointed to one of my favorites (pictured behind him in the photo), an 8' x 10' zinger hanging on the wall and asked "How long did it take you to make it?" He answered: "Three months", adding "on a scale of 1-10, this one is a 5."

"A five?!" I exclaimed. "Do you have any 10's in this show?" I strained to even imagine a 10.

"I have a couple of 7's, on that wall", he mused.