poquito sol



Lately the news, the local news, (Hate), the national news, (Hate), the international news, (Hate), has been so depressing. 

I needed something to cheer me up.

            Even the weather has been so depressing. Rain and more rain. It finally snowed last week and melted a few days later. Usually I look to nature for solace and even that is depressing.

The grass is still green; but the trees, which, not too long ago, were brilliant with the leaves of many colors, are naked.

I can see the pond easier now that the leaves aren’t blocking the view, but there is no ducks to be seen. Like so many of the old retirees in Minnesota, they have gone south. There’s still two Canadian geese that walk through the field, still getting fat on the grass. They look lonesome out there.

The fawn deer that were so cute a few months ago have lost their spots and now are  just smaller members of the herd. I watch them eating the green grass and feel sorry; because in spite of no real winter yet, that grass will be covered with snow and food will be hard for them to find. They are in for a sad surprise.

The other day I saw a young buck deer, a four pointer, laying back by the shed. He looked to be sleeping even though it was almost noon. Every once in a while he would lift his head and sniff the air. Finally he tried to get up. He had a hard time. He began to walk with great difficulty. He was favoring his left hind hip. I felt for him, knowing first hand how walking can be very painful. I surmised that he had been feeling his oats and decided to take a doe out of the herd; but the head buck objected and taught the youngster a lesson. He managed to disappear into the woods, an outcast from the herd; yet safer than if he had been further north, up in wolves country.

I needed something to cheer me up.


I looked at the entries in my blog the past year. So many concerned themselves with old friends and acquaintances who passed away. But when you are my age, you are bound to have many memories of people now deceased. I  just never intended that it should turn into an obituary blog. After all, I subtitled it ‘Laughter In The Wings’.

Oh, yes, I needed something to cheer me up.


So I dug in my Documents and found a few incidents that I found funny at the time and am happy to say I think they have stood the test of time. Maybe you will too.

They have a common string, Mexico, a beautiful land of beautiful people, in spite of what Trump and his Brown Shirted Haters would have you believe.


From: The Old Hand

My old friend, Joey B. liked photos, liked posing for them, liked taking them. Although he was better at the former than the later.

I remember how excited he was once when he returned from a trip to Mexico. He came on stage with a camera hanging around his neck. “Bought this just before we went on the trip,” he said. “I can’t wait to see the finished pictures. I dropped twelve rolls of film off at the drug store and they told me I could pick them up after work.

“Guys, I got some snapshots there that will knock your socks off!”

He handed off his new camera to show around. Tom, who knew something about photography, took off the lens cap.

What the hell is that?” Joe exclaimed!

Joe never bothered to go back to pick up the “developed” pictures. I guess he figured once you have seen the inside of a lens cap, you don’t need twelve rolls of film to remind you what it looked like.

Published St. Paul Dispatch

Joey B liked Mexico. He spent a lot of the Guthrie off season down in Ensenada fishing. After he retired, he lived down there almost all year long for several years, fishing and he was happy. His long suffering wife stayed in Minneapolis and continued to work as a dresser at the Guthrie, and she was happy. 


From: The Old Hand 

            My wife, Gina, and I were sitting in an outdoor café in Oaxaca, Mexico. Naturally, there were a number of cute little kids selling hand crafts like necklaces and scarves, and the local delicacy, roasted ants. One lad, though, had nothing to sell. He just wanted money.

Gina, a Mexican by birth, chided him for asking for money. She pointed out that the other children were industrious, selling things, and he should be ashamed for being just a beggar. He wasn’t.

Senora,” he said, “You give me money. I will go and buy something. And then I will come back and sell it to you. Si?”

Made sense to me, but my wife continued her lecture on how he should try and be more than just a beggar. She stressed that once a beggar, always a beggar. Work hard. Get ahead. “And,” she added, “Who knows? Someday you could become presidente of Mexico.”

Presidente of Mexico!” The lad shouted, “I’d rather be a beggar.”

Published St Paul Dispatch


If it wasn’t for the family, we’re lucky our boys and their families all live close by, my wife and would become snow birds. Only instead of wintering in Florida or Arizona like so many Minnesotans, we would head for Mexico. The two coasts are nice; but I would opt for the Colonial Cities, San Miguel and the others. So picturesque and leisurely, and not too far from Mexico City, another of my favorite cities.



From: The Old Hand

It was during the time when the TV news was filled with the war in Viet Nam. One Friday evening we took the five boys to a double feature drive-in movie. By the start of the second feature they were asleep, or so we thought. The second feature was a Clint Eastwood ‘comedy’ set in WWII, KELLY’S HEROES.

As I was setting the speaker back on its stand, preparing to drive out, Derrick, our third son, five or six at the time, leaned over the front seat and said, ‘Dad, when I get big,’ he said, ‘I am not going to go to Viet Nam. Remember those mountains by Mexico City? I am going to go to those mountains and live there. I don’t want people to shoot at me, and I don’t think anybody wants me to shoot at them.’

Not published. Just kept in my heart.







Mein Kampf: Power lies in stirring up Hatred and telling the Big Lie.


The Millers: Let There Be Peace On Earth   And Let It Begin With Me