Which Reminds Me

Speaking of Iran, shortly after we first moved to Miami we met the Perssons, a Swedish family who formerly lived in Iran. He was an airplane mechanic or pilot for the shah of Iran's airplanes but when the shah was deposed the Perssons also left the country, their job of working for the shah no longer existing and not being hired by the Ayatollah who took over after that. I do not know anything else about Iran. I have no clue about Persia. I am not a good person to ask about that.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, who knew that the Butterfields are actually Irish? They never mentioned their Irish edge to us. I had no idea.

Which Reminds Me

I am suddenly reminded of a book that I formerly owned, the autobiography of Madame Guyon, which was a gift to me from Susie Stewart. I am, generally speaking, a quiet person and Jeanne is an advocate of Quietism, a religious movement of nearly medieval origins, and my middle name is Jean so I would really be interested in reading this book which was given to me as some type of birthday present at maybe age 15. Such is the somewhat irrational logic of Susie. I do not recall getting past the first chapter of this somewhat dreary book. Sorry but this type of mysticism did not interest me. French religiosity is so utterly depressing. Is it any wonder that my ancestors escaped the stifling religious oppression of Europe by moving to America? Is it no wonder that I probably got rid of this book a long time ago. I would not want some bizarre French mystics rifling through my bookshelves. Even if Madame Guyon did have something of interest to say, I would not want it to be coming from the French. I did rather enjoy the English-language articles of Mrs. Baker, which I read recently. Interestingly, she often references Madame Guyon in her long since out-of-print newsletter, but Mrs. Baker, who lived in Rochester, N.Y., died in 1915 and I know of no other Pentecostal writer referencing such dreary dull French sources. Anyway, I am not aware of any connection between my family and the Rochester institution of which I was blissfully ignorant and unaware until recently. So just because this book was on my bookshelf in high school, that did not mean that I got very far into it.

Which Reminds Me

How many times do I have to repeat the story about the year (1988) that I had my taxes done at HR Block and blah blah blah, as if it was ever any of your business who did my taxes or how much I paid? It only matters that I did file my taxes as require by law that year and every other year. Beyond that there really is nothing else to say about that. Not that I have anything to hide, but I suspect that your name might be Craig angling for clients but if you are going to be poking at me behind my back that way then you are obviously no friend of mine and possibly never were. Obviously I am not going to pay Craig to do my taxes, especially not now.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, who could forget Linda telling the story of the baby that was born without a brain. It had a sucking reflex and that was about all, and yet it was still alive and breathing after birth, at least for a few days or weeks or months. She might as well have been describing herself, a mindless robot. People who go into nursing professions are not known to have much reading comprehension, at least not in my experience. Nurses are mechanical automatons for the most part even if their salaries are high because nobody else wants to do that.

Which Reminds Me

You were obviously running alongside McCain so you cannot now come back and pretend to be Barry Goldwater's enemy, as if you were even politically aware of Lyndon Johnson's candidacy at the time. Everybody wants to be on the winning side after the winner's name is clear. Interesting how Barry's failure leaves all these drowning rats pretending they never knew him when they always were Goldwater fans from the get-go, until things changed. Things always change.

Which Reminds Me

Come to think of it, I think I did overhear the name of Pinkerton bantered around but I never really understood what that was about. No one ever took the time to explain it to me. After all, I am not Italian so I probably wouldn't really understand.

Which Reminds Me

Years ago at Oakland Park there was a clique that some called "The Five." The five were Pam, Craig, Linda, Vic, and Rosanne. The five were more popular in their own minds than they were in actuality. There was never really anything nice to say about snarky Pam, always angling for another shot at my head, and her creepy little twerp Craig, Linda always grinning like a bloodthirsty hyena, worthless wimp Victor, and nasty Rosanne. There was never really anything nice to say about the five. In their off-hours they retreat to their secret clique headquarters to trade gossip, doubtless denigrating me in countless ways whenever they had a chance. I have finally learned to drop this type of cliquey person out of my life entirely and disregard everything they say because their opinions are more dangerous than worthless. A large number of stupid people really can ruin things for one brilliant person such as myself, and the five are certainly pathetically stupid in their own way. Since that time the five have greatly diminished into mediocre nothingness and have gone on to unmistakably prove their malicious intentions towards me. Thus their presence in my life would only be a nuisance. Obviously God uses ordinary people so I cannot let five wicked giants get in my way. Roberts is not going to get another chance to trash me that way. Nothing good ever comes of these Michigander cast-offs.

Which Reminds Me

I am reminded that the Bueno family belongs to a Rich People's Club. They make it sound very mysterious. You have to have a minimum of $10,000 to be eligible for membership in the Rich People's Club. I remember hearing them say something about this. However, it is not like I would ever have $10,000 to burn, never in this lifetime. Besides, even if I did have $10,000, what kind of repulsively pompous rich people would I be obligated to appease if I were enrolled in this mysterious Rich People's Club? It does not sound at all appealing to me. I would rather just get a job and trust my future to God's providence even if that means that there really is nothing to look forward to. Our country has only hard times ahead it would seem at the moment. However, I am not at all curious to learn more about this mysterious Rich People's Club to which they sold their souls. It seems sad in a way that they are no longer with us but, anyway, there is more to life than just money. The love of money is the root of all evil but I don't love money that much, especially not Kim. Life is short and a vault stashed full of gold coins is of no use to anyone.

Also

Will someone please tell Alfredo to disappear? I am not interested in hearing from him. I understand that he is a very famous and accomplished scientist now which is nice but I do not recall him ever saying even hello back in high school so there is really nothing else to say, not to be mean or anything. It is just very distracting to be hearing from all of these Mexicans at a time when Mexico is absent from my mind. Not to be mean but I am not interested in Mexico. If I had a job there or a reason to visit, such as evangelism, that would be one thing, but just to be occupying my time with Mexico is not a good idea. I really ought to be looking for a job. Thanks anyway.

Which Reminds Me

Many years ago my sister and I were sitting side by side in airplane seats and a man in the third seat over struck up a lively conversation with my sister. At one point he asked me if I was her chaperone and I said no, actually I am her sister, not her chaperone. I thought that a strange thing for him to say. He was obviously Jewish, not Chilean, and yet he seemed to know who my sister was. I thought that was very strange that he would seem to know something.

Which Reminds Me

One day while living in El Salvador one of the missionaries, John Bueno, who had lived many years in Chile, was talking about the chaperonage system that was at one time prevalent in Latin America. For them it would be scandalous for a girl to be alone with a guy at any time. For them there must always be a third party present to make sure that nothing happens and the girl's reputation is safeguarded. Of course that system is like Stone Age archaic for Americans of modern times in the United States. Nobody wants to live like Chileans of the 1930s and nobody wants to be a chaperone, especially not me. That was a century ago. Here in the United States all the women would be killed for having gone on a date of any kind so obviously John's rigid rules are unworkable and apply only to his own family. I heard him telling that story but I thought it was quaint the way they think. I have pretty good judgment so I know that my reputation is just fine even if you don't and there is really no reason some idiots to be worrying about me when it is actually probably someone else who lost it. That is how they work. They hit up the innocent by way of drawing attention to probably someone else who is guilty. I could name names but that would be too rude.

Which Reminds Me

One day at Modesto Christian School some radical students decided they were going to have a "Love-In" and they walked to the far end of the playground and sat around in a circle singing or talking or doing something. I was standing there on the walkway overhearing some students warning a teacher about the "Love-In." A teacher had to walk out there to tell them to cease and desist from these riotously radical activities. So not much happened. They really didn't have more than 5-10 minutes before they were recalled to reality.

Which Reminds Me

How many times do I have to explain that I was never interested in Broadway? Just because Mark Hummel went there, that does not mean that there was any attachment for the use of me to promote Broadway pablum for the masses. I saw the Broadway movies on TV — Oklahoma, West Side Story, etc. — but I really don't care that much about Broadway personally speaking. If I went to New York for Broadway purposes I am sure that it would take them about five minutes for them to chew me up and spit me out so obviously I would never go there. There was no reason for them to expect me to apply for the job at Broadway magazine so obviously they should not be expecting future submissions from me.

Which Reminds Me

As stupid as Jim Linzey actually is, still I would not want to be dumped into the same bucket as that vicious dog who was attaching him, whatever her name was. I have no league with those dogs. I see on Facebook that Dauna has been dumped in trailer trash hell. Sorry but that is what you get for sticking your nose where you don't belong.

Which Reminds Me

They were trying to link me to Jim Linzey but there was nothing between us, only that one time that I went to the Christmas banquet with him. It was always sort of awkward watching his pained performance at music events when actually he was such an idiot in so many ways. Of course I could say that about a lot of people who performed at music events.

Speaking of Military

Yes, I am being reminded of Jim Linzey, who within a few weeks of arriving on campus at SCC cooked his own goose. In conversation with some girl whose name I do not remember, he casually used a certain word. His name was soon smeared in many social circles although I myself had not yet heard the story in probably October or November when he asked me to attend the Christmas banquet with him. Not long after I said yes I was informed by Dauna Kammerer that he had asked her first and also several other girls who had all had the good sense to turn him down. Myself not knowing this now felt stupid for saying yes, especially as I was never really that interested in Jim. But since I could not politely then recant myself I went ahead and did go to the banquet with him. So anyway I think that I said at the time thanks for the nice time. I heard later that he was trashing me all over the place but, anyway, I really have nothing else to say about Jim. It was not I who was trashing him in the first place. You would have to ask Dauna for the full details on that story. I vaguely remember her talking about that but I had completely forgotten about Jim. After all, I was not involved in that initial altercation anyway with what's-her-name so nobody should be expecting me to reward them for dragging me into something that I do not recall and did not involve me in the first place.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, who knew that Byron and Stacy are actually duplicitous moonshine bootleggers in league with Puerto Rico's primordial witch Chita Rivera? What has Puerto Rico ever produced but these mindless Broadways dogs? I get no Broadway paycheck, unlike Mark Hummel, so I am under no obligation to pretend to like those obnoxious Puerto Rican bootleggers. No one with half a brain actually likes the Rivera cheaters. Their web is at last starting to catch up with them and we couldn't be happier about that.

Which Reminds Me

No one should take for granted that I would agree to participate in some brewery project. I resent being offered a job in an industry that is of no interest to me. Why would I go to all that work to concoct some fermented juice that smells horrible and tastes probably worse, not that I would know anything about that. Words fail to explain how such a bitter bucket of grog would complicate my life in miserable ways, all the parties that I would have to endure pretending to enjoy the company of these duplicitously sipping hypocrites while at the same time enduring exclusion from the prim and proper circles from which I would be excluded if they thought I was on the other side. And besides all that cruel drama, the personal feeling of having betrayed the Lord Himself would manifest in enduring guilt. You see, we are instructed to follow the example of Christ, who said at the Last Supper that he would not drink of the fruit of the vine until the Wedding Feast of the Lamb, which is not yet. That does not happen until after the saints are gathered home to heaven. If a sipper has already passed from this life, then what is there left for them to do on this earth? They could die immediately and yet it could be some time more before they actually get there. There is nothing left but to harvest them. Of course, we could always rationalize that it tasted a lot like cough syrup. We are trained to mindlessly eat and drink whatever the host wants to put before us, as if it were rude and unfashionable to say no, even if it is poison. But we get no benefit for doing so. The money is taken by a Caribbean government that does not govern the United States and is not looking out for our interests, obviously. And what do we care about a pirates' grog? Their lives were short and miserable. Someone really ought to explain why someone so eagerly wants us to drink ourselves into condemnation even when we really don't want to.

Not that I ever set foot in Puerto Rico, a territorial backwater of no interest to me. I somehow doubt that any of these island territories could be classified as "dry" states, so wet is the surf along their shores.

Which Reminds Me

When I was working at Editorial Vida one day Mr. Hoskins accosted me as I was walking down the hall and asked me if I were not horrified at the sweetheart deal that Mr. Hatley and his wife had worked out for themselves, an example of the type of missionary excess he had been sent to Miami to terminate. He wanted my help in charging the missionaries. Mr. Hatley had arranged things so that Mrs. Hatley would be plasticizing or applying shrinkwrap to all the books as they arrive at the warehouse from the printer, before they are shipped to the distributorships and bookstores. That way Mrs. Hatley worked evenings and weekends and took home a fat little paycheck. I have mixed feelings about that. My and sister also benefited from that arrangement two or three summers home from college. We shrink wrapped books during 9-5 hours and helped to reduce the backlog of books waiting to be shrink wrapped because Mrs. Hatley did not really put in enough hours to keep up with that and every summer there was a huge backlog of books waiting to be shrink wrapped. Later, they had the printer do the shrink wrapping at the printer so that the publisher no longer had to worry about when Mrs. Hatley would have time to do that. Anyway, I did not make that arrangement and I find it very insulting that the Hoskins would be accusing us of sweetheart deals when actually it was Mr. Hatley's idea. Also, the Hoskins were widely considered the most offensive missionaries of them all when it comes to sweetheart deals so for them to accuse us of anything is like the pot calling the kettle black. How ridiculous for Hoskins to be demanding respect from the very sheep he only wants to fleece. So they have lots of money in the bank to do whatever they want but what is money? The arsenic plantings seem to be thriving.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is unfortunate that I made any comment at all about Fred Hills. There really was nothing nice to say about Fred. He just wasn't my type and the word he used, which at the moment escapes me, was only one minor thing that showed that he was much too much into them, which is very dangerous. They are not us. Then again, who knew that Fred's mother was a Russian KGB agent out to knock out white American girls like me in favor of them at every opportunity? Knowing that now at least makes much more sense but does not repair the damage she did in conjunction with SanGio family and Sharon, who all had defected from the U.S. to work with KGB operatives in the coffee drama industry there. So that is one way of looking at it.

Which Reminds Me

I never in my life came in contact with a four-star general, much less screamed at one. Two-year-old David was a gullible idiot who I led astray at age three but I later repented and understood the wickedness of my way and so I never did that again. There was no reason to expect that to continue as a pattern. It was only a one-time stupid idea. And what about these crude and vulgar French always dropping their bombs in continual pattern, as if it were wrong to have a healthy curiosity for knowledge and learning, as if I were not really human, just a dog to be locked in a closet. Something is wrong with this picture but don't listen to me. I am something less than human if you hear them tell it. I feel sorry for military people but they have to do what they have to do. Fortunately for me there is no law requiring my enlistment.

Which Reminds Me

I sometimes imagine that I heard Wicked Witch Vanesa cackling from her broomstick vehicle, as if I ever owed that murderous Butterfield trash anything. Especially not now. The Warrens have displayed their truly wicked colors, especially Vanessa and her Wicked Warren. Long Beach is nothing to me, a
Smith bomb to be upchucked.

There are many many things too personal to be shared with the Wicked Warrens. The Warrens will probably never really see our assets because they are nothing but obnoxious busybodies always poking their noses into things that are none of their concern. I could say something similar about Michelle and the dreary French bloc, as if the dorky French ever had anything intelligent to say about it. That is all that I can say about this publicly because the full scope of details are inaccessible at present, even to me. Still, I can confidently say that the Warrens do not know the half of it and probably never will, especially when they are in league with Herbert's killers. We were not planning to be mean about that but they insisted on this stupid plan so justice is justice.

Which Reminds Me

What would a pirate flag, black though it be, without a chattering white skull and crossbones in the center? Perhaps that is where I come in. I don't know. But this is not what I asked God for. Our Bible teachers often tell us to ask for God's will, which includes wisdom for stewardship of what God has entrusted to us, and yet when I ask for wisdom to know and follow God's will, I do not get what I asked for. For bread, they give me a stone. This proves only that he, the anonymous eavesdropper, was not God. He was only the Devil, obviously, and nothing good can be expected from the interfering Devil who would confound faith with mindless stupidity and gullible acquiescence to the dictates of piratical tyrants. Of course, in the End Times of the beast there will be no choice but yield to the darkness or die.

Yes, and did not Jesus let his disciple Bartholomew also speak to Satan, according to the apocryphal story? And did not Bartholomew ask the Devil various questions. But we have no need of Bartholomew's apocryhpal text when we have our salvation secure. Only Christ can solve the dilemmas of time and eternity. Perhaps that is why Bartholomew's book is not included in the cannon. It doesn't help.

Which Reminds Me

The Pointer Pointing tells us that the overcooked indigo when it becomes black is "pasada." That means it is past its prime time. The time for colors is past. No more spectrum of green yellow blue. Only black when the brew is overdone. So that is a different meaning to the term "passed."

Which Reminds Me

We see them all sitting there in their black uniforms. Why only black? Well, from the Pointer Pointing we learn that the indigo dye was overcooked in their case. As the dye is cooked, the indigo in the pot shifts from green to yellow or orange, then blue, and finally black. If the water is black it perhaps means that the indigo was overcooked. They like it that way. The witches are brewing a pirate flag perhaps. So far we have seen pirates in the Mediterranean, pirates in the Caribbean, pirates in Ecuador, pirates in Taiwan. Perhaps there are other pirate flags as well. I don't know. I just think the pirate thing sort of stinks for people like me just trying to have a life, make a buck, get along and getting ripped off and tripped by pirates or mistakenly cast into the pirate vortex or something like that. Life just isn't fair.

Which Reminds Me

While walking across the camps of SCC one day I noticed that Dauna Kammerer was also standing there watching Warren Dobson talking to that black guy who was unknown to me, sitting there on the steps in front of the music building. I did not ever discuss this sight with Dauna. I have no idea what Dauna was thinking about that or why she was standing there watching them. You would have to ask Dauna, obviously.

Which Reminds Me

Speaking of walking across campus at SCC, I remember one day I was walking across campus and I did notice Warren Dobson sitting on the stairs talking to a black man who is unknown to me. I would not be able to comment as I did not recognize the black man and don't know anything about those people who are complete strangers to me. Another thing that I don't know anything about.

Lynda Botsford mentioned a controversy involving Rose Wilson and Warren but I never did really understand what she was talking about. Something about Warren dumping Rose because she was expecting too much, Warren felt a trap was being laid by the Wilson clan and Warren did not like to have his entire life planned by the Wilson clan when he was not that crazy about Rose anyway, especially after her cruise through the islands offshore of Turkey set to classical music of Purcell in a manner of speaking.

Which Reminds Me

"Great Expectations." This book by Charles Dickens was required reading in high school English and we did read portions of it in the textbook. I read the entire book myself at another time also. Yes, it is so hard to deal with all of these people's great expectations of me when I am only a girl and not able to accomplish all that much in the final recount. I do not understand why people would have expected so much from me anyway when I am really nobody important. Ok, so I made mistakes like everyone else. I can't do it all alone with everyone off on some other page playing some other game. It just doesn't make any sense.

Which Reminds Me

One day I was out walking with Machelle Bush around the streets of Chesapeake, Virginia, and she was telling me about her family's mineral or land rights in Texas. I mentioned that my mother also has mineral rights in Texas so maybe I sort of understand what she is talking about, and then again maybe not. Mineral rights are complicated. I might have mentioned the town of Spur but I was wrong on that point. I was confused. My grandfather's brother might have lived in Spur at one time or another but the mineral rights are not at Spur. I would not want to say anything more specific than that in a public forum given that, for one thing, the mineral rights don't belong to me and may never belong to me if I die before my mother, and also I would not want to hide my light under a bushel basket. No personal information belongs to Michelle only because her last name is Bush. No, the time is not ripe to discuss the specific of mineral rights just because a bunch of nosy busybodies want to know more more more. So, yes, we might have some distant relatives in Texas but I don't know them personally. I could not be sure whether they are my friends or my enemies so there is no reason to say more at this time. I would want to know whereof I speak before I would say anything, and as Thumper Rabbit always said, "If you can't say something nice, shhhh, say nothing."

Which Reminds Me

Lame scripting department expects me to next refer to Billy Joel's Italian Restaurant song which starts off: "A bottle of white, a bottle of red." Add to that a bottle of blue, which is the indigo, and you have the red, white and blue, although not really a flag, just a lame joke. Very lame. I don't belong to the sewing business or the food business. I just don't fit anywhere in this picture.

Which Reminds Me

Why all this chatter about Barry University, as if I would ever attend that place? I did attend an event there once. It was required by my work. Other than that one event I never set foot on the campus of Barry University nor will I ever in the future. I think of much better places to go than Barry and much less expensive.

Which Reminds Me

I can think of better things to do than try to talk to Carmen, as, for example, suicide. I could commit suicide and then I would not have to hear another word about Wicked Witch Carmen who I don't like anyway. There was just nothing nice to say about her. I didn't like her game.

So Maybe I Get It

So when we visited Roseann Murphy's apartment for the party she had for the girls in the MK school where she was the teacher. The next morning there was a black cat stranded outside her window. After the kitten was retrieved for some reason arrangements were made for my sister and I to take it home with us. We named it Spooky or Midnight, something like that, but when we went home on furlough its possession was taken by the maid Betty who moved home to Santa Ana. I don't know how I somehow imagine that Carmen thinks that was her black cat we stole after it got stranded on the terrace. I don't remember it that way. I don't remember Carmen being there at all but then again I was only there that one time and I don't quite remember who Roseanne was living with at the time or who lived next door or whatever. Miss Murphy never said anything to us about them. If that was Carmen's cat she should have said something in the first place. There are many cats and dogs all over the place there and without a leash and collar to explain its ownership it often happens that cats and dogs disappear. Our dog Muñeca disappeared, but that was another story for another time. Anyway, I personally am not interested in having a dog named Carmen pooping all over the furniture.

What Was That Rule?

An article on About.com presents the rule:

In nearly all of Latin America, the c also has the "s" sound when it comes before an e or an i. This is much like the situation in English, where what is basically the same sound is heard in words such as "faces" and "fanciful." When c comes before other vowels, such as a or o, it retains the "k" sound.

But the "c" sounds like an "s" in cocinar so probably this is one of the many exceptions.

Notes on "The Pointer Pointing"

It seems that someone has confounded cooking and sewing. In English languages these two arts are clearly dissimilar. But in Spanish spelling the distinction can be more easily blurred. You see, cocer sounds exactly like coser, the lone 'c' in cocer having an 's' sound because it is between two vowels and not at the beginning of a word or preceding a consonant. The English cook is unmistakably 'k' sounding, but in Spanish there is no 'k' sound in either cosimiento or cocimiento. In the ancient manuscript of The Pointer we see that he consistently uses the word cosimiento, and yet in the context of indigo making clearly the Pointer is standing over a cauldron of water watching the colors change as the simmering process progresses over some type of fire or heating device, thus supporting the spelling of cocimiento. But this is not a matter of Koki's cooking, 'Koki' Pineda being a high school classmate of ours. Someone is possibly waiting for someone to use that. No, indigo belongs to the world of dyes and fabrics and ultimately the sewer will manipulate the colors in a finished garment or other needlework. So the author slips in the word cosimiento, whether deliberately or inadvertently I cannot say. So maybe I get it and maybe I don't. Anyway, answering some of these questions is just not that important.

Which Reminds Me

There was never anything nice to say about Rose Wilson. Everyone is trying to imagine some type of relationship with her but I never had one. She was always so weird, so assiduously to be avoided for if eye contact were made she would be crossing her eyes and making weird faces, making herself very strange to behold. I remember that during my first year at SCC there were so many more women than men that one quad of the dorm was turned over to women, of which Rose was one. There is a photo in the college yearbook of Rose crawling out of her dorm room window. Possibly she was planning to throw water balloons into a man's window although I don't really know. That type of elaboration would only be speculation. I don't know. I was never in the second-floor quad so I don't remember much about them. I only saw the photo.

Which Reminds Me

I was getting messages from Anita saying that she would be punishing me for having gone on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. How rude to threaten me with such violence! Anyway, there never was anything nice to say about them, not that I ever thought about them very much. They were just never there.

Which Reminds Me

I sometimes wonder why Wicked Witch Joanne is on my back. I was never interested in reestablishing some meaningless dialogue about water with a person who would read that dreary book "Valley of the Dolls." How many times do I have to explain that I never read "Valley of the Dolls"? Yes, and the Indigo System obviously is not a story about Cary Sequeira whose name seems to connotate dryness. Perhaps some people were hit by water balloons but I was not involved in that exchange so I don't remember anything about it. Go away and stop bugging, you wicked witches.

Which Reminds Me

I don't remember if both Judy and Julie at Modesto Christian School were elected class officers. I really don't remember very much about them. They like so identical in their pointy black hats flying around on broomsticks, figuratively speaking. I really wouldn't be able to unlock that puzzle without some outside help, nor does it seem at all important to me that I would bother to make any such effort. I was not expecting to be elected a class officer ever in this lifetime so I really don't care that they should have to bear the burden of class officership.

Which Reminds Me

During the year that I was in seventh grade I attended Modesto Christian School. I remember that the girl sitting at the desk directly to the right of me was Joan whose mother taught the sewing lessons that were given to the seventh grade girls. I made an apron and some other things. Gathers are a tricky thing. Her mother showed us the blue formal gown that she was making for Lee Bueno. It was very elaborate. Steve was the guy who sat directly in front of me at school. One day Joan and I were talking about what we got on a test. Joan asked me what my grade was, and it was probably an A or B. Joan said that she had gotten a D or F. She explained that her mind blanks out on tests and she forgets everything. Oh, that's too bad. At least her mother can teach her how to sew because if she is already flunking seventh grade her career prospects will not be good, or else she could get married and then grades would not matter. Or I suppose that someone may have made all these conjectures about Joan's future because I really didn't think about that at the time and completely forgot about Joan later after returning to El Salvador. Maybe Steve remembers overhearing that conversation. Who knows? I vaguely remember Joan and Steve. I also vaguely remember Judy and Julie (Stott), two girls who were about the same height, small, both blondes, both popular, always seen together. I once asked them if they were twins, which probably seemed to them like a very stupid question, but they seemed so identical at the time. Later, I noticed their differences but at first I thought they looked identical. So that is what the Modesto bees are buzzing about, I would imagine.

Which Reminds Me

Shortly before leaving El Salvador I remember that Lois Bueno gave me a blouse that she had bought in Guatemala. It was of Guatemalan material but she had dyed it blue. The result was not satisfactory to her so she gave it to me. I wore it once or twice at Evangel, but when it was thrown into the washing machine everything in that load turned bluish so obviously it was not color fast and had to be hand washed. I am sure that I gave that blouse away some time later.

Which points us to the "El Puntero: Apuntando con Anotaciones Breves," [The Pointer Pointing with Brief Annotations] an ancient document from the Salvadoran archives, now available in PDF format at archive.org, but of which I was not aware until recenlty. It is a quaint document, somewhat humorous, surprisingly so, giving advice on the operation of an indigo dye and ink-making factory, but with much poetry and humorous asides thrown in as to make the reader almost forget about the ink or dye-making business and imagine himself reading literature, yet with such illegible places and archaic words that it is difficult for me to read the Spanish original, let alone translate it into English. The documents bears the date of 1641 and yet other information indicates that the document was not printed until 1746, either way an exceedingly antique document in terms of American history. The author waxes eloquent on the prospects for blue dye, noting that armies of the north have made themselves fierce wearing blue, and that people of taste demand clothing of color. A multiplication of tubs and sinks will be needed to hold the water in which to dissolve the branches and leaves of the indigofera plant which holds the coloring agent. The dye matter must be soaked for several hours before the water becomes green, then yellow and orange and eventually blue, the white foam eventually . Etc. etc.

Wikipedia's entry on the indigofera plant mentions only the Caribbean and South Carolina as places where this indigo dye was produced. Yet the indigofera plant was growing wild in Mexico and Central America long before the Spanish arrived, according to Salvadoran information. Looking into the history of El Salvador, we see that indigo was a long cash crop of that country's landed elite, until chemical dyes mostly replaced indigo. Coffee later replaced indigo as the nation's top cash crop to meet growing world demand for the beverage.

Which reminds me that a high school field trip took us to a textiles factory there in San Salvador where we saw huge machines quickly spinning huge bolts of cloth. The cloth is dyed right there in the factory. I remember seeing a machine that was said to compose the patterns of colors and dyes to be imprinted on the cloth.

Which reminds me that someone was talking about the garment-sewing factories that were installed in El Salvador more recently. Nowadays we sometimes see tags on department store clothing noting that something is made in El Salvador.

Which reminds me that when we were living in El Salvador we were not wealthy people who could afford to fly to New Orleans for weekend shopping sprees. There was not much clothing available in local stores to purchase "off the rack" as they say. That was because in the local economy clothing was usually made by a seamstress. You went to the seamstress with a picture of what you wanted and a bolt of fabric and she would make whatever you wanted to fit your measurements, come back in a couple of weeks for a fitting. This was much cheaper and more economical than buying in stores, because even if you could find something on a store rack you probably could not afford it. Our seamstress was Letitia, who lived in a town some distance from the capital city in another town maybe a half hour away but she was known to us through church and was recommended by other missionaries who used her services, such as the Stewarts and possibly even Lois Bueno. Seamstresses there attend special schools for sewing and know how to make patterns for anything from just a picture and all that sewing stuff that gets so complicated. I never got very advanced in sewing.

Which reminds me that someone was saying that we should not be envious of the seamstress who was promoted with the advent of garment factories. No longer would she have time to make clothing for fat ugly rich girls. She will be busy at the factory making clothing for the masses and we are assuming making much more money that way. Ok, whatever.

Here in the U.S. we just have to choose from affordable clothing that is made for the masses, with clothing sizes modeled on persons who are six feet tall and have no derriere issues, which means nothing much fits anymore but this is progress. Something must be sacrificed for the good of all, as they say.

So I cannot be promoted a seamstress, having very limited sewing skills, and yet I have no rich husband to afford myself custom fitted clothing. Thus, I must find some other means of employment that does not involve sewing. The seamstress analogy somehow does not fit me. They must have had someone else in mind.

Which Reminds Me

Books that my mother has on her bookshelf include:

1. Land of the Lighthouse, by Grace Hatler, as told to Dorothy Molan, Another American Baptist Mission Book. Grace Hatler, a native of Arkansas, was a Baptist missionary in El Salvador starting from 1954 until whenever she left or died. I don't much how long she was there. It seems too much to imagine that she would still be alive but I really would not know. The name Hatler should not to be confused with Hatleys who were never in El Salvador. Grace Hatler was interviewed for the book by Dorothy Molan, another American Baptist person. I was not aware of the American Baptist people or whether they were connected in some way to the Baptist Bells and Reeces. We were Pentecostal which is somewhat different from Baptist. We don't exactly see eye to eye with the Baptists in certain points of doctrine. It gets complicated as you can imagine, the various groups that are not much aware of each other. I only remember that this book was recommended to us by Lois Stewart which is probably why my mother somehow acquired this copy of the book somewhere, I don't remember where. Perhaps someday I should actually read Grace's book. Our copy features a painting of presumably Izalco erupting so probably the volcano is mentioned in the book, one would imagine. So I remember that this book exists but I am Grace, who should not be confused with Mrs. Grace Richardson, a Canadian who was our teacher at the MK school for quite a few years before she went to Africa. I know nothing about Grace Hatler.

2. The Story of Antigua Guatemala, by Dorothy H. Popenoe. The book's preface describes this as a guide for visitors to the ruined capital city of colonial Guatemala, Antigua, a place that we did visit while on vacation from El Salvador during the years that we lived there. No biographical information is available on Dorothy H. Popenoe, who derives the story from letters of the Conquistadors and the annals left by the Cakchiquel Indians, accounts of priests and other eyewitnesses of the historical events surrounding the destruction of the city of Santiago de los Caballeros.

3. When Harley Heard from Heaven: In his own words...: The autobiography of Harley W. Vail, a missionary to the Yucatan area of Mexico who was a friend of my parents and visited by them sometime in the 1960s. My Dad has some funny stories about their visit with Harley W. Vail, who in addition to preaching at some local churches there also took them to see the pyramids there.

Which Reminds Me

I would not pay even 5 cents to get counseling from Wicked Witch Amy Shanks of Ohio. There was nothing nice to say about Amy, a dorm RA at Evangel and psychology major. She was just a vicious person who apparently got some kicks out of driving me into the ground. It is not like I would ever be able to do anything right in Amy's eyes, which is why Amy will not be invited to my life for any reason. I sometimes wonder if Amy is a carrier of this Ohio virus that is epidemic in some areas of the country, Ohio being the home state of my great-grandparents, never mind that they left Ohio in about 1901 when they moved to California. Ohio has deep and very sharp claws it would seem.

Which Reminds Me

Our family has no alliance with the Kennedys and their creepy cohorts presuming to run the universe, not to insult anyone personally. Anyway, there is no longer any reason for anyone to feel sorry for the Irish in this day and age of great prosperity overflowing to the Irish. We often see the pictures of their huge mansions and luxury lifestyle in magazine and books. Don't they already own Massachusetts anyway? So there is nothing else to say such irrelevant persons of no interest to us. It is not like they would ever do anything to help us. They only looking to help themselves, nothing more.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall hearing that Melody Spencer (MK-Panama, Nicaragua) might have settled in Pennsylvania.

I vaguely recall hearing the story of how Melody Spencer, while attending school in the United States while her family was on furlough one year, had tripped out on LSD. As the story circulated at the time, someone had secretly slipped LSD in Melody's thermos unbeknownst to her, while she wasn't looking, and then she had some acid trip. So we all felt very sorry for Melody. How sad that those wicked people did that to her. However, we are personally no interested in reenacting Melody's acid trip. She might have been at MK Retreat one year but I don't think we ever discussed that. I never took drugs and am not interested in learning more about that.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall that at my college there was a music major named Darrin Drake. I don't remember much about Drake, not even what his instrument was, maybe brass or woodwinds although I am not sure, or why he would imagine that he would know anything about me as we never talked, nor I anything about him. As far as I am concerned Drake was just a quiet person who never said much. I really would not know anything about that as I was not in that class and/or year's track, whatever you want to call it. Perhaps they have their stories all matched and patched together but I was not part of that track and honestly I really don't care to participate in that nonsense.

Interestingly, in researching other trees we see that Drake may or may not be a cousin to the Buenos. I have no idea as they never explain anything, only war games that get very tedious and boring to mature adults such as myself who have better things to do. But what can one expect from little boys? War games are often presented as a way to keep boys entertained and out of mischief.