Dreaming of my Grandparents' Home

This morning, I think I was dreaming about being at my grandparents' home in El Paso, TX (their Mountain Walk Drive home, not the Blue Ridge Circle one) just before I woke up.

In that nebulous no-man's-land between dreaming and waking, I vaguely recall waking up in the spare bedroom at my grandparents' at breakfast time (never mind that I was usually awake well before breakfast). The scents of percolating coffee and frying bacon, the clink of utensils, the sunlight peeking through the edges of the window shade and curtains - I was certain that I was registering these stimuli as though they were actually filtering into my brain via my senses.

When I opened my eyes, I was genuinely surprised at finding myself in my own bedroom hundreds of miles away from El Paso, so sure was I that I'd awakened at my grandparents' home.

Needless to say, I've had a bit of "homesickness" lingering around me today, noticeable when I have time to sit down and take a moment to relax. I think the cloudy weather is partly to blame; overcast skies always spark a bit of blues and homesickness for the Southwest, where we usually have about 300 (or more!) days of sunshine.

Anyway, a week ago, I'd visited my parents. While I was there, my mom had given me an album of photos she'd organized after going through my grandmother's belongings and finding her many photos.

I was looking at these newly acquired pics this morning, and decided to share a few of particular interest to me after this morning's dream of waking up at my grandparents' place.

This first pic is of my grandmother. There's nothing written on the back. I'm going to assume she's not much more than one year old, if that? Circa 1925-1926.

This next pic is of me, at my grandparents' Blue Ridge Circle home. The back of the pic says "Aug. 1974 3 yrs. 9 mos." in Oma's handwriting. 

It looks like I've found one of Oma's perfumes. Or maybe it was my mom's, since it looks like Chanel No. 5, which is one of "her" perfumes.

So, I had to include this next one, simply because it looks like I was instructed to dab a little perfume behind my ear. Because that's how you wear it, right? I can see that the lid is on the coffee table next to me. (The same thing is written on the back of this pic.) I'm assuming my grandfather took both this pic and the previous one. 

A pic of my Uncle Ralph is on the table behind me. 

I definitely remember the glass-cube window in the foyer behind me.

This last pic, I'm sure, was taken by my grandfather, using my camera. This is in the backyard at the Mountain Walk Drive home - the same home I dreamed I'd woken up in this morning. 

I'm going to say this was taken in the early 2000s. There's nothing written on the back. I'm assuming I'd had this pic printed when I'd gotten home after visiting them, and then I sent it for them to keep. 

It's been fun looking through these "old" pics, some older than others, and finding ones I haven't seen before, or finding ones, I'd forgotten about.

Just Remembering

Today is my grandmother's birthday. She would've been 90 years old today.

So, in her honor, I'm posting a few of my favorite pics of her and the Southwest.

In no particular order:

The street where she and my grandfather used to live. I took this pic when we were there for her funeral.

 

Near her house - these are the Franklin Mountains, which she saw daily.

Liv, near a yucca plant at White Sands National Monument.

A dune at White Sands National Monument. My first visit to White Sands was with my grandparents, when I was very little.

Oma's birthday, 2011.

Me, my mom, and Oma, right around my college graduation, May 1993.

I DO Love Those Southwestern Mountains

Okay, I've been meaning to share a couple more photos of the Southwest, namely a few more mountain shots. These pics were taken while we were in El Paso and Alamogordo in November 2013.

Now, keep in mind, I took the pics while we were driving, so they aren't high quality shots. But they are still visual memories for me . . . until the next time I make it back "home," whenever that may be.

 My grandparents used to live not too far from the base of this mountain (the one with the noticeable "ridges" at the top). Needless to say, I saw these mountains (the Franklin Mountains) every day when I visited my grandparents in El Paso. Not knowing when I may be back in El Paso, and knowing that I probably wouldn't have a better chance at snapping a pic, I went ahead and took a shot while we were driving on US 54 in El Paso. Probably on our way back to Ft. Bliss.

I don't remember which day I took this pic (using my camera, not the iPhone), but it seems like it was midday. Probably, it was either the day of the visitation (Veterans' Day) or the next day (my birthday/Oma's funeral).

 

Now this next pic (also from the camera) was from Sunday, November 10, 2013, the day Andrew, Liv, and I had gone to White Sands National Monument. We'd spent pretty much the whole day in Alamogordo, NM, either visiting White Sands, or hitting some other "major attractions" while we were there, so Livie could see where we used to live. (The last time she was there, she was about 1.5 years old, and thus, doesn't really remember it.) 

 These are the Franklin Mountains, again, as we're heading southward on US 54 from Alamogordo, back to El Paso. As you can see, the mountain peak with the "ridges" on the top is the one near where my grandparents used to live. This was taken late in the afternoon, probably around 4:00-5:00 PM Mountain Standard Time. There was something about that time of day that made it feel like I was "going home" to my grandparents' house, even though we weren't. It was as though I was where I was supposed to be.

 Okay, so I've shared this pic of the Organ Mountains in a previous post about White Sands, but I really do love these mountains, so I'm sharing it again. 

We're obviously at White Sands National Monument. I had to stop and just stare at the Organ Mountains, trying to somehow lock in the moment: the sounds of the wind, the voices of Liv and Andrew as they explored, occasionally hearing other visitors' voices (or the faraway sound of traffic from miles and miles away) carried on the wind, the sound of local fauna (mostly birds), the scents - there's nothing quite as beautiful as the scent of the desert Southwest, the feel of the breeze on my skin, and the sun shining on me. I was trying my hardest to make this a visceral memory, not just the one I saved on my camera.

If you click on the pic, you'll be able to see a somewhat larger version of it. In the middle of the photo, you can see some jagged peaks. Those are the Organ Mountains, just bordering Las Cruces, NM. Once, long ago, a friend of my grandmother's told me that they were called the "Organ" Mountains because the jagged peaks looked like the pipes of an (instrumental) organ. Interesting, isn't it? I always love hearing "the rest of the story," to quote Paul Harvey.

A Toast to Oma on my Birthday

I've been meaning to sit down and write this post for the past couple days now, and something (laundry, dog training, violin lessons, or whatever) has always taken precedence. But I'm here now, so here it goes; let's see if I can put this into words. I'm sure there'll be a lot of words . . .

On November 4th, my grandmother passed away. So after quickly making plans and travel/lodging/rental car reservations, we arrived in El Paso, TX for the visitation and the funeral. (You can read my tribute to Oma here, the day of the funeral here, or some travel memories here.)

Well, the funeral ended up being on my birthday. What timing, right? It was such a sad, tearful way to spend a birthday, but as my youngest brother and I had discussed that day, it seemed like it was meant to be. It was like . . . well, it was like Oma was ensuring I had one more birthday "with" her in El Paso.

Because it was the day of my grandmother's funeral, I woke up, unsure if I wanted to be wished "Happy Birthday!" or sentiments such as "Hope you're doing something fun to celebrate today!" from family and friends (those friends who were unaware that the funeral was the same day). I was on edge from the start, knowing I would be participating in the funeral mass (I'd be reading the second reading) - I just wanted to get through the reading without crying or having a wavering voice (though that would've been understandable). I wanted a nice, strong, oratorical voice to celebrate Oma. 

While Livie, Andrew, and I were getting ready that morning, I'd mentioned something to the effect of, "Who knew this would be how I'd celebrate my birthday this year?" Andrew responded with, "Well, I want to tell you 'Happy Birthday!' but I'm not sure when would be a good time to say that."

I decided that it was an appropriate time (looking back, I think I really needed it then, so I'm glad he mentioned it), and thought that I would probably appreciate it even more later in the day once the funeral mass was over and we could have time to breathe. We were having a reception at a local hotel after the interment, and I knew that would probably be as good a time as any for birthday wishes.

All that morning, I was flip-flopping back and forth between being glad that friends (many of whom were oblivious to the day's events) were wishing me "Happy Birthday!" on Facebook, as the messages were a momentary pick-me-up under the circumstances, and irritated that not everyone had noticed my status update saying something about the funeral. 

There were a few, though, who knew just where I was and what I was doing, and offered words of support.

When we got to the church for the funeral, my great-aunt, María (the family calls her Naná) - Oma's sister - came up to me upon her arrival, and hugged me, telling me, "Happy Birthday, mija. I hope you celebrate later today. Go do something fun for yourself. Your grandmother would have wanted that." 

(Mija, by the way, is Spanish - it's actually a contraction of two words, mi hija, which literally translate to "my daughter" but are used as a term of endearment for a younger person in the family. Mija is pronounced kind of like "MEE-ha." My grandmother would say it to me, or my aunts who are of my grandmother's generation, and so forth. Mijo is the same, being a contraction of mi hijo, or "my son," and obviously used for males.)

When Naná told me that, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to go out to dinner with Livie and Andrew later that evening, and I knew just the place. I just had to get through the morning's events. 

When we walked into the church, I suddenly thought, though, that I didn't know how I was going to make it through the morning. Luckily, my cousin Bonnie was right next to me. I had seen her crying silently out of the corner of my eye. I knew then, that I couldn't bear to keep from crying much longer, so I grabbed her hand and held it tighter than I'd ever held anyone's hand before. At some point, I was sure that I was hurting her, and quietly apologized for the vise-like grip. She shook her head and said, "You're not hurting my hand. I need that support." 

She was doing the first reading, and told me later that she needed that hand squeeze just as much as I needed to squeeze her hand. I was so grateful for her calming presence. 

By the way, I did a great job of doing the second reading during the funeral mass. Livie mentioned something later about how calm I sounded, and that it seemed like I spoke in public like I was used to it, and was quite practiced at it - a clear voice ringing out so that everyone could hear.  It was probably the best compliment I'd received in some time. 

However, there was one point during the service - after my reading - when I glanced at my Mom and my Uncle Ralph. The "dam suddenly broke" and I couldn't help it - I started crying - you know that jagged, can't-catch-your-breath type. While Oma was my beloved grandmother, she was their mother. And that thought while looking at the two siblings triggered "the flood." My uncle's wife, my Aunt Gloria was hugging me, and it was such a warm, comforting hug, that I just had to keep crying, like I was meant to keep crying. I remember hearing her ask me, "Are you okay, mija?" and I all could do was whisper a faint, "Yes," and we let go of each other.

After  a couple minutes, I had to ask Livie to reach into her Abuelita's purse (my mom's purse), which was right next to us, wide open, showing a big packet of tissues. "Liv, get me some tissues from Abuelita's purse." 

"Can I just take them? Or should I ask her?" 

"Just take them. She understands."

And the next thing I knew, the service was over. It was both the longest service I'd had to be a part of, but also the quickest - suddenly it was over - though I think it was just about average, as far as a church service goes. 

The interment was quick, once we reached Ft. Bliss National Cemetery. And then off to the hotel for the reception. It was dawning on various family members that it was, in fact, my birthday, and were offering birthday wishes, and sympathy at the same time. It was definitely an odd meshing of "What are the chances?!" sentiments.  

Anyway, we spent a good amount of time at the reception, eating some hors d'oeuvres and visiting with family. And many were asking me what I was planning on doing for my birthday. I told them I wanted to take Andrew and Livie to the steakhouse near where my grandparents lived, the same place I'd eaten with them numerous times. 

One time, a number of years ago, right around my birthday, Andrew, Livie, and I were at my grandparents' for a long weekend (probably Veterans' Day, as that's the day before my birthday). My grandmother had given me birthday money so Andrew and I could eat a meal there. She specifically told me, "And make sure to get dessert, too!" My Uncle Hector was visiting that weekend, too, so he was the Official Livie Babysitter for those couple hours Andrew and I were at the restaurant.

So this steakhouse, The Great American Land & Cattle Company, was the place I wanted to eat that evening of my birthday, that one birthday that shared itself with my grandmother's funeral. 

This steakhouse is on Alabama Street, just past the intersection where we'd turn west onto my grandparents' (former) street. It is SO CLOSE to their former house, we could get there from my grandparents' within just a couple minutes.

 I took this pic Monday morning, the morning of the visitation, the day before the funeral.

I'd been to this restaurant a number of times with my grandparents when they were both still living. We often had the most delicious meals there. They had these Texas-style baked beans, that they call "Texas caviar." They are so delish. I can't think of a time where the meal wasn't prepared just right. 

I had even taken Andrew there once or twice when we visited my grandparents, but Livie had been too young when we were still living in the area. But now I had the chance to take her there, too. 

Here's the exterior of the restaurant. I couldn't get a shot of the whole exterior without getting that parked car, obviously. But I wanted to show that the whole side of the building has that cool mural painted on it. Definitely a West Texas theme, right? (You can click on the pic to get a somewhat bigger view of the pic.)

Well, the place was just like I'd remembered it. And we were fortunate enough to get a table with a spectacular view. 

This picture doesn't do it justice (I'd used my smart phone), but the view is beautiful, especially when the sun goes down. You see all these glittering lights of El Paso (not downtown, though) in the valley (the Franklin Mountains are behind us.)

We'd gotten there just as the sun was tucking itself behind the mountains. (You can see there's still some light in the pic of the restaurant's exterior.) Anyway, I had the filet mignon, medium. So good. Mmmm. Livie asked for the kid's cheeseburger. It was huge. She thought it was delish, by the way. And Andrew? Um, I think he had a sirloin?

We all looked out the window, watching the sky go through all those indescribable shades of blue from periwinkle to midnight blue. We reminisced about Oma, even making a toast. But just our being there, having a good time together, was probably enough to make Oma happy. 

I even ordered dessert, "because Oma would've wanted me to." Liv and I shared a massive slice of cheesecake with strawberries. We even clinked our forks together and said, "To Oma!"

On our way out, I had to snap a pic with my smart phone. Check out the view of the "western" chandelier as I head down the stairs: 

Yep, it's made from antlers! Cool, huh?!

Once we got out to the parking lot, it was dark. Liv and Andrew got into the car, while I walked to the edge of the lot, overlooking the twinkling city. 

I turned around and looked at the Franklin Mountains, "Oma's mountain," now only dark shadows of rock. 

I breathed in the cool night air. With each deep breath, I tried my best to retain it's unique "perfume" in my brain: a mixture of the desert landscape, the dry earth, sage, creosote, cottonwood trees. I had a distinct feeling that "this may be my last time in El Paso," but I hoped not. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. There is something about the Southwest, about El Paso, that smells fragrant like no other place I've ever been. It definitely smells like home. It smells like the desert. I don't know how else to describe it. 

It just smells like home. Stark beauty.

Back to the Southwest Once More

Okay, I've been meaning to share a few more photos and stories about our trip back to the Southwest, but time keeps getting away from me.

Anyway, I had planned on having one full day to ourselves (just me, Liv, and Andrew) - Sunday - before having to tend to family obligations (the visitation at the funeral home was Monday November 11th, Veterans' Day, and my grandmother's funeral was on Tuesday November 12th, my birthday).

On our first full day back in the Southwest, that Sunday the 10th, we had headed to Alamogordo, NM, where Andrew and I had last been stationed while we were in the Air Force. (Check out the posts on our arrival in El Paso here, and our trip to White Sands.)

After we'd spend a considerable amount of time enjoying the beauty of White Sands National Monument, we'd decided to spend a bit of time in Alamogordo, itself.

Since we'd gotten to White Sands mid-morning and stayed for a few hours, we were ready to have lunch somewhere in Alamogordo. Andrew and I had been thinking of this little Mexican restaurant we'd enjoyed when we'd lived there. It's this place called Margo's Mexican Food on 1st Street, just off of White Sands Boulevard. I was really looking forward to an order of the chicken flautas, knowing that none in Iowa would hit the spot as well as the ones I could eat in Alamogordo or El Paso. Maybe it's just the location that makes them taste better? I dunno.

But Livie had other plans. Shs said that since we'd eaten Mexican food the night before, she wanted something different for lunch. So we went to Sonic. Yes, the fast food drive-in. She had never been at a drive-in where the car-hop - on roller skates - skates out with your order.

Sure, she had been with me to that very Sonic once in 2006 when she was a baby and Andrew and I were still in the Air Force. Andrew had been deployed at the time. Livie must've been around 5 months old. It was a Friday afternoon, and I'd had a long day at work. I was exhausted. On my way from my office to the on-base child care center to pick up Livie, I knew that I just wouldn't feel like making myself anything for dinner that night, once we got home. My choices (if I didn't cook myself something to eat) were cold cereal, or going through the drive-thru on my way home.

So the Sonic drive-thru it was, late that afternoon in '06. Livie was in her car seat that afternoon as I went through the drive thru. Technically, yes, she'd been to that exact Sonic before, but she hadn't pulled into a drive-in spot, ordered from the menu board, and had the car-hop roller skate out with our food.

And that's what we did that day after our White Sands visit. She thought it was so cool!

Anyway, after we'd eaten our lunch, we had a couple more quick stops to make before heading back to El Paso to have dinner with family.

First, we had to drive past our old house.

This is the view as we were driving down our old street. Yes, we got to see those mountains every single day. I loved that those mountains filled the view of my kitchen window. And the living room windows, and the master bedroom windows. If we went out to the back yard, those mountains were our whole view. (They're the Sacramento Mountains, by the way.)

 Here's our old house. From the front, it looks the same. Though, there is a new satellite dish (ours was on the back of the house). And a new tree in the front yard, which you can see on the very left of the picture. Oh, and those black sun shades on those windows on the left side of the pic.

After driving down our old street, we had one more stop before heading back to El Paso. 

See, there are a bunch of pistachio farms in the area. And one very, very large pistachio. Since Liv, Andrew, and I enjoy eating pistachios, we had to go.

Here she is with the giant pistachio!

This is at McGinn's Pistachio Tree Ranch. When we first got there, she acted as though she were irritated. She said, "But I thought it was going to be a real giant pistachio . . . one that I could eat!"

They did, however, have lots of pistachios and pistachio treats in the gift shop, ones that we could buy and she could actually eat. We ended up with a small bag of roasted, salted pistachios, and some pistachio brittle. (They also had some spicy pistachio brittle made with chiles, which I'd sampled. It was really tasty, but since I'd be the only one eating it, I decided not to buy any - I don't need to eat a whole bag of pistachio brittle all by myself - even if I spread out the eating over a few days, LOL.)

We then went down the road a little ways to another pistachio farm/gift shop called Heart of the Desert. Guess what they have in the picnic area at this place? 

Yep, it's a painted pony. This statue is called "Apple Oosa" for obvious reasons: it's an Appaloosa horse, but it has apples on it, too! Cute, huh?

I was glad for a whole day to ourselves as a family, where we had the chance to do something memorable before having to deal with the sad issue of my grandmother's funeral. 

Stay tuned . . . in a few days, I'll post about how we toasted my grandmother's memory the evening after her funeral.

On Being Back "Home" in the Southwest

I have to admit that while we were back in El Paso, TX for a sad reason (my grandmother's funeral), the trip did have some highlights.

Since I found myself unexpectedly back home in the Southwest, I took advantage of some free time - Saturday afternoon after we'd checked into lodging on Ft. Bliss and most of the day on Sunday - when we'd had nothing planned.

Now, while almost all of Texas' massiveness is within the Central time zone, El Paso, at the westernmost tip, is in the Mountain time zone. So, of course, when we arrived, it was an hour earlier than we're used to in eastern Iowa (Central).

Needless to say, by the time we had arrived in El Paso, gotten our luggage (having been charged $25 per suitcase = $75 total!!), gotten our rental car, and checked into our quarters (on-post lodging, like a hotel, but cheaper than the "good" rates my family had gotten at the hotel near the airport), we were all quite hungry and ready for dinner.

 We'd just gotten off the plane. Liv was happy to be there.

 This is more or less the view we had from the parking lot. I love these mountains.

So, where would we go when in El Paso? Well, we went to a Mexican restaurant that my grandparents used to take me when I was younger. It's a local chain called Leo's. It's actually been a long, long time since I've been there. I think the last time I went, I'd gone with my grandparents ("Oma" and "Sir Rafa"), my uncle Hector, and a few other relatives.

Well, every time I go to this restaurant, I always get the chicken flautas, which are prepared like tacos (beef, chicken, or another filling inside a corn tortilla that's been fried), but instead of the typical "taco" shape, they're rolled up in the shape of flutes (hence the name flautas, which means "flutes" in Spanish). This dish always comes with refried beans and Spanish rice.

However, I was remembering the last time I'd been at this restaurant. My uncle Hector had ordered the chicken with mole sauce (often made with smoked chiles and chocolate). It's a really tasty Mexican dish. I enjoy it (and the last time I was there with my uncle, he'd let me have a bite of his - it was good!). But since we were in El Paso for a somber event, I needed some "comfort" food. What's my comfort food?

This:

Yep, the chicken flautas. I had to get them. I wouldn't have been satisfied if I'd ordered the chicken with mole sauce (however good it may be), because my comfort food in El Paso (if not my grandmother's homemade tacos) has to be flautas. 

And I was not disappointed. They were delicious; they were as good as I'd remembered. I am still thinking about them. (They looked a lot better than they do in this picture.)

Liv had ordered a kid's special with one beef taco and one enchilada with green chile sauce. Her meal also came with the beans and rice. She devoured it.

 Not the greatest pic, but good enough (the sun had set and the lighting in the restaurant was a bit dim for the iPhone camera).

Andrew? I think he ordered a "create your own combo" with a taco, enchilada, and . . . hmm. Something else I just can't remember.

To top off this delicious meal? Always sopaipillas. They're these delicious pillows of fried dough, puffy and hot, served with honey. You tear off a small corner and pour in a bit of honey and coat the inside of the "pillow." So. Good.

This is a not-so-good pic of the delicious pillows known as sopaipillas. Mmmm. 

After we'd eaten, I'd been chatting with our server. I'd said that my grandparents had taken me to Leo's (I think one of the other locations) numerous times when I was younger. And I always loved the flautas and sopaipillas. We'd laughed when she agreed with me that I probably wouldn't have been satisfied if I'd ordered the chicken with mole, as my "go to" meal was always flautas. And I'd found out that the owner of the car dealership where I'd gotten my vehicle (there in El Paso) was a regular at this restaurant and he always ordered the same thing, every time! (Just like me!)

Anyway, after we'd finished eating, we realized we were all exhausted from traveling and having eaten a filling meal, and the thought of the stress of the days ahead. We immediately went back to on-post lodging, got ready for bed, and settled in for the night.

But before going to sleep, Liv had to do one last thing.

She had to read in bed. (She's borrowing my mini-reading light that clips onto a book.) She and I had gone to the bookstore the day before we'd left. I bought the two of us one book each for the trip. She picked Charlotte's Web.

 In the next day or two, I'll share another exciting adventure we had on this trip back to the Southwest.

Saying Goodbye to Oma

After receiving that most unpleasant of calls texts last week informing us of Oma's passing, we quickly began planning on getting back to El Paso, TX for her funeral.

On the one hand, it was an escape from the quotidian, which, I'm sure, is why Livie and I felt a little seed of excitement upon getting those e-mails confirming our air travel plans and our lodging confirmation.

We couldn't escape, though, the sad reason we were traveling in the first place: Oma's funeral.

We'd arrived in El Paso late in the afternoon on Saturday the 9th. The viewing was on Monday the 11th, and the funeral was on Tuesday the 12th.

The funeral seemed a bit harder than usual for me as it was on my birthday. What timing, right? (It couldn't have been helped, though.) However, my youngest brother and I had a brief discussion that it was almost like it was meant to be - one last birthday "together" in El Paso, if that makes any sense. There was a definite sense of saudade surrounding this trip, due to the circumstances, as well as having been a number of years since we'd been "home." 

The funeral was on a sunny, somewhat breezy Tuesday morning in El Paso, at St. Pius X church, on the corner of Geronimo and North Clark, where, I believe, I'd gone to services once or twice, long ago with my grandparents. It definitely looked familiar.

We'd intentionally picked out a pretty purple "party" dress for Liv, so she could "celebrate" the life and memory of her great-grandmother. They were so attached to each other, spending hours together talking and playing (meaning Liv played and Oma watched).


After the funeral, we headed to Ft. Bliss National Cemetary, where my grandfather (and Uncle Hector) are buried.

This is the plot which my grandmother now shares with my grandfather. The headstone is not there, temporarily, as the engraving for my grandmother is being added. Instead, the flowers from the funeral mark the location (along with a small informational tag at the head). 

I am so glad that the mountains near their former home are in the background overlooking the cemetery.

And, of course, I had to visit my uncle's spot. I hadn't been here, yet.

On Monday morning/early afternoon, a few hours before the viewing/Vigil (the "wake'), we drove past my grandparents' former house, since we had some time. It didn't feel right not driving past.

Plus, the last time Liv had been there, she had only been about one and a half years old, so she really didn't remember what it looked like, aside from having looked at photos. I wanted to make sure she'd remember it because she saw it in person.

The intersection: we had to turn off of Alabama onto Mountain Walk Drive. It's the only way to get to their house.

Driving west on Mountain Walk Drive, that old, familiar street.

And here's where they used to live. The main difference is that I noticed is that the ivy on the house's exterior has been removed. Oh, and the satellite dish.

It was a difficult reason for heading back "home" to the Southwest, but it also felt "right," if that makes sense. I've had such a longing or saudade for the Southwest, it was definitely a return "home," regardless of the circumstances. It was good (but sad), and necessary.

On Missing Uncle Chino

This morning, I found out that my great-uncle, Uncle Chino, died this past week. He was my grandfather's (Sir Rafa) younger brother and they had so many great adventures together growing up. They both had a great (and similar) sense of humor. They were both Army veterans. Uncle Chino was a man who played Santa Claus for many Christmases. One Christmas, when I was a baby, he pretended to put me in his Santa bag! Oh, how I wish I had a photo of that!

 Here's a photo I found, which I'd taken at my grandparents' home in El Paso. It must've been around Easter in 2003.

Rafa on the left, Chino on the right (Andrew in the middle).

So in honor of my Uncle Chino, I'm going to repeat a post I'd written a while ago for a "Memory Lane Friday" post. It's from my grandfather's memoirs, from a section where he wrote about the adventures he and his brother had when they were young boys.

Here is a copy of my post from "Memory Lane Friday" on Friday May 27, 2011:

My grandfather, Rafael, was known as "Rafa" to his family. (I called him "Sir Rafa," but that's another story.)

Anyway, Sir Rafa's younger brother is Fidel. His nickname is "Chino" (which is also another story).

Here's a bit of background: Sir Rafa and Uncle Chino were newspaper boys when they were young, selling papers in downtown El Paso, TX. When they finished selling papers for the day, they'd occasionally treat themselves to supper before heading home: usually a couple hot dogs and one soda (in a glass bottle) with two straws. They'd use a few spare nickles and/or a couple dimes they'd earned from selling papers.

But once in a while, they'd buy a different treat. . . .

***

(This is an excerpt from a section of his memoirs he wrote in 3rd person. It's from a chapter called, "Chino and Rafa - Newspaper Boys".)

On the ground floor of the Gateway Hotel was a small, but very fancy bakery shop. The boys thought that everything sold there was very expensive, so the only thing they could do was to look at the goodies in the window display. Sometimes they wished they could buy something there, but they didn't dare go in there.

Chino and Rafa used to pass by there every night on their way home.

One day, Chino told Rafa, "Let's go into the bakery and buy a bag of 'pieces.'"

Rafa wanted to know, "What do you mean - 'pieces'?"

Besides, a place like that was very expensive. The people going to that shop [were very well-dressed,] and most of them drove up in big cars, so they must be very rich.

Chino then explained to his older brother that [broken cookies] weren't sold to the "rich" customers[. Instead,] they put the broken pieces in paper bags. These bags of pieces were for sale to anybody for ten cents.

So Rafa said, "Let's do it," and they walked into the bakery.

Since Chino knew about [the "pieces,"] he said, "a bag of 'pieces.'" The young lady behind the counter handed the boys a small bag full of pieces, and Chino gave her a dime.

On the way home, the boys ate most of the broken cookies, but left some for their mother, and a few pieces for Poppi, [their dog].

***

This is an old photo my grandfather (Rafa) gave me a number of years ago. Rafa is on the left and Chino is in the middle. Obviously, this was long before they were newspaper boys.

I'll Be Home for Christmas . . .

if only in my dreams . . .

I heard that song yesterday, and I was suddenly very, very homesick for the Southwest - namely, my grandparents' home in El Paso, TX as well as the cozy, too brief home in Alamogordo, NM (we'd lived there only one year), where Livie celebrated her very first Christmas.


(Frank Sinatra's version off YouTube)


And then when Livie and I were at our favorite pizza place in town last night, I heard a song originally sung by Michael Bublé - Home - but this version I heard last night was sung by a country star, featuring Michael Bublé (I later learned the country star was Blake Shelton).



 (Blake Shelton's version off YouTube)

When this song came on, I was so overwhelmed by such a strong sense of saudade (a Portuguese word that captures a sense of homesickness, nostalgia, or a longing for something or someone absent - but without much chance of return) and a longing for being back "home," in the Southwest, where my family is from . . . and where I lived for a time (having been stationed in the Southwest twice while in the military). I almost cried, I was so homesick.

See, the first time I'd heard the song Home, was in New Mexico, the day Livie and I had moved into our house in July 2006, and I was busy unpacking while listening to the radio. Andrew was deployed in the Middle East at the time, and wouldn't be home for another three months. I was missing him, worried about him, and trying to keep busy with setting up the new home.

And I'd heard that song a number of times during that year of living in New Mexico.

So every time I hear this song, I think of that home, the desolate beauty of the desert, and the very first Christmas with Livie (meaning: the very first time I got to be "magic" by playing Santa).

As I sat there watching Livie color while we waited for our pizza, I couldn't believe how hard the saudade had hit me, especially since we've been here in Iowa for a few years now and have our "new" Christmas traditions pretty firmly established (including eating a very New Mexican posole for Christmas Eve).

Although the saudade faded by the end of the evening - for the most part, anyway - I still had a vestige of it lasting through the night, and into this morning, causing me to look through some old photos from our New Mexican Christmas:

The tree, night before Christmas

Arch decoration, night before Christmas

Sacramento Mountains, Alamogordo, NM

These photos will have to do as I get my Southwest fix from afar. (Too bad I don't have a photo of my grandparents' place at Christmas time - that would've been priceless).

In the meantime, I'm biding my time before I get to play Santa, once again (it's fun and I enjoy it a lot). Just a few more days, though, right? Livie and I get to do a bunch of things before "Santa" delivers presents under the tree: making posole for Christmas dinner, making cookies for Santa (yummy!!), and packing for our trip to Liv's grandparents' place on Christmas Day.

Another Photo Trip Back Home

While I enjoy taking photos while I'm out and about here in Iowa, I figured I'd take another trip (via photo) back "home" to the Southwest.

I say "home," because my maternal grandparents spent just about their whole lives in the Southwest, namely in El Paso, TX. My mom and her brothers were raised in El Paso. I spent the first three or so years of my life in El Paso. After my parents and I moved away, I still took many, many trips back to the Southwest to visit my grandparents regularly. I've even got a number of family members who still live in the area. Plus, I was stationed in the Southwest on two different occasions during the years I spent in the Air Force (in Tucson, AZ, and Alamogordo, NM).

Even when I was stationed elsewhere, I found myself in the Southwest, either for work or more often, on vacation.

So basically, the Southwest like home to me - my first home, my original home. (Chicago - or Arlington Heights, more specifically, is my "home of record" for the military, because that's where I'd been living when I'd gone on active duty . . . but that's a whole 'nother story.)

Anyway, when Andrew and I were stationed in Massachusetts for four years, we found ourselves in Las Vegas, NV for a week-long conference for work (October 2004). After we'd wrapped up on the last day, we had a bit of time for sightseeing; we took the opportunity to go to the Hoover Dam, a nice day-trip distance from the sensory overload known as Vegas (which I really enjoy, by the way). Not only was the Hoover Dam impressive on its own merits, the scenery to and from the Hoover Dam was spectacular!

So here are a few photos I thought I'd share. The quality isn't the best - I'd used one of those single-use "disposable" cameras (with film in it); anyway, their quality declined even further after I'd uploaded the photos and had them transferred from one online storage site to another. (The negatives, sadly, were lost/ruined in my numerous moves from one part of the country to another.)

(Again, you can click on each photo for a somewhat larger view.)

The reservoir, on one side.

The river, on the other side.

Andrew's looking down that dizzying downward distance.

Remembering a Different Home

Normally, if I feel a little homesick (or have a feeling of saudade), it's for New Mexico (or El Paso, TX, or even Tucson . . . but generally somewhere in the Southwest).

But lately, I've been kind of missing my other home, Chicagoland. See, I went to college in Chicagoland - Lake Forest College (in Lake Forest, Il, to be exact). And before I joined the Air Force, I worked as a Certified Legal Assistant in Chicagoland (in Deerfield, IL) and lived in Chicagoland (Arlington Heights, IL, about 8-9 miles from where I worked). So I lived in the Chicago area for a number of years.

There's so much to do in a metropolitan area like Chicagoland. There are plenty of sports related activities, like my being able to go to Chicago Blackhawks games (my favorite NHL team). My brother and I would go to a home game together at the United Center at least once a season - the 'Hawks, a beer, nachos, and good company - you couldn't get a better type of fun than that. Plus Chicago has two MLB teams, an NFL team, and a MLS team. Of course, Chicago has plenty of cultural activities, too - the Art Institute, the Shedd Aquarium, opera, theater, various concerts. And restaurants - think of a type of food . . . Spanish tapas, Italian, deep dish pizza, steak . . . you name it, Chicago has it.
 
Andrew and I also got married in Chicago, in December, when the air was crisp and cold, Christmas-y lights were twinkling, and there was a hint of snow in the air and that special holiday buzz surrounding us.

(Oh, and here's a little-known tidbit: the best driver's license photo I ever had was for my Illinois license, when I'd renewed it in December 2002.)

So as you can see, there is something special to me about Chicago.

But I'm sure you're wondering what got me on a "I miss Chicago" kick.

It was a dog.

A dog? 

Yes, a dog.

Not a canine.

A dog.

A hot dog.

A hot dog?

Yep. A Chicago dog.

Poppy seed bun, hot dog, mustard (and NEVER ketchup!!!), sweet relish, dill pickle spear, tomato wedges, sport peppers, and a bit of celery salt.

There's a hot dog place near us that opened within the last year here in east-central Iowa. We'd never been there, but had noticed they advertised Chicago-style hot dogs. So this past weekend, out of curiosity, Andrew decided to go get some Chicago-style hot dogs, just to see how they stacked up to the real thing.

The dog (and a beer), via Instagram app on my iPhone.

(No, that's not the exact color . . . I tried giving it a little bit of an artsy look to it with the Instagram app.)

Well, it was pretty good - good enough to satisfy the Chicago dog craving. But it made me miss stopping at the hot dog stand I used to get my Chicago dogs from, when I was in the city - a little place called Hot Diggity Dog on Ohio St (off of . . . um . . . Fairbanks, I think?), where they had the BEST chocolate malts.

And that's what made me start reminiscing about all the other things I missed about Chicago (driving Lake Shore Drive at night, going for a run at the lake, the IMAX at Navy Pier, etc.) . . . and, well, there you go.

A Few More Random Views

Okay, so it's one of those blustery, sort of overcast days. So, of course, I've been daydreaming about the Southwest . . . which made me feel like looking through some "old" photos I'd taken when we still lived in the Southwest.

Here are a few that I haven't shared, yet, that I thought I'd share today. (Liv's 15-16 months old in the first two photos.)

Liv's in El Paso, TX, in her great-grandparents' backyard.

In El Paso, TX, again, looking out at the backyard.

Our back yard view in Alamogordo, NM after a rain.

Getting Ready for Christmas

We're impatiently waiting for Christmas in my house (Livie, in particular). First, Livie's enjoying a tasty Christmas treat (yes, she's still in her pajamas, mid-afternoon!):

Huge Santa Lollypop!

Next, I busted out the plate for Santa's cookies, the bowl for the reindeer treats (either oats or carrots), and the "And milk, too . . ." glass. They're waiting to be put into use on Christmas Eve.

I bought these in El Paso, TX, not long before Livie's first Christmas. We've been using them each year. I've never seen them anywhere else, ever again, so I'm glad I bought them when I saw them!

Breakfast with Sir Rafa

My grandfather, Sir Rafa, was always an early riser. Always. When I visited them in El Paso, TX, it didn't matter how early I got up (even if I got up before 6 AM), he was always up earlier. I used to wonder if the sun could only rise after Sir Rafa had gotten up - that's how early he arose.

Anyway, Sir Rafa loved going out for breakfast. That was one of the activities he truly enjoyed. While Oma always made the best breakfasts, there was something fun and tasty about going out for breakfast. And as a bonus, Oma would get the morning off, neither having to prepare the meal, nor having to clean up afterward.

It didn't matter if it were just to McDonald's down the street or the Burger King at Fort Bliss . . . or even to the local Village Inn on Hondo Pass Drive (the place he most often visited for breakfast, because it was close by and he got good service - plus, it seemed like everybody knew him there, like Cheers). He also loved Oma's favorite breakfast location: the Cracker Barrel on El Paso's west side.

Anytime I visited them, it seemed like we'd go out for breakfast at least once (possibly twice, depending on how long I was staying). Usually it was just the two of us - me and Sir Rafa. His reasoning was to give Oma a break in the morning - but like I said, it was also fun. Sometimes we'd get Oma to agree to come with us. However, I think she liked sending the two of us off, because she liked the time alone; that way, she could get ready at a leisurely pace without having to worry about taking care of Sir Rafa and me, too.

Here's how it would go. Typically, we'd be relaxing in the den or the kitchen in the evening after Oma and I cleaned the kitchen after dinner. They'd be watching TV and I'd be in there with them, reading, or maybe watching a movie with them. (One of Sir Rafa's favorites was a movie called Junior, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger and Emma Thompson - but this is a story for another time.)

Then Sir Rafa would ask me if I thought I could be ready to go out early the next morning. It always seemed like he'd ask me out of the blue, but I'm sure he'd had it planned for hours - or even from the first moment I'd walked in the door upon arriving in El Paso. He would also never tell me why he wanted me to be ready extra early. But I knew why. We were going out for breakfast the next morning.

Like I said, it didn't matter how early I got up. It didn't matter how quickly I got ready. When I walked out of my room, he'd be at the kitchen table, reading the paper and drinking a small glass of juice. After seeing if Oma were coming with us, and finding that she'd decided to stay home and get ready, he and I would head out. I always drove. He usually made comments about his finally having a chauffeur.

If it were just the two of us, then we'd usually head to the Village Inn on Hondo Pass Drive. The servers would always greet him. "Good morning, Ralph," or, "How are you this morning, Ralph?" and so on. (His name was Rafael, so most people called him Ralph.) If the server who was waiting on our table hadn't met me yet, he'd always introduce us. No matter which server waited on our table, we always got around to chatting with her for a few minutes, whenever she had a few moments of free time, that is.

Once we were finished, he'd hand me a piece of gum (usually spearmint, or sometimes cinnamon) and we'd head home . . . but not before making an "important" stop first. See, there was a gas station on Hondo Pass, just before it curved south and turned into Magnetic Drive. He'd ask me to stop there. Once parked, he'd give me a few dollars in cash. He'd then have me go in and get three scratch tickets (you know, the scratch lottery tickets), one for him, one for me, and one for Oma. Then we were ready to head home.

We'd walk in from the garage, through the laundry room, and into the kitchen. Oma would be in there, just finishing her breakfast. He'd pass out the scratch tickets, a quarter for each of us, and we'd scratch away. Sometimes Oma and I would win a buck, or a new scratch lotto ticket, but most often, it was nothing. I think I won a buck on a few rare occasions. Sir Rafa? He was usually the one who most often won something off those scratch tickets, whether it was just $1, or a new scratch ticket, or some other amount of money. I remember one time after breakfast when he won $5. We stopped at the gas station later and he had me buy 5 scratch tickets with that $5. And once, when I wasn't there, he'd won $500 off a scratch ticket!

It's fun remembering those days. I miss those breakfast outings. I was reminiscing about them this past Sunday, when I took Livie to the Bluebird Diner in Iowa City. We each had pancakes, bacon, orange juice. It was fun, just the two of us. That's why I was thinking of similar outings I'd had with my grandfather.

So, I told Livie about those days while we waited for our breakfast. She'd asked at one point if I'd ever taken her to breakfast with Sir Rafa. I'd said "No, because you hadn't been born yet. And when you were born and we visited them, you were just a tiny baby, and didn't eat regular food yet - only milk. But if you had been old enough, Sir Rafa would've made sure you came with us. I can guarantee that."

I got a little sad thinking that she never had the pleasure of going out for breakfast with her great-grandfather. But then I realized something. We can't go out to breakfast with him anymore. But I'm sure he was at breakfast with us, in spirit.

Sir Rafa and Baby Livie, El Paso, TX, 16 June 2006. She was almost 4-months-old.

Just a little background on the photo. This is Sir Rafa enjoying Baby Livie's company, just days after she and I arrived in El Paso from Boston. I'd gotten a new assignment (in the Air Force) in Alamogordo, NM, which was just over an hour from my grandparents' place. We'd flown out to El Paso (the closest major airport), and I took a couple days of leave to spend time with them before heading north to Alamogordo.