Jump to content


Dr. D's Blog



Photo

REBECCA

Posted by Dr. D , 11 December 2010 · 34 views

Her name was Rebecca Ibarra and she taught me how to love. She taught such things with the hints of wisdom and a smile that told me her heart was at home. She was sixteen-years-old and incredibly beautiful with cascading hair as black as the ravens wing and eyes that invited the moon to dance upon them. And in those days of my youth, she was the essence...


Photo

Women Read and Learn

Posted by Dr. D , 06 December 2010 · 96 views

I have written about Padre Manuel before and perhaps it will be remembered that he is my chess opponent in our once-a-week encounters. And so it was that he came today but wanting to do something different from playing chess. He brought with him a tract that was circulated by the church in the 1950s with the opening page heralding a message for all women,...


Photo

Beware of the Bota

Posted by Dr. D , 05 December 2010 · 63 views

On the coast of Honduras there are a collection of indigenous tribes. I lived near to them for two years and learned to know them since they had fascinating social customs and would steal anything within reach.

In that locale there is a tree that is similar to the great banyan but is another species. Like the banyan, however, its roots extend above the...


Photo

A Lie I Told

Posted by Dr. D , 03 December 2010 · 65 views

Sometimes a tourist will pass our way. They come in late model cars and the women wear broad brimmed hats to protect their ivory skin from the Mexican sun. They come armed with cameras, camcorders and expressions of awe. Some are arrogant and others naÔve but they are all out of place in a setting that has no place for them.

The dark grey Cadillac moved...


Photo

Searching for a Pulga

Posted by Dr. D , 02 December 2010 · 60 views

It was in those first days alter I had arrived in the village. I was unknown and thus held in suspicion by most. I was only known as the gringo who had bought La Casona and was contracting men to help in its restoration. But restoration would not be all. The house was incredibly large and much furnishing would be required to fill it properly. One of...


Photo

The Lost Sunday

Posted by Dr. D , 01 December 2010 · 71 views

It was August 19, 1951 and the day was Sunday. Six days earlier Martina Velez had killed her husband and that was when it all started.

The most beautiful woman of the village, Martina married Diego Leyva Martinez, the chief of the local police and a man of fierce dominance. Old women still tell of them and said that Diego became meek and gracious in his...


Photo

It Happens Every Year

Posted by Dr. D , 29 November 2010 · 36 views

It happens every year. The calendar reads November and I live where Thanksgiving isnít known, much less celebrated. Thatís okay. I never liked Thanksgiving beyond the flavor of turkey. There was always something hypocritical about it. Feasting in memory of Indians whose generosity saved the lives of the people who would later kill them all.

But the...


Photo

No Act Goes Unnoticed

Posted by Dr. D , 29 November 2010 · 82 views

Tomas Marquez Saenz was seven months old. He slept in his motherís arms in a city bus that rattled through the pot holes and speed bumps. He was the first born of his mother Emily and she looked at him with the endearment known only to a motherís face.

Carlos Sifuentes was 14 and had begun to feel the pangs of a strange interest each time that he looked...


Photo

The Funeral

Posted by Dr. D , 21 November 2010 · 61 views

I have removed the dark suit and hung it in the closet. The white shirt was tossed into the laundry basket and the tie set aside for the cleaners. A spot of chili sauce could not be concealed and who knows when I will need it for another funeral?

Here, in this village that I call mine, it is the custom to walk behind the hearse to the distant cemetery. ...


Photo

Quality Time

Posted by Dr. D , 21 November 2010 · 47 views

A thumbnail moon is cradled over the mountain. Trees, posts and the pinnacles of the distant peaks are but silhouettes against the moonlight. Fireflies send signals across the foothills and there is the call of a beast, lonesome and anguished.

I am here on my patio. Laptop on the table and my feet against the cold flagstone. Nothing else moves around...