TUESDAY TRAVELS

A tale from my life of crime . . .

From mid 1987 until late 1991, SWMBO and I lived in Mexico as ex-pat retirees.

We went to Mexico on a tourist visa which was good for six months.

That meant we had to make a trip to the United States and then return to Mexico with new papers every six months.

Most of the time that was fine.

A nice trip to the land of milk and honey to do some shopping for items we couldn't find in Mexico at that time, like cheddar cheese and regular-size Vitamin C and a Sunday New York Times.

We would occasionally visit friends in the States, maybe go to a restaurant for a good steak, have a good time before heading back to our new home, over a thousand miles below the border, in Guadalajara.

But one time the trip to El Norte, as the time drew near, began to seen onerous.

One of my new friends in Mexico said I could buy papers right here in Guadalajara and not go to the border.

It was understood that these papers were forgeries of the official documents but were said to be perfectly passable.

So I decided to do it and was given an address in downtown Guadalajara.

(Guadalajara was the second largest city in Mexico at the time, about four million people strong.)

I parked my car in the garage at the huge downtown market, walked down the cement stairs and crossed through the market, past butcher shops where the heads of sheep and pigs were on display, past many small food stands, past every thing under the sun that could be sold.

Out on the street, I walked another block or so and found the address I had been given.

An open doorway with a young man idling in it (standing guard?) led to a steep and dark stairway.

I climbed the steps and found an office with several more young men standing around, staring at me.

Eventually I was escorted to an inner office where a very old man was seated at a desk.

I gave him my information, he told me a price and said to come back in a week.

I did, paid him the fee in cash and was handed my new papers.

Then I retraced my steps once more and drove home with a smile on my face.

I was good for another six months.

But my experience had me nervous, not sure if I was going to be robbed, beaten up, or worse, arrested by police posing as a forgery ring.

I never did it again.

The six month drive to the border was more preferable than the (imagined?) danger of buying fake papers.

That was many years ago in a foreign country.

I think the statute of limitations (if there is such a thing in Mexico) has passed by now.

HOT AND HOTTER

The Weather Gods tell us it will get to 106 degrees Fahrenheit here today.

It's already 93 at 9:30 in the morning.

Phoenix, about 90 miles away, is supposed to hit 115.

So what does my dear, dear friend Tom do?

He posts pictures of the fog they've been enjoying over on the Pacific Coast!

Rub it in, Tommy!

Well we have a way to beat the heat here too.

Take that, buddy boy.

And this, too.

You can keep your fog.

I'm feeling a lot cooler now.

UH, DAD???

Happy Father's Day!

SATURDAYS IN JUNE

Last Saturday I visited one of Prescott's many summer festivals on the Square.

I always stroll by the several food booths at these affairs to see what's new.

This was one I'd never seen before.

Up from the Old Pueblo (Tucson) an Oriental stand selling steamed buns, stuffed with a variety of fillings.

It was enjoying quite a bit of popularity.

I can never resist photographing this stand, not because I like tamales (I don't) but because of the great name.

This weekend the temperature is forecast to climb over 100 degrees with daily highs near or above the century mark for the next week at least.

Just in time this weekend there is a Monsoon Festival at the square with a two-block long water slide to take up the attention of young and old alike.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

Well, we have come to the denouement of another week.

I like using big words like "denouement" once in awhile to prove how smart I am.

Then I go to Google and look them up to see what they mean.

Whatever.

It is time for this week's edition of what you waded through Sunday through Thursday for.

The Friday Funnies!

And speaking of words, Auntie Acid has a thought.

When I show you two Auntie Acid cartoons in one day, I know it's time to wrap it up.

Have a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious weekend, Gentle Readers, and always remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty.

THROWBACK THURSDAY

This was the home of Frank Berry in Faribault, Minnesota.

He was my great-grandfather, the father of my grandmother, Daisy Berry Taylor.

She gave birth to my father, Franklin Berry Taylor, and my uncle, Zenas Howland Taylor, in a room at the top of the house.

The window up there gave plenty of light.

This was Daisy.

When the two brothers, four years apart in age, had grown they were photographed in Stanley, North Dakota with their parents.

My mother, Hattie Loretta Hylland, and dad were married in 1927.

This may have been their wedding picture.

They were so serious!

I like this next one, which I call their Bonnie and Clyde photograph.

They honeymooned for several months on what was called The Cooper Ranch, south of Stanley.

Many years later someone shot a picture of the by then rundown and overgrown ranch house.

But when they spent that year there, apparently the days were idyllic.

Good times, long, long ago.

BEAUTY AT SHIN-LEVEL

While strolling around the Territorial Days Arts and Crafts Fair last Saturday, I couldn't resist taking a photograph of this beautiful Basset Hound.

He was surrounded by fair-goers most of the time but he was perfectly mannered.

His sad eyes tell me he's thinking "Dang-blast that guy who used to sing 'You ain't nothin' but a hound dog.'"