Shady Lane

At the farm on Shady Lane there is a cat who falls over because of its bad equilibrium. Her name is Tiny. There are three goats, Magpie, Sophie, and Icey, all of whom were purchased for the purpose of eating the Poison Ivy. In case you were wondering, their tongues do not get itchy. I asked. There is a naked necked chicken named Penelope, as well. I have seen her eggs.

Outside the front door of the farm stands a headless Buddha. As if someone were saying beware.

There is a Buda, Texas. A few miles from New Braunfels.

We drew Milagros the first day we got here, I pulled a Wild Boar. Milagros are little charms, magical in nature. Annie Levy arrived to complete our HWY Rachel crew, and drew an arm.

Our piece is coming along. Yesterday, We played INS and immigrants.

I have a Masters Degree. No really, I swear.

So a Mexican duck and a Texan duck walk into a bar...

On Main Street, in Eagle Pass, at the Texan border, my bartending/people skills came in more than handy. Except when Manuel tried to kiss Ashleigh. Then, there was little I could do.

After our trip to Del Rio, where we spent very little time, we decided to spend the rest of our daylight hours in Mexico. Ciudad Acuna. We had a lot of questions and were curious how it was living, guarded, on the other side, where the wall was projected to be built.

There was some doubt about our car and its safety (and I didn't want to sit in traffic on the way back in. Well, we know my priorities. I'm like the father. Sometimes, I'm the grumpy father).

We took a cab in and decided to walk back.

Once inside, for those of you who haven't been there, the difference is immediately noticeable, but extremely familiar. I have had similar experiences in Tijuana and Juarez. The border towns are Someplace Else and Someplace the Same.

We started talking to people in the the trinket stores and casinos about their opinions on the wall, on illegal crossing, on George Bush.

One guy laughed about how easy it is to get across and that he goes all the time. He may have just been trying to sleep with Lindsay, but somehow I believed it.

Another woman, with dual citizenship, told us a good joke, they will build an 11 foot wall, but there will be a booth right in front of it with 12 foot ladders for rent. She said the People of Mexico will find a way. She also told us that she felt that people who were Other Than Mexican were a true threat. She watches American News and knows those people are relentless and "with brown skin, like ours, they will come here and learn our language and will infiltrate the [USA]." I asked her whether she really thought that was true and she looked at me and told me, once again, that those people were relentless.

I bought a skull and a wicker bird. She said she has high hopes for Calderon and couldn't remember the name of the President who many had blamed for the NAFTA decision.

We met other people who told tales of their friends' run-ins with the Minute Men. One guy said a Minute Man put a gun in his pal's mouth and told him to get out right now or he would kill him and bury him in his ranch and no one would ever know.

The kid never tried to come back to the states. So, at least we know the scare tactics are working.

It was Three King's Day. I missed Ukrainian Christmas in New York this year. But, while in Ciudad Acuna, I had a few pieces of sweet bread. I didn't find anything baked in it.

Before crossing back, we took a walk to a square in the middle of the city. There was a large cardboard cutout Manger scene and shoe shiners and park benches and men selling balloons. All of a sudden, and with out warning, Joesph came crashing down. He fell face down and took two sheep with him. Just like in New York, no one turned around.

The Three Kings were doing all right, so no one seemed to mind.

We walked into a church and sat for a while. People were readying for an Evening Mass. It was a quarter of five. A dark cloud fell over me. I knew we had to cross before it got dark. We were pushing on to Eagle Pass and had to leave. I felt like we hadn't gotten everything we could.

We paid 30 cents USD to take the Pedestrian Bridge. And we started hoofing it. On a paved bridge regulated by two governments, across the Rio Grande. It was chilly. I was surprised, and as happy as hell that I brought a winter jacket. The sky was that clouded raw gray that children draw when they want the day to be sad. There were only a few people on the bridge, coming out of the country with us, and we, were the only Gringas. In fact, we were the only Gringas I saw all day. The Mexican population that can get of out Mexico is rich. Unless, they are lucky, they are rich.

I was with Tall Nancy walking across the border bridge, hoping my research was right and current, and that no Passports would be necessary when we eventually reached the border guard. We looked down at the Rio Grande and at the ducks. We said something cliched about ducks not knowing the difference. Who is a Mexican duck? Who is a Texan duck? Ask their mothers.

The border guard on the American side looked at our IDs. I declared one wicker bird and one skull and we started the trek back to where we parked the car.

It was a long walk. Longer than we had expected. And the whole time I just kept thinking about what it would be like if our walk wasn't 2 miles with a car at the end of it, but one hundred and fifty with no water or money and no one to cook us dinner when we finally got home.

It is funny and unfair and inappropriate, but I thought about my mother. I thought about my family and their whole deal. And leaving and driving and dodging. And not having anything real, for a really long time. But, there is a big long Terra- Firmatic difference. We couldn't get thrown out of anywhere. My family was stuck in America. We had no place else to go.

We finished the walk. Kicked at stones, got into a car named Ed, and headed off to find another border town. And a beer. We didn't drink in Mexico. Are we still worried about the water down there?

In the car my mood lifted slightly. I feared the dark would keep us from throwing ourselves into the next town. Eagle Pass is 95 percent Hispanic and speaks Spanish unless people like me are around. Driving towards it fixed all that. Usually does.

En route, we passed many border patrol vehicles. One sped up to see our licence plate.

"How do you know they were doing that?"

"Because a man leaned out the window and pointed a flashlight at us."

"Oh."

We passed a few more. I recommended to the group that if we really wanted to do some research, it was time for someone to get out of the car and start running. Not me, though, we all know my policy on running. I'm sure we might have met a Border Patrol agent or two had anyone followed my advice.

We hit Eagle Pass and full blown night. Part of the town was what you might expect out of a suburb, Texaco and Long John Silvers, but the downtown was a different ball game completely. Just next to Mexico, there were little shops. Boutiques. It was about 7 pm, the stores were closed, but the line of cars to get into and out of Mexico was heavy, we saw as much when we peered down the street.

But never mind the politics, right then, Cervesa was on every one's mind. My permanent cohort, Ashleigh and I were sent on a reconnaissance mission to see if the bar we spotted, The Sun Set Inn, was suitable, if they had food, if there were people to talk to.

Oh. There were people to talk to. 50 of them. All men. Mostly in cowboy hats. One guy had a tattoo of a fish on his forehead. From temple to temple. We were, shall we say, noticed. As we made our way, in the wrong direction, to the bathroom, the entire bar went into upheaval: exploded, called, yelled, hooted, made every conceivable sound you could think of to help us reroute to Las Damas.

We said gracias. And locked ourselves in.
Having peed, we opted for less attention and set off for greener pastures and a little less testosterone.

We grabbed some food at a local Tex-Mex joint, where the servers admitted to hating gay people and President Bush because one of them had to pay child support. American born, they seemed to be very vocal about their scorn for what they called, "wet backs" and asked us all if we were married.

I think one of us said, "to each other?"
I was the first to say no. Realizing what I had done, I quickly added that we all had boyfriends, even the one with the girlfriend, I figured the details weren't important. He seemed satisfied. He then proceeded to make fun of my hair. My bed head look, so fashionable in New York, equals "you were just sleeping?" in Eagle Pass.

We bid them thank you at the end. The meal, for all of us, including coffee, sodas, Extra Avocado, and four entrees was twenty dollars. Before we left, I asked the guy with the kid where we could drink that wasn't the Sun Set Inn. He directed me to Richie's.

We were soon to learn that Richie's was a cop bar. PD, sheriffs, Border Patrol. This is where they went after work. This is where their community went to drink.

The men and municipal employees of Eagle Pass believe in buying ladies their drinks and in the midst of my investigative reporting, in order to keep up with Carlos the Truckdriver, I was drinking Muchas Coronas (It was the best option, following Bud and Bud Light.)

The Police Officer I was introduced to by my new pal Carlos, was young. He was young, cute, and cocky. When I asked him about the wall and the border, he expressed his disdain for the illegals and explained that he may be Hispanic by heritage but his race, was white. He believed in the wall. He believed in America. Carlos the Truck Driver, who was to share his woman problems with me later in the evening, informed me that the cop was full of shit and that he, meaning the cop, was more Mexican than Carlos. Carlos revealed that the cop eats tamales. I interpreted that as an insult. Carlos also told me a joke about La Chingada, the woman who gave birth to the first "Mexican". Once he got his girlfriend Patti to interpret, I was laughing pretty heartily. In order to get the joke, you would have to know she was a translator to Cortes and that she was seen by the people as mistrustful. It was based on that old the- translator -isn't- saying- back- to- Cortes- what's- really- being- said ruse. You know, like, very Marx Brothers.

Somewhere in there, Carlos asked me to be kind to Mexico and understand that they come to work. I shook his hand and said, brother, I know. American born, like most in Eagle Pass, he was on his own side like everyone else, but to a certain degree he felt for the plight of the Mexican worker. He admitted to and was ashamed of his Machismo and went off to look for his woman, now with another man.

Someone recognized us from the previous bar and came up to ask if he could leave with us. Ashleigh deferred to me. She was dealing with Manuel. Manuel gave her a cough drop before going in for a kiss, explaining, that it would help.

I bade our good-byes to all and thanks for the hospitality and we were heading north. With me laughing about the joke from Carlos and bad beer on my breath.

Cortes and Montezuma driving to Del Rio

We flipped a coin at 3 am. We are driving to Del Rio, to see what we can see.

Has anyone ever checked out the story about Daniel Barthelme and Dan Rather? I recommend it. Check out Cortes and Montezuma. It's one of his pieces available on line. It's a Dylan Song I swear.

And I think we have on our hands a mystery.

Full report on the border when we get back. Pray they don't ask ME for my papers.


,
Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys

La Chingada

It is interesting how liberal folks can be very mixed on this subject. This subject of immigrating. How land is separated. Who gets what, who gets to be where. It is also interesting how mixed conservative folks can be on this. It is an unfolding onion. And it has more to do with oranges than any of us might know.

We wouldn't have the economy we do if it weren't for those we are pretending we do not want. Even in High School, we never had these jobs. I never picked a strawberry.

One of the most interesting theories I have heard is to open the borders completely. This way we would have a nation like the EU. Where everybody is everybody. Yeah, how come it matters so much here? I'm still asking.

This Land is your Land. This Land is my Land. I heard that song. You don't think that this has anything to do with language and skin color?

Like, really?

I saw a woman walking her parakeet a coupla hours ago.
She was white and pretty.
The parakeet, however, was bright yellow.

Bright, Bright yellow.
It is almost eighty here and the coffee is strong and the burritos are good and I have seen very few people of Hispanic decent in Austin. New Braunfels is German. What were they doing here? The Germans? Some people were saying something about the soil.

We have discovered something very interesting about a Woman named Dona Marina.
Her nickname, La Chingada, in Spanish, means the "fucked one". She is believed to be the mother of the first Mexican. Cortes had a bit to do with it. As far as we can tell, he did the fucking.

Austin 3, Laredo or not to Laredo

It is my hope to be in Laredo, Texas on Saturday. There is some doubt within the ranks, however. There are rumors that Laredo is rife with shootings and kidnappings. The drug cartels are apparently taking out aggression on both sides of the border. Here, and in Nuevo Laredo, just over the border.

We know that for our work we would like to see the areas where they are trying to put the wall up, the one that was approved in the 2006 Secure Fence Act.
It looks like we might hit the stretch of land between Del Rio and Eagle Pass instead.

I have a call in to the Minute Men As we speak. The Minute Men are a Kamikaze group of white fat men who "take matters into their own hands". Big Ol' Grand Dragon Jim something or other is supposed to be calling me back. I can't wait to get this phone call.

As I try to sound friendly...

"So, You're a racist creep. How is that treating you?"



I got a tip from Beyer that there is a Walmart in Laredo where the the customers are primarily Mexican. They come up over the border and do their shopping. There are more people than you know on the border who oppose this wall. Land owners, Ranchers, and Walmart, I would imagine, no?





The hypocrisy is the thing people keep coming back to. That's what I've been seeing myself, so far.

Austin- Installment Two, Baby Food and Fear

New Braunfels, Texas. Tuesday. The Parking lot of the HEB, the chain here, like Key Food or Albertsons. I am walking with Ashleigh Beyer, in a bit of a left over stupor, when our eyes fall on a School Bus with a toilet mounted on the back. It had a bumper sticker which said give Peas a Chance and on both sides of the bus were two banners with the web address www.babyfooddude.com. (I tried to HTML this, but look who you're working with.)

He started pulling away. I have no real idea why, but I started running after him.
I caught up to him and he opened his window. I just had to ask.

He told me that he is on a diet of only baby food. He is eating baby food for one month and filming a movie about it while he drives to California...in a school bus.
I told him that some little old ladies have to eat baby food when they are poor or don't have teeth. We wished each other well.

And you tell me that New Yorkers are weird.



We went for a walk in the Canyon near the house where we are staying. It was dusk, and as always, I was wearing the wrong shoes. I was a little behind everyone else, reading strange signs people had left as markers, when the Adventurers up front stopped and said, "shhh!"

I wasn't talking, I may have been laughing, but I do know, that when I stopped, I heard something eating.

I was a distance from everyone, but I did also hear someone in my party say, "turn around and WALK FASTER!"

This I interpreted as run for your life.

And I lead the way. Last One in First One out.

Someone was trying to tell me something, but I simply threw over my shoulder that I couldn't hear them right now, because I was blinded by fear.

Back at the house. Lying in bed, later that night, I kept hearing things falling in my sleep. Dropping to the floor. I finally turned on the light, to get to the bottom of the matter, and discovered there was a Potted Tree in my room. Its leaves were curling, dying, and dropping off.

We have decided to travel to Mexico this weekend. We want observe where the Wall is being built from Laredo to Brownsville.

Austin is cool. New Braunfels is quiet. And I have a safe room which protects me from the three cats that make me sneeze.

Austin- First Installement

At 2 o'clock in the AM on the first day of the year, 2 hours after everyone had kissed and yelled, I was throwing an elderly Ukrainian woman out of my bar so as to make my flight to Austin.

As exciting as it was to fly on the first day of the year, my companion and I never took pause to think about the fact that, since people were usually out reveling until the break of dawn, we might not actually be able to easily procure a car to the airport.

Luckily, I have friends in high places and a secret Ninja Car Service got us to the airport a little before 5 am.

We boarded the plane, eyes half closed, and I passed out and woke up in Washington D.C.'s Dulles International Airport. I somewhat remembered leaving New York.

We shuffled off the plane and had an hour and twenty minutes to wait for our connecting flight to Austin.

We boarded what the airport there called, a "shuttle". This thing was not a shuttle. It was a large Room with Handles. There was nothing bus-like about it. It was about the size of my apartment in New York and seemed to float, as if held up by a stick, rather than drive from terminal A to terminal B. This, of course, became the funniest thing I had ever seen (at least at 7 am on New Year's Day) and prompted me to laugh hysterically.
A fellow passenger turned to my trusted travel companion, Ashleigh Beyer, and asked, "what's so funny? What are you girls laughing at?"

"She thinks this thing is a room with handles."

At which point, in my delirium, I turned to her and proclaimed, "you're making me sound like I am from Norway."

"She's from Norway," says Ashleigh Beyer.

"I'm from Norway," I resign.

"Well, things are different in Norway," replies the inquisitive gentleman.

We do not stop laughing and exit the Room.

Ashleigh locates our Gate and finds two sections of seating where we can "lie down," you know, "for a little while." Plus, she says, there is an excellent television program on. It is across from our gate.

We lie down. And when I say lie down, I mean keep- waking- up -to- a -pool- of -drool- under- my cheek.

Ashleigh was also doing a bit of the sleeping. Every few minutes we would wake up. Check on the bags, on each other, on our 8:40 flight across the way, and go back to it. Two little crushed birds on the side of the road. On United Way.

Something happened somewhere amidst all of that careful napping.
I awoke to Ashleigh sitting up and looking at her cellphone. I looked at her and I completely understood.

I just said, surprised only that I had a voice, "we missed our flight?"
She, however, was nowhere near as ready to admit defeat.

She says, "You know, it's funny, It says here that it is 8:56. They must have moved our flight. I'm going to go find it."

Ashleigh had never missed a flight. Neither had I but, I was not surprised. We had been sleeping in such a way that anyone could have walked away with anything we owned.

While Ashleigh went off with hope in her heart about an 8:40 flight that was somehow moved a Little Down the Runway,I stuck my hand in my coat pocket.

My Cell Phone was gone. I checked the floor. I checked the surrounding gates. I checked the Starbucks, and bars, and rib joints. Nothing. The flight had absconded with my phone. My phone, and not us.

Ashleigh had found acceptance out there at Gate Denial, and came back with plan B.
I tried to explain about my missing phone and all of the missing phone numbers for the people in Austin.

We began to wake up a little.

We both agreed we weren't supposed to be on that flight. We think magically that way sometimes. It cheers us up and annoys the neighbors.

We never found my phone. I used Ashleigh's to call 411 to stalk all of the family members of all the people in Austin we would have to contact.


We were greeted onto the stand-by flight after 4 hours, 3 cups of spilled coffee, and some carrot sticks.

This plane was playing music, something like, Django Reinhart, which pleased me greatly, and we settled into the last row near the bathroom.
The sweet little flight attendant in the back started to listen to our long story about cabs in New York, sleeping through flights, and lost cell phones and she smiled,leaned over us, and asked us if we wouldn't mind moving up to First Class.
She bumped us up to First Class to balance out the load.

I think this is where the 1pm Gin and Tonics came into play, if I am not mistaken.
We pretty much drank and slept our way from Washington to Austin.

I stared out the window a lot. I always do. My forehead pressed as hard as I could to the glass. Flying is this organized way of taking you out of reality. There is a certain height where you are back below the clouds and looking at the land, the first time you can see a car move again, but from such a height that the only thing you can think to think is Separate but the Same. I like that place. There are winding roads and you can't see the price of gasoline.

I wiped the window off when we landed.

Within an hour I was on a farm in East Austin looking at cactus and palm trees and goats and kale. There was a hammock made out of bamboo there and I kept thinking about lying down.

So far so good all.