Wednesday, July 23, 2008


One of the delicacies of Mexican cousine is the lowly "torta de pierna". The really good ones have to be ordered on the street or in "changarros" or little holes in the wall. These are sandwiches made from a specially shaped (sort of like a turtle shell) small French loaf called a "telera". The pierna part of the torta (sandwich in Mexican Spanish but cake in Argentine Spanish) means leg but my Real Academia On Line Dictionary or RAE states that not only is a pierna the lower extremity of a human being but also the thigh of birds and quadrupeds. That delicious Mexican torta de pierna then is a a pork thigh sandwich. The really good ones have to be slathered in butter, mayonnaise AND aguacate (avocado).



As we ate our shepherd's pie last night, the evening heat made me remember Mexico and its food. It didn't take long to move from a pork pierna to a human one. Pierna is Spanish for leg. While my RAE dictionary will state that birds have piernas and these are their thighs we all know that South American ostriches have patas not piernas. A dog has patas as do cats. Strangely enough the patitas (or little animal feet) is what we in Spanish call the sides of my glasses.


Argentines borrow gamba from Italian when they want to talk about women's legs. They might say, "¡Esa mina tiene unas gambas de locura!" This translates as, "What fantastic legs that broad (mina) has!"

While I have known many women in my life who had and have beautiful legs (my wife Rosemary and my mother come to mind) there are two that have legs to dance the tango with. And dance the tango I did with them. One is  N and the other Indiana.

Both Indiana and N are close to 6ft tall and few men were disposed to dance with them when I used to dance Argentine tango a few years ago. I knew better. Both women had these extremely long legs. They wore fishnets (I am barely able to type here!) and their dresses were tight with a slit in the right place. When I danced with them nobody noticed my efficient (I never went past that ) dancing. The other bonus of dancing with tall women is that in tango you must dance close. When you are that close there is no room for your head if you are short. You are "forced" to rest it on the woman's chest! I savoured every moment that I danced with this pair who happened to be friends. One of them introduced me to both her husband and her wife in one tango evening. I told her, "No matter what you want to call it that sounds like bigamy to me. "



Most men, if lucky, have one good idea in their lifetime. I may be extra fortunate in that I had two. The first one involved taking photographs of 18 different women, one at a time, in a bath tub of water. I had a show of these.

My second one revolved on the problem of taking tango pictures that had not really been taken before. I convinced Indiana to come to my studio and I photographed her using my ring flash. She was wearing fishnets and zapatos de charol or patent leather shoes. She was not wearing anything else. The session was so successful that I decided that since it takes two to tango we would invite N into the formula.



Here are some of the pictures. I have had to crop them (It was excruciating!) so as to pass my personal blog decorum.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008



As I watered my wilting garden today in the somewhat reduced heat in comparison to what it was in Lillooet last week I could almost imagine being in Mexico.

Thirty seven years after having left Mexico (I have returned quite a few times) I still feel the pull of the dry earth of the winter season and the smell of humidity in the summer. I especially remember that smell and the noises of nocturnal insects when Rosemary and I would drive down to Veracruz on a Friday night as we did quite often. We would leave Mexico City in the late afternoon and within three hours we would go down from 2240 meters to sea level. Passing through the capital of the state of Veracruz, Xalapa, the change seemed almost immediate. The humidity was palpable as I rolled down my window. We could smell that hot humid earth. The port city of Veracruz beckoned a few miles away. Arriving in Veracruz my mother would greet us, sometime around midnight and Rosemary would instantly go for a cold shower. At the time she minded the heat. Because the air is so much denser at sea level noises seemed (and they were) louder. Mexico City altitude muffles sound except perhaps the incessant car horns and rumbling diesel buses. In Veracruz the smell of humidity was coloured with the smell of salt and the port. Sometimes Rosemary and I would go for a stroll on the Malecón which is what avenues that hug beaches in any Spanish speaking country all called. One time, when we returned we were greeted by hundreds of flying cockroaches in the bathroom. In the tropics you learn to live with insects.

It was last week that Hilary accompanied us with her daughters to visit Ale in Lillooet. Both Ale (Alexandra) and Hilary were born in Mexico but Ale is the most Mexican of both. Even her Spanish is peppered with the chilango dialect of Mexico City. But Hilary instantly raved and loved the 32 degrees and never complained. I think both of us would have enjoyed even a few more degrees.

Rosemary now admits that she quickly adapted and loved the heat (40) that we experienced in Mérida, Yucatán last year.

While trying to find some misfiled transparencies (I did not find them) I found thre strips of b+w negatives of very fast 120 film. One of them caught my eye. Rosemary says I took them in the winter of 2003. When I look at the picture here of Rebecca I think, smell and almost feel that Mexico heat and I long for it.




I took the picture at the MacMillan Bloedel Conservatory in Queen Elizabeth Park. I look at Rebecca and that maguey and I can imagine the Pico de Orizaba (also called Citlaltépetl), Mexico's highest volcano looming over Xalapa, Veracruz. It would seem to me that perhaps Rosemary, Rebecca, Lauren and I will have to experience it. Imagining it is not enough.

The other picture is the real thing. That's Rosemary and Ale (she was about 1) sitting in a Malecón bench in Veracruz during a norte or wind storm. When nortes came with the dry winds and sand would get under the doors I was transported to my childhood memories of Beau Geste but then that's another story.

Monday, July 21, 2008


The Genus Rosa includes many plants that would be familiar to most such as cherries, plums, apples and pears. And of course it includes Rosa or the rose. The genus is further divided into several subgenera. One of them Eurosa a includes a very small Section called Laevigatae. This Section is represented by one species Rosa laevigata and a few cultivars or sports. My rose bible, Peter Beales' Classic Roses list only five cultivars. Since there are thousands of roses this particular Section: Laevigatae is awflly sparse. These roses are described by Beales as:

Growth sprawling or climbing with hooked, irregular thorns. Leaves large, mostly of 3, rarely 5, leaflets. Almost evergreen. Flowers produced singly. Hips, when formed have persistent sepals.

My grandmother used to call me el Príncipe de Gales (the Prince of Wales) because I was spoiled and demanded to be served. Part of the reason is that from my birth until my early 20s we always had help at home. In Argentina we called them mucamas and in Mexico criadas or sirvientas. In Buenos Aires I recall three, Zelia, Mercedes and Ramona. The first I insulted and she left in a huff with her husband Abelardo. The second was my favourite as she was very patient with me and would cook her carrot soufflé when I asked for it. Her famous breaded veal cutlets (always on Tuesdays) brought my cousin Robby (mentioned in the second link) who had a special fondness for them. Ramona was loud and big and did not give me any slack. I didn't like her.

For the last 6 or 7 years I have had a mystery rose in my garden. It has fragrant cerise blooms which seem to be around most of the time. I know that John Tuytle sold it to me. For a few years I tried to get the English rose, Rosa 'Emily' from him and every time it was some sort of surprise. This mystery rose could be one of those. Yesterday I remembered that I had purchased a Rosa 'Ramona' a sport of Rosa "Anemone Rose', a sport of Rosa laevigata. I suddenly got very excited as I thought I had an ID for this wonderful rose that blooms freely and as seen here in a cluster of 8 blooms. But when I read the description in Peter Beales it says it is a single rose with five petals. My 'Ramon' has at least 20. Could it be a double, double sport of Ramona that Tuytle unwittingly sold me? I will never know. I will have to keep enjoying this rose without a name. She is, in any case, the good Ramona!

Both Ramona and my mystery rose have superb golden stamens. You cannot see them here because I scanned the roses in the evening. Most roses close in the evening!

Sunday, July 20, 2008


We returned from Lillooet yesterday afternoon and this time the trip back seemed to be longer for the girls. Rosemary thought that because Hilary had come along the girls did not have the expectation of telling their mother all the things they had done when they got back and saw her.



What they didn't do is ride Lloyd McNary's horses Leo (the beautiful white horse seen here.) and Sunny at his farm in nearby Texas Creek. They had done just that back in June. Rebecca was quite angry at Ale for this and Ale had to explain that McNary had visitors from Alberta with many children and that he was perhaps not ready to entertain two more. So we invited McNary for our Saturday morning pankcake breakfast and he brought along some elk sausages he had made from an elk he shot last year. Rosemay, of course did not try them. We barbequed them and I did not find them gamy at all. The children enjoyed the stories of the over 80 McNary and he promised them that the next time they came they would be able to ride his horses.

Saturday, July 19, 2008



Rebecca is 10 and will soon be 11. She has become unpredictable. Today in Lillooet her sister Lauren behaved beautifully and was a perfect hostess when Ale's friend, Teresa and her sons John(8) and Thomas(3) came for dinner. Because John was a year younger than Rebecca, she was reluctant to play with him and tried her best to ignore him. With some pressure from Ale and me, she finally played some soccer with him after our dinner. Dinner outside at 28 degrees (with a nice breeze) with the mountains of the Fraser Canyon on either side of our table was heavenly, especially for our stressed out daughter Hilary who is now keen to return to the calm of Lillooet.

In the afternoon Rebecca had visited Ale's neighbour, Mohamed. It seems he has chickens and he allowed Rebecca to pick one up. Rebecca insisted that Ale get some chickens. Ale has her hands full teaching and taking care of her two cats, Ellroy and Banjo. She has no time nor the inclination for chickens. Rebecca said Ale was unfair. " I want a chicken," she told Ale, almost shouting at her. When I explained that Ale did not want a chicken because she was afraid to cross the street, Rebecca burst into what looked like real tears. It all passed.

We were to watch the Masterpiece Theatre version of Kidnapped but Rebecca said she was uneasy and did not want to see it. In the end she and Ale sat down for Scrabble which gave me the opportunity to write this.

We did not have our pancake breakfast yesterday morning so today Saturday I will not be able to escape from the task. We will leave for Vancouver around noon feeling rested and having enjoyed almost three days away from the city, cellular phones and the reading of the daily newspapers.

The best, of course was the chance to spend the time with all the women of my life, my wife, my two daughters and Rebecca and Lauren. As I made my famous iced tea Hilary watched. She helped me squeeze the oranges, lemons and the mandarins. She made the comment, " It has been great to find out how you make the tea. When you are gone, we will be able to serve it and be able to say, " This was Papi's famous iced tea."

Friday, July 18, 2008



Lauren at 6 is not the Lauren of before. She is now cuddly and affectionate and doesn't tell me to go away when I ask for a cuddle or a kiss. But there is one aspect about her that seems to be a repetition from her sister Rebecca. Or perhaps it could be imitation. When Lauren poses for me (and she is most eager these days) she looks at the camera in a serious way. My folks no longer ask me why it is I photograph my grandchildren unsmiling.



We are in Lillooet today. The pleasant surprise for all is that we came with Hilary the little girls' mother. It is not especially warm here at 32 but the three of them slept in a tent last night. The breeze must have cooled them a bit. As I write this I am attempting to avoid the making of the thin pancake breakfast. If I get my way it will mean that I will have to make it tomorrow morning.



It is a wonder to watch Rebecca and Lauren look for grasshoppers and other bugs. Yesterday they found a dead (and very dry) garter snake. They put on their bathing suits and ran through Ale's lawn sprinklers. By law Ale has to keep her grass very short and green, if possible, because of the fear of spreading grass fires. Lillooet is a desert and the wind going through the Fraser Canyon can make a fire dangerous.

Thursday, July 17, 2008



Rosemary was the first Canadian I ever met. I married her. The second Canadian, I met in Vancouver and it was Paul Leisz. We have been friends since. Of late his interest in photography has increased. His girlfriend Amy (seen here in picture of Paul with Lauren on his lap) says he has become fanatical.



Every time I (or anybody else) I looked at him he would raise his huge DSLR and take pictures. He took a very nice one of Lauren seen here. Amy's daughter and granddaughter were there so we had a great time at Paul's pool and then Paul made some hamburgers and a surprise lime dessert and lemon cake. The photo of Rebecca in the pool I took last year. You might notice that she is growing up.