A THOUSAND WORDS - Alex Waterhouse-Hayward's blog on pictures, plants, politics and whatever else is on his mind.




 

La Recoleta Con Nora Patrich, Yuki y Unos Felinos
Saturday, May 07, 2016




Three weeks ago my friend, painter Nora Patrich and I met at La Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires. We were there to meet up with our model friend Yuki who shared and shares a love for the place. In Yuki’s case her friend in the cemetery are still alive. Her friends are the cats. She feeds them and one in particular is her friend. The weather was unstable so we had sun and rain and a cold autumn wind. After our shoot we crossed the street to the fashionable La Biela Café. We took a selfie in the woman’s bathroom and then I posed Nora and Yuki between the statue of two friends, Jorge Luís Borges and Adolfo Bioy Casares.



Hace tres semanas mi amiga, la pintora Nora Patrich y yo nos encontramos en el cementerio de La Recoleta. Nuestra meta era encontrarnos con Yuki, nuestra modelo favorita. Los tres compartimos un amor por el cementerio. La única diferencia es que Yuki tiene amigos muy vivitos en el lugar. Va a menudo a darle de comer a los muchos gatos que habitan el lugar. Uno, en particular es su especial amigo. No llovió, nos salió el sol y un viento frio presagió un invierno que ya se venía. Después de las fotos cruzamos la calle al café, muy de moda de La Biela. Tomamos unos selfies en el baño de mujeres. La foto final es con dos estatuas reperesentando a dos amigos, Jorge Luís Borges y Adolfo Bioy Casares.  



La recoleta – Jorge Luís Borges

Convencidos de caducidad
por tantas nobles certidumbres del polvo,
nos demoramos y bajamos la voz
entre las lentas filas de panteones,
cuya retórica de sombra y de mármol
promete o prefigura la deseable
dignidad de haber muerto.
Bellos son los sepulcros,
el desnudo latín y las trabadas fechas fatales,
la conjunción del mármol y de la flor
y las plazuelas con frescura de patio
y los muchos ayeres de a historia
hoy detenida y única.
Equivocamos esa paz con la muerte
y creemos anhelar nuestro fin
y anhelamos el sueño y la indiferencia.
Vibrante en las espadas y en la pasión
y dormida en la hiedra,
sólo la vida existe.
El espacio y el tiempo son normas suyas,
son instrumentos mágicos del alma,
y cuando ésta se apague,
se apagarán con ella el espacio, el tiempo y la muerte,
como al cesar la luz
caduca el simulacro de los espejos
que ya la tarde fue apagando.
Sombra benigna de los árboles,
viento con pájaros que sobre las ramas ondea,
alma que se dispersa entre otras almas,
fuera un milagro que alguna vez dejaran de ser,
milagro incomprensible,
aunque su imaginaria repetición
infame con horror nuestros días.
Estas cosas pensé en la Recoleta,
en el lugar de mi ceniza.

Fervor de Buenos Aires, 1923




Recoleta Cemetery

By Jorge Luis Borges

Translated by Stephen Kessler

Convinced of decrepitude

by so many certainties of dust,

we linger and lower our voices

among the long rows of mausoleums,

whose rhetoric of shadow and marble

promises or prefigures the desirable

dignity of having died.

The tombs are beautiful,

the naked Latin and the engraved fatal dates,

the coming together of marble and flowers

and the little plazas cool as courtyards

and the many yesterdays of history

today stilled and unique.

We mistake that peace for death

And we believe we long for our end

when what long for is sleep and indifference.

Vibrant in swords and in passion,

and asleep in the ivy,

only life exists.

Its forms are space and time,

they are magical instruments of the soul,

and when it is extinguished,

space, time, and death will be extinguished with it,

as the mirrors’ images wither

when evening covers them over

and the light dims.

Begnign shade of trees,

wind full of birds and undulating limbs,

souls dispersed into other souls,

it might be a miracle that they once stopped being,

an incomprehensible miracle,

although its imaginary repetition

slanders our days with horror.

I thought these things in the Recoleta,

in the place of my ashes.













































Don Homero Aridjis - The Butterfly Man
Friday, May 06, 2016





I first met Homero Aridjis, The Butterfly Man in 1993 when he visited Vancouver. Since then we have become friends. In some of my own visits to Mexico City I am always invited for lunch at his home by his wife Betty Ferber.

It is difficult to pin down the Contepec, Michoacán-born man as he is a complex mixture of diplomat, environmentalist, journalist and poet/novelist. The latter combination is deadly. To read the prose of a poet be it Jorge Luís Borges or The Butterfly Man, leads you to re-reading soaring passages over and over. Many of his novels have been translated into English and the bulk of his poetry here in British Columbia by George McWhirter.

It was in his Mexico City home in Lomas de Chapultepec that The Butterfly Man told me the story of his philosopher friend Ramón Xirau calling him to tell him that when he left his house he could not breathe. Xirau and The Butterfly Man organized the Grupo de Los Cien which pioneered the idea of limiting the circulation of automobiles in Mexico City to license plates that alternated between odd and even. Soon the organization was pushing for the protection not only of the atmospheric environment of one of the largest and most polluted cities of the world but to also saving endangered animal species including whales and turtles.

But dear to The Butterfly Man were the Monarch Butterflies (Danaus plexippus) that wintered near his home town on the Mexican Oyamel fir trees (Abies religiosa).

When I first met The Butterfly Man my garden butterfly bush (Buddleja davidii) was completely covered by Monarchs in August. By the beginning of the 21st century there were the odd three of four. At the the time (when I first met The Butterly Man) there was a great ignorance on where Ontario butterflies wintered. Strangely The Butterfly Man told me that they did not know where the wintering Monarchs came from but certainly knew where they ended up. Once this communication disconnect was fixed new efforts were made, guided and led by The Butterfly Man who personally visited Mexican presidents and urged them to set aside Oyamel forests in Michoacán as places that could not be logged.



Of his efforts The Butterfly Man has written many a lovely poem of the dazzling sight of millions of butterflies arriving at his home town of Contepec to winter and how the Oyamel’s vibrated as if injected by LSD.

But it seems that it has been to no avail and The Butterlfly Man has again warned us all via the Huffington Post. 




Grateful Dead Diversity
Thursday, May 05, 2016





I could tell you that this is a long lost 1930 portrait of a young Mexican woman, Indiana Luna, taken by Tina Modotti in Edward Weston’s studio near Avenida Tamaulipas. I would be half right. As indeed this is a portrait of Indiana Luna, but it is one I took some years ago. I danced with Indiana the Argentine Tango. Nobody noticed my just efficient dancing style as Indiana was very good, very beautiful and very tall. She wore long and tight black dresses with a slit on the side.

This portrait is not very good. It is not in sharp focus, I had to crop it for my blog viewers and worst of all I gave no room for Indiana’s head on the top of the frame. I was much too busy taking photographs of everything else.

But I have come back to this image and chosen it to illustrate a realization I had in Buenos Aires in April when riding the Buenos Aires Subte (their 6 line underground). I stared at the people, most not noticing me as they were all equipped with Samsungs. I marveled at the fact that I was not in a Vancouver bus because people looked different. Even those who had a mixture of Spanish blood with indigenous did not look at all like our BC Native Canadians. These had noses, big hawk-like noses.

I saw the influence of Irish immigration. There were many redhaired people. And of course in my two-week stay I spotted one (and only one) young Chinese girl walking on Calle Paraguay. I had to stare as here in Vancouver I take it all (and her) for granted.

All this made me think of how in the past (not so much now with the encroachment of globalization and the universal availability of Grateful Dead T-shirts) I could spot people, as an example, in an airport and guess their country of origin. Were I to see a young man wearing penny loafers without the penny and no socks, plus, perhaps gray flannel slacks I would think, “He is Argentine.” In Vancouver I have been led astray by the similarity of Iranians to Mexicans and Latin Americans. I must wait for them to speak before I can interject my greeting in Spanish.

Back in Vancouver I now stare (but carefully) at my fellow passengers and glory in our city’s ethnic (but different from Buenos Aires) diversity.



La Secta del Cuchillo y el Coraje
Wednesday, May 04, 2016

¿Dónde estará (repito) el malevaje
que fundó en polvorientos callejones
de tierra o en perdidas poblaciones
la secta del cuchillo y el coraje?
 El Tango - Jorge Luís Borges



The United States and Argentina in the 19th century both had fierce and warlike indigenous peoples. In both countries civilization had to spread west and those peoples were in the way. In both countries these natives were almost systematically killed to near extinction.

The epic  work Martín Fierro by José Hernandez paints most of these indios in bad light. But then the white man does not fair any better in Martín Fierro.

I have been thinking about Martín Fierro since I returned from my two week trip to Buenos Aires in April. I have read a blow by blow analysis of Martín Fierro by Jorge Luís Borges.


 When I recently saw that very good film version by Leopoldo Torre Nilsson I noticed two startling omissions in my comparison of the USA and Argentina.

In the film you hardly ever see a firearm in the hands of anybody, although we do know that Argentine Army used the rifle in its wars of the interior. And the Indians are armed with long lances. I never saw a bow and arrow. I did spot the boleadoara in the hands of a native. The natives would shape rocks into little balls and wrap them in rawhide. Three balls would be attached to three long leather thongs. One ball would be held in hand and the other two were twirled around and then thrown at the man, the man’s horse, or beast. On horseback the forward motion of the horse would add to the range of 80 or more yards according to Charles Darwin in his Voyage of the Beagle.

In short few Argentine Westerns have been made and the usual weapon of choice in those few has been the knife. Borges has written many poems and stories about the role of the knife in Argentina in the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th.

When I was around 10 I visited a large estancia in the Province of Corrientes. One of the workers (peones, peh-óh-nes, and this word is not deprecative in Spanish) had borrowed another’s mate (note no accent on the e even though Darwin insisted on using it). The mate is a gourd and with a silver straining straw to drink the herb also called mate is part of the necessary equipment of the gaucho and this is usually as important as his facón or knife. The two men decided to come to blows in a knife fight. I was not allowed to watch. I found out that one of them died (never knew which one) and the other had to leave for other parts to escape justice.

The concept of the knife as a manly weapon is in all Argentine literature.
In my life there have been three knives close to me. One of them, my mother’s Barrilito (a brand name) kitchen knife made in Mexico is currently being professionally sharpened.



Displayed in my living room is the facón (a gaucho knife) given to me by my sailors friends when I ended my stint in the Argentine Navy in 1966. It is a beautiful weapon but it is a glorified bayonet. The other knife, the switch blade, also has an Argentine story to it.

During my conscription I would visit my Tía Sarita (who had been married to my mother’s brother Tony). I can never forget the address to her downtown apartment. It was Larrea 1234. We would sit and chat and talk of her son Jorge Wenceslao, my first cousin, who most of the time was in the Province of Corrientes in the city of Goya.

Before I left I went to see her to say goodbye. She was a serious woman and would always mention to me her communist leanings. She told me that in my trip back to Mexico in an Argentine Merchant Marine ship I would meet up with potential perils. She handed me a sevillana which is a switch blade made in Spain. With it she handed me a little bottle of whale oil so that the blade would open quickly. And for reading material she gave me a copy of Nicolás Guillen’s Sóngoro Cosongo.

Edmundo Rivero and Astor Piazzolla interpret  Jorge Luis Borges's  poem El Tango from where I found those lines: La secta del cuchillo y el coraje or the sect of the knife and courage.



 




El Hornero - Furnarius rufus
Tuesday, May 03, 2016






In my youth I was fortunate to be sent to summer camps in the Argentine Pampa by my parents. There was the pleasure of riding a horse on an Argentine saddle (two or three sheepskins cinched up with stirrups) and running after South American ostriches (but never catching up to them), of seeing  that lonely Ombú (a sort of very large tree) breaking the monotony of the horizon, the sound of the teros, a most elegant bird, swooping to protect their nests, not finding any pebbles to use with my sling because the pampas are just plain and rich dirt, but in reference to this blog, seeing those roundish Hornero nests on top of crooked fence posts (when one happened to see a fence post, a most rare occurrence, brought me delight. I was told by gauchos that the serpentine entrance of the nest is supposed to prevent snakes and other little animals from getting to the eggs.


  
The genus Furnarius contains several species, all small birds, living on the ground, and inhabiting open dry countries. In structure they cannot be compared to any European form. Ornithologists have generally included them among the creepers, although opposed to that family en every habit. The best known species is the common oven-bird of La Plata, the Casara or housemaker of the Spaniards. The nest, whence it takes its name, is place in the most exposed situations, as on the top of a post, a bare rock, or on a cactus. It is composed of mud and bits of straw, and has strong thick walls: in shape it precisely resembles an oven, or depressed beehive. The opening is large and arched, and directly in front, within the nest, there is a partition, which reaches nearly to the roof, thus forming a passage or antechamber to the true nest.
Chapter V – The Voyage of the Beagle – Charles Darwin



Poesía "El Hornero" de Leopoldo Lugones

La casita del hornero

tiene alcoba y tiene sala.

En la alcoba la hembra instala

justamente el nido entero.



En la sala, muy orondo,

el padre guarda la puerta,

con su camisa entreabierta

sobre su buche redondo.



Lleva siempre un poco viejo

su traje aseado y sencillo,

que, con tanto hacer ladrillo,

se la habrá puesto bermejo.



Elige como un artista

el gajo de un sauce añoso,

o en el poste rumoroso

se vuelve telegrafista.



Allá, si el barro está blando,

canta su gozo sincero.

Yo quisiera ser hornero

y hacer mi choza cantando.



Así le sale bien todo,

y así, en su honrado desvelo,

trabaja mirando al cielo

en el agua de su lodo.

Por fuera la construcción,

como una cabeza crece,

mientras, por dentro, parece

un tosco y buen corazón.



Pues como su casa es centro

de todo amor y destreza,

la saca de su cabeza

y el corazón pone adentro.



La trabaja en paja y barro,

lindamente la trabaja,

que en el barro y en la paja

es arquitecto bizarro.



La casita del hornero

tiene sala y tiene alcoba,

y aunque en ella no hay escoba,

limpia está con todo esmero.



Concluyó el hornero el horno,

y con el último toque,

le deja áspero el revoque

contra el frío y el bochorno.



Ya explora al vuelo el circuito,

ya, cobre la tierra lisa,

con tal fuerza y garbo pisa,

que parece un martillito.



La choza se orea, en tanto,

esperando a su señora,

que elegante y avizora,

llena su humildad de encanto.



Y cuando acaba, jovial,

de arreglarla a su deseo,

le pone con un gorjeo

su vajilla de cristal.



     

Previous Posts
Sandrine Cassini On My Red Psychiatric Couch

The Paris Opera Ballet & Alonso King Lines Ballet

Sandrine Cassini - A Soon-to-be Visit by an Appari...

The Clubhouse On Second

Sound Holes

Faded - Recovered - Scanned - Delight

El Absurdo Infinito

Miss D, My Chickering Baby Grand & Fuji FP-100C

Lee Lytton III & Friendly & Warm Ghosts

San Valentín



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4/10/11 - 4/17/11

4/17/11 - 4/24/11

4/24/11 - 5/1/11

5/1/11 - 5/8/11

5/8/11 - 5/15/11

5/15/11 - 5/22/11

5/22/11 - 5/29/11

5/29/11 - 6/5/11

6/5/11 - 6/12/11

6/12/11 - 6/19/11

6/19/11 - 6/26/11

6/26/11 - 7/3/11

7/3/11 - 7/10/11

7/10/11 - 7/17/11

7/17/11 - 7/24/11

7/24/11 - 7/31/11

7/31/11 - 8/7/11

8/7/11 - 8/14/11

8/14/11 - 8/21/11

8/21/11 - 8/28/11

8/28/11 - 9/4/11

9/4/11 - 9/11/11

9/11/11 - 9/18/11

9/18/11 - 9/25/11

9/25/11 - 10/2/11

10/2/11 - 10/9/11

10/9/11 - 10/16/11

10/16/11 - 10/23/11

10/23/11 - 10/30/11

10/30/11 - 11/6/11

11/6/11 - 11/13/11

11/13/11 - 11/20/11

11/20/11 - 11/27/11

11/27/11 - 12/4/11

12/4/11 - 12/11/11

12/11/11 - 12/18/11

12/18/11 - 12/25/11

12/25/11 - 1/1/12

1/1/12 - 1/8/12

1/8/12 - 1/15/12

1/15/12 - 1/22/12

1/22/12 - 1/29/12

1/29/12 - 2/5/12

2/5/12 - 2/12/12

2/12/12 - 2/19/12

2/19/12 - 2/26/12

2/26/12 - 3/4/12

3/4/12 - 3/11/12

3/11/12 - 3/18/12

3/18/12 - 3/25/12

3/25/12 - 4/1/12

4/1/12 - 4/8/12

4/8/12 - 4/15/12

4/15/12 - 4/22/12

4/22/12 - 4/29/12

4/29/12 - 5/6/12

5/6/12 - 5/13/12

5/13/12 - 5/20/12

5/20/12 - 5/27/12

5/27/12 - 6/3/12

6/3/12 - 6/10/12

6/10/12 - 6/17/12

6/17/12 - 6/24/12

6/24/12 - 7/1/12

7/1/12 - 7/8/12

7/8/12 - 7/15/12

7/15/12 - 7/22/12

7/22/12 - 7/29/12

7/29/12 - 8/5/12

8/5/12 - 8/12/12

8/12/12 - 8/19/12

8/19/12 - 8/26/12

8/26/12 - 9/2/12

9/2/12 - 9/9/12

9/9/12 - 9/16/12

9/16/12 - 9/23/12

9/23/12 - 9/30/12

9/30/12 - 10/7/12

10/7/12 - 10/14/12

10/14/12 - 10/21/12

10/21/12 - 10/28/12

10/28/12 - 11/4/12

11/4/12 - 11/11/12

11/11/12 - 11/18/12

11/18/12 - 11/25/12

11/25/12 - 12/2/12

12/2/12 - 12/9/12

12/9/12 - 12/16/12

12/16/12 - 12/23/12

12/23/12 - 12/30/12

12/30/12 - 1/6/13

1/6/13 - 1/13/13

1/13/13 - 1/20/13

1/20/13 - 1/27/13

1/27/13 - 2/3/13

2/3/13 - 2/10/13

2/10/13 - 2/17/13

2/17/13 - 2/24/13

2/24/13 - 3/3/13

3/3/13 - 3/10/13

3/10/13 - 3/17/13

3/17/13 - 3/24/13

3/24/13 - 3/31/13

3/31/13 - 4/7/13

4/7/13 - 4/14/13

4/14/13 - 4/21/13

4/21/13 - 4/28/13

4/28/13 - 5/5/13

5/5/13 - 5/12/13

5/12/13 - 5/19/13

5/19/13 - 5/26/13

5/26/13 - 6/2/13

6/2/13 - 6/9/13

6/9/13 - 6/16/13

6/16/13 - 6/23/13

6/23/13 - 6/30/13

6/30/13 - 7/7/13

7/7/13 - 7/14/13

7/14/13 - 7/21/13

7/21/13 - 7/28/13

7/28/13 - 8/4/13

8/4/13 - 8/11/13

8/11/13 - 8/18/13

8/18/13 - 8/25/13

8/25/13 - 9/1/13

9/1/13 - 9/8/13

9/8/13 - 9/15/13

9/15/13 - 9/22/13

9/22/13 - 9/29/13

9/29/13 - 10/6/13

10/6/13 - 10/13/13

10/13/13 - 10/20/13

10/20/13 - 10/27/13

10/27/13 - 11/3/13

11/3/13 - 11/10/13

11/10/13 - 11/17/13

11/17/13 - 11/24/13

11/24/13 - 12/1/13

12/1/13 - 12/8/13

12/8/13 - 12/15/13

12/15/13 - 12/22/13

12/22/13 - 12/29/13

12/29/13 - 1/5/14

1/5/14 - 1/12/14

1/12/14 - 1/19/14

1/19/14 - 1/26/14

1/26/14 - 2/2/14

2/2/14 - 2/9/14

2/9/14 - 2/16/14

2/16/14 - 2/23/14

2/23/14 - 3/2/14

3/2/14 - 3/9/14

3/9/14 - 3/16/14

3/16/14 - 3/23/14

3/23/14 - 3/30/14

3/30/14 - 4/6/14

4/6/14 - 4/13/14

4/13/14 - 4/20/14

4/20/14 - 4/27/14

4/27/14 - 5/4/14

5/4/14 - 5/11/14

5/11/14 - 5/18/14

5/18/14 - 5/25/14

5/25/14 - 6/1/14

6/1/14 - 6/8/14

6/8/14 - 6/15/14

6/15/14 - 6/22/14

6/22/14 - 6/29/14

6/29/14 - 7/6/14

7/6/14 - 7/13/14

7/13/14 - 7/20/14

7/20/14 - 7/27/14

7/27/14 - 8/3/14

8/3/14 - 8/10/14

8/10/14 - 8/17/14

8/17/14 - 8/24/14

8/24/14 - 8/31/14

8/31/14 - 9/7/14

9/7/14 - 9/14/14

9/14/14 - 9/21/14

9/21/14 - 9/28/14

9/28/14 - 10/5/14

10/5/14 - 10/12/14

10/12/14 - 10/19/14

10/19/14 - 10/26/14

10/26/14 - 11/2/14

11/2/14 - 11/9/14

11/9/14 - 11/16/14

11/16/14 - 11/23/14

11/23/14 - 11/30/14

11/30/14 - 12/7/14

12/7/14 - 12/14/14

12/14/14 - 12/21/14

12/21/14 - 12/28/14

12/28/14 - 1/4/15

1/4/15 - 1/11/15

1/11/15 - 1/18/15

1/18/15 - 1/25/15

1/25/15 - 2/1/15

2/1/15 - 2/8/15

2/8/15 - 2/15/15

2/15/15 - 2/22/15

2/22/15 - 3/1/15

3/1/15 - 3/8/15

3/8/15 - 3/15/15

3/15/15 - 3/22/15

3/22/15 - 3/29/15

3/29/15 - 4/5/15

4/5/15 - 4/12/15

4/12/15 - 4/19/15

4/19/15 - 4/26/15

4/26/15 - 5/3/15

5/3/15 - 5/10/15

5/10/15 - 5/17/15

5/17/15 - 5/24/15

5/24/15 - 5/31/15

5/31/15 - 6/7/15

6/7/15 - 6/14/15

6/14/15 - 6/21/15

6/21/15 - 6/28/15

6/28/15 - 7/5/15

7/5/15 - 7/12/15

7/12/15 - 7/19/15

7/19/15 - 7/26/15

7/26/15 - 8/2/15

8/2/15 - 8/9/15

8/9/15 - 8/16/15

8/16/15 - 8/23/15

8/23/15 - 8/30/15

8/30/15 - 9/6/15

9/6/15 - 9/13/15

9/13/15 - 9/20/15

9/20/15 - 9/27/15

9/27/15 - 10/4/15

10/4/15 - 10/11/15

10/18/15 - 10/25/15

10/25/15 - 11/1/15

11/1/15 - 11/8/15

11/8/15 - 11/15/15

11/15/15 - 11/22/15

11/22/15 - 11/29/15

11/29/15 - 12/6/15

12/6/15 - 12/13/15

12/13/15 - 12/20/15

12/20/15 - 12/27/15

12/27/15 - 1/3/16

1/3/16 - 1/10/16

1/10/16 - 1/17/16

1/31/16 - 2/7/16

2/7/16 - 2/14/16

2/14/16 - 2/21/16

2/21/16 - 2/28/16

2/28/16 - 3/6/16

3/6/16 - 3/13/16

3/13/16 - 3/20/16

3/20/16 - 3/27/16

3/27/16 - 4/3/16

4/3/16 - 4/10/16

4/10/16 - 4/17/16

4/17/16 - 4/24/16

4/24/16 - 5/1/16

5/1/16 - 5/8/16

5/8/16 - 5/15/16

5/15/16 - 5/22/16

5/22/16 - 5/29/16

5/29/16 - 6/5/16

6/5/16 - 6/12/16

6/12/16 - 6/19/16

6/19/16 - 6/26/16

6/26/16 - 7/3/16

7/3/16 - 7/10/16

7/10/16 - 7/17/16

7/17/16 - 7/24/16

7/24/16 - 7/31/16

7/31/16 - 8/7/16

8/7/16 - 8/14/16

8/14/16 - 8/21/16

8/21/16 - 8/28/16

8/28/16 - 9/4/16

9/4/16 - 9/11/16

9/11/16 - 9/18/16

9/18/16 - 9/25/16

9/25/16 - 10/2/16

10/2/16 - 10/9/16

10/9/16 - 10/16/16

10/16/16 - 10/23/16

10/23/16 - 10/30/16

10/30/16 - 11/6/16

11/6/16 - 11/13/16

11/13/16 - 11/20/16

11/20/16 - 11/27/16

11/27/16 - 12/4/16

12/4/16 - 12/11/16

12/11/16 - 12/18/16

12/18/16 - 12/25/16

12/25/16 - 1/1/17

1/1/17 - 1/8/17

1/8/17 - 1/15/17

1/15/17 - 1/22/17

1/22/17 - 1/29/17

1/29/17 - 2/5/17

2/5/17 - 2/12/17

2/12/17 - 2/19/17

2/19/17 - 2/26/17

2/26/17 - 3/5/17

3/5/17 - 3/12/17