tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42235466821520252042024-02-20T20:20:19.481-05:00Bob's WorldTravel stories from Mexico, the American Southwest and West, Costa Rica, Italy, Istanbul, Prague, the Greek Islands, and more.Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.comBlogger189125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-85241785240437836572023-01-08T12:44:00.001-05:002023-01-08T12:55:24.672-05:00My 1935 Chevy Coupe<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQrtU97INV8Kh8E8gQQikUhsRDMxvvub1uqYew5Xp3qfNFJgQNrFfcEeyTIy-E0F6CkCXoIX2_HeTRfzMZOYir61rD6PKbeOoISAU64IgeM5L4fWkG4DfBUR0ZPse_c7hbq4LEpLjld1W6q2ZuKMyhyE1kOcWWc_ewssw9EJFdOgouB1K8sWLtoRAPQ/s2956/35ChevyCoupe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2367" data-original-width="2956" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQrtU97INV8Kh8E8gQQikUhsRDMxvvub1uqYew5Xp3qfNFJgQNrFfcEeyTIy-E0F6CkCXoIX2_HeTRfzMZOYir61rD6PKbeOoISAU64IgeM5L4fWkG4DfBUR0ZPse_c7hbq4LEpLjld1W6q2ZuKMyhyE1kOcWWc_ewssw9EJFdOgouB1K8sWLtoRAPQ/w640-h512/35ChevyCoupe.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I bought this car in 1966, and sold it in 1967 to a man in Plymouth, Massachusetts, for $1200. I'd love to know where it is now!</p>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-17346120362291543572022-11-22T17:06:00.007-05:002022-11-23T13:03:12.593-05:00To Health With You!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ty-2k3JSlWD4B-ZmH5A3nn9ZDBiU-lowD36dceRnLpZFLScnr3dfNBPKWHMAZkr-UIj_mDpoNvUqSyOt0eQCBl8mldcRDCcDi0WxVENFKN51tobUiv0uVczgsZGrDDlaY3oIbjd6QThENYuf7kX5X6inwiQ_FCo2Hl19Z5Q5EeqCmrFp5qRTNk5n4A/s1600/IMG_2847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ty-2k3JSlWD4B-ZmH5A3nn9ZDBiU-lowD36dceRnLpZFLScnr3dfNBPKWHMAZkr-UIj_mDpoNvUqSyOt0eQCBl8mldcRDCcDi0WxVENFKN51tobUiv0uVczgsZGrDDlaY3oIbjd6QThENYuf7kX5X6inwiQ_FCo2Hl19Z5Q5EeqCmrFp5qRTNk5n4A/w300-h400/IMG_2847.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The results are in from my MRI on November 14, 2022.</span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">I am currently clear of the nasty and very aggressive brain cancer called glioblastoma. Dana Farber folks are awesome, especially Farber. Joke.<br /><br />I will have to pay better attention to my body from here on out. Tomorrow I am starting a six month cycle of chemo which I take as a pill. I had 42 chemo doses, 42 anti-something pills against the chemo drugs, 4 MRI's and 30 wonderful radiations. 72 nurses. You are gonna take my blood AGAIN?? Don’t you know my name by now? I thought that my 100-mile trail races tired me out, but radiation treatments were much worse. Although I had no pain through this whole ordeal.<br /><br />I feel good. My weight is the same. I did not lose any hair, and my blood pressure — which started all this -- is under complete control. I woke up this morning thinking of my cancer when it dawned on me that I do not have it today.<br /><br />Thank you for all the attention you have given me over the past three and one half months. Yah, it has been that long. Cakes, visits, postcards, get well letters, desserts, meatballs, phone calls, dinners out, dinners in, hand written letters, dinners delivered to the house, flowers, phone calls, texts (only kidding) e-mails, stove-side chats. Smiling faces at Mc Donalds with my morning coffee. Sitting in the sun at the pool.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiewuTj0EB1HlKDRPrXVB0eN_jiKTcip6Wo92fQwL21KXR6e71r39T0Gp1aFnxxngqydC0Sbc84q52YoOxJdqqnnU7BWUKYU_4E3KKQvvW8JbcV5oWE0rK8RtpWpcgmYzBz7CGKK7VeLZ9fHFg9w4t_uDj8QunFGrelrpbu8W1xVVJMOPybL9azSslZIg/s4032/IMG_3111.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiewuTj0EB1HlKDRPrXVB0eN_jiKTcip6Wo92fQwL21KXR6e71r39T0Gp1aFnxxngqydC0Sbc84q52YoOxJdqqnnU7BWUKYU_4E3KKQvvW8JbcV5oWE0rK8RtpWpcgmYzBz7CGKK7VeLZ9fHFg9w4t_uDj8QunFGrelrpbu8W1xVVJMOPybL9azSslZIg/w400-h300/IMG_3111.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOX5DE3U7b1VjlL8iCHq6b81X61CcZVBsafx7W76tYgfIXg3McylVVnBQUF7m40AOF87OARmU-ctIAnNAGEtaTSMdbuGVHES7lzWGgMxAAKrGzM05X4gW_tuyF4LJTxnCcI7nNRNwMJkCCiP0YpzYgBbQrevX1joTUPQZVunb3lxiwup59yXehxLm5aA/s6720/1Z1A9551.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4480" data-original-width="6720" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOX5DE3U7b1VjlL8iCHq6b81X61CcZVBsafx7W76tYgfIXg3McylVVnBQUF7m40AOF87OARmU-ctIAnNAGEtaTSMdbuGVHES7lzWGgMxAAKrGzM05X4gW_tuyF4LJTxnCcI7nNRNwMJkCCiP0YpzYgBbQrevX1joTUPQZVunb3lxiwup59yXehxLm5aA/w400-h266/1Z1A9551.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br />My family at 110 Stagecoach treated me as if I was in the hospital. It got confusing at times, with all the drugs that I was taking, and the transportation issues kept us hopping. Some of my appointments were in Boston, and some were in South Weymouth, and some were in Pembroke. We have a lot of history with South Weymouth and the hospital. Kezia and Marnie were both born there, as was our only grandson, Abel. Sandy and I both have had surgery there, even before this fun-filled Fall. Three years at NAS South Weymouth Naval Air Station. Even Sandy for a time worked there. Air shows, snow bills, 50-year long-lasting Navy Seabee friendships. Nights at Christo’s over in Brockton. Reliable Fence Company. Our apartment in Rockland.<br /><br />Life is good. We are still planning on going to Mexico for February and March. El Cuyo, Isla Holbox, Isla Mujeres and PTO Morelos. We have arranged for blood testing while there. I will bring my own chemo. Three couples are joining us at different times during the two months. It will feel so good to see old island and Mexican friends again. <br /><br />Thanks for the solid, warm support. You are AWESOME, and again good health to you!<br /><br /><i>Bob “Tocino" Bacon</i></span><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxk4XjmkW4LGPCyZcFl3RtryA7J9xbPuHsAfvoebpcgn_HT-uAu1UZAsGDm1zrYawZLT-CrE11dU1EF83fC3l1Pd_F3ykr64quLbCsmnMs6YZbEYmpwLyKMeELrjJKNwrZLBed25y7gbczONXPiPzIi8TfbRHWcBKjupL8IwvYwN0p-NVUcnJwjja4qQ/s3002/IMG_2813.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2384" data-original-width="3002" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxk4XjmkW4LGPCyZcFl3RtryA7J9xbPuHsAfvoebpcgn_HT-uAu1UZAsGDm1zrYawZLT-CrE11dU1EF83fC3l1Pd_F3ykr64quLbCsmnMs6YZbEYmpwLyKMeELrjJKNwrZLBed25y7gbczONXPiPzIi8TfbRHWcBKjupL8IwvYwN0p-NVUcnJwjja4qQ/w400-h318/IMG_2813.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-37796206440393600962021-07-04T17:40:00.000-04:002021-07-04T17:40:02.088-04:00Notes for Vacationers in Sicily<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sicily vacationers,</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />If you ONLY went to Taormina Sicily for three days, your whole two-week Sicily trip would be worth it. Cruiseship people stop there for an hour or two Some even get off the ship. You can see Mount Etna from there.<br /><br />It is on the east coast of Sicily. Explore the ancient Greek/Roman amphitheater, cut into volcanic rock, on the ocean facing Italy. Zigzag walk to the top of the mountain, go to the opera. Mangia, mangia, mangia. Eat, eat, eat. One of our favorite spots in the world. My Sicilian barber Carole Santacrocci said don’t miss it. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mt Etna Volcano Tour: I did not want to do it after seeing it on National Geographic. Cold, grey and blustery. Wear a coat, bring a blanket. DO NOT miss it. It blew its top fairly recently. Our friend Mauricio said that it was so bright that you could read a newspaper there at night in Catania. It might not be open for the tour. Spend the whole day there if it is available. If it’s not, don't spend the whole day there. Ja ja ... little joke there<br /><br />Trapani: miss it. The baseball Dimaggio's were from an island off of the coast of Trapani called Isla Mujeres. ycmthis sup. Dad went to San Francisco and eventually brought everyone over. San Francisco is in our state of California.<br /><br />“Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you / Woo woo woo”<br /><br />Villa Romano del Casale: A farmer found it buried when he hit a corner with his plow. The best mosaics Sandy and I have EVER seen. Spend the day. Have gelato in the town of Piazza Armerina. This is one of the very Top Four things to see in Sicily. No! Not having gelato, seeing the ruins. My former friend Don Salmond would have thought that. Astounding!! Most tourists miss it.<br /><br />Yes! There really is a town there called Corleone.<br /><br />Cefalu: Really cute town on the northern coast. Shop, shop, shop. Climb to the top of the big rock. Try the pasta alla Norma and we sincerely hope that you like eggplant. Lots and lots of eggplant.<br /><br />Syracuse: My least favorite. Everything is written in Italian. Dull and grey and run down. Beautiful area where the Cattedrale Metropolitano della is. Everywhere you look they spell cathedral wrong. Take photos. Eat drink at Volpi's or Bianchi's and people watch. A few ancient Greek stones in the town center. Big deal. I enjoyed Tombstone Arizona more.<br /><br />Palermo: A big city but worth seeing for a day. Ask for Luigi.<br /><br />Agrigento Piazza Armerini: You will think that you are in Greece. On the south coast not far from Africa. General George Patton was here. Spend the day. Wear good shoes and wear a wide hat. It is HOT! and wide open. It looks like the Parthenon, but way more beautiful and way more to see.<br /><br />Two weeks is a long time for Sicily. You could go north to Naples, not the one in Florida, Amalfi Coast road and Herculaneum and Pompeii, and or a day boat trip to Capri.<br /><br />If you don’t send me a postcard I will be pissed. Not from Maine, from Sicily.<br /><br />Roberto Baconi <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">110 Stagecoach Drive <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Marshfield, MA 02050</span><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-3409863172789752802021-06-29T10:48:00.007-04:002021-06-30T17:04:19.023-04:00Really, I found them along the roadside ...<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5BsBU3CaH1jE3biNQfi-i-wkV1ZLiiI8clevBki-Y7DecugK28BU2OPq_rFhRhW6wUfDKWp9QQi_LfpjtBkTsR-_hfysqt_65fWAUJYcvlZLiaBxExXynR3FplUPNq2gH6DdxMvwicMUd/s2048/DadsKnives1rev.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5BsBU3CaH1jE3biNQfi-i-wkV1ZLiiI8clevBki-Y7DecugK28BU2OPq_rFhRhW6wUfDKWp9QQi_LfpjtBkTsR-_hfysqt_65fWAUJYcvlZLiaBxExXynR3FplUPNq2gH6DdxMvwicMUd/w400-h300/DadsKnives1rev.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><p style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">... but not these four knives. </span></span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;">From left to right:</span><p></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">• My brother Mike's hunting knife. He left the building without his knife in 1984 at age 36.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">• An orange switchblade knife issued to P-2-V Navy plane servicemen to cut yourself away if you parachute into a tree or some other weird place -- like among the lines of a telephone pole, or even a clothesline pole. Hey, it could happen!</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">(Lockheed P-2 anti-submarine warfare. 1,177 built. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Retired from the military in 1984.)</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">• A combat knife, Ka-bar, issued to me in Port Hueneme after Class A School in California in 1964. I once took Liberty in Oxnard and saw Tex Ritter in a small honky tonk and I can prove it.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Well at the time, they were thinking of places to send us, and one of them wasn’t Hawaii or Reykjavik. Believe it or not, with most Seabees going to Cau Rong, Da Nang, a sailor from Malden did get his orders to Iceland. His name was Mark Ruane. How do I remember that from 57 years ago? And why?</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">• Meanwhile at my phenomenal knife collection, a dinner knife, stamped with USN, from the galley in Argentia, Newfoundland in 1964. Pretty fancy silverware used while the Navy orchestra entertained us. It is actually silver, and needs to be polished. Who knew? Excellent spelling words -- orchestra. Silver - wear? - ware? Only beaten by the word phenomenal. I think I spelled it correctly.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">During my training runs of 23 years and 54,000 miles, I have seen a lot of STUFF.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Wild animals, tools, people kissing in cars (cleaned up for the youngsters in my following) litter, empty nips, 27,000 cans and bottles in 2015, a suicide by electrical cord hanging from a tree on a hot, beautiful, sunny, July afternoon, ... and these twenty knives found alongside the road.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3MCy5nJuBCUxpkYJmNoQ3uxPObXnapwC9av7ixhHhIxJ7YGVoBLUAuODrJU4EKQpDBg3uaWSfClPeH3Z2dbyAI0wyIq1-oCFVNTk-ynV-9uoWAE8SKbRtH5656gKELSUcbH5l41BWvnU/s2048/DadsKnives2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3MCy5nJuBCUxpkYJmNoQ3uxPObXnapwC9av7ixhHhIxJ7YGVoBLUAuODrJU4EKQpDBg3uaWSfClPeH3Z2dbyAI0wyIq1-oCFVNTk-ynV-9uoWAE8SKbRtH5656gKELSUcbH5l41BWvnU/w400-h300/DadsKnives2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;">I stuck them in a window sill in Garagemahall. No, I do not know why. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">The other night on TV, on Channel 5’s Chronicle show, they had a man who was a semi-hoarder of grandfather clocks and pocket watches. I fear the disease has hit me, and at my advanced age, I need to unload some STUFF. I thought taking a picture of my knives might make me get rid of them after the documentation. Sorta, maybe.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Check out my knives. Kitchen knives, a Jim Bowie knife -- you of course remember him from Mission San Antonio de Valero or the Alamo. Filet knives, bread knives, a serrated knife, a paring knife, a grilling fork, a butter knife, and an oyster shucking knife. Many of the knives are beach-related. Marshfield is on the Atlantic with five phenomenal beaches.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Everyone knows that our American Indians sharpened their knives only on one side. But so do the Japanese, even to this day.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Which knife should I send you? If not, how about taking one of my 266 scrapbook photo albums? I don’t know why. "I don’t know why I love you like I do. I don’t know why. I just do."</span><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;">useless information to the lonely from </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;">- Tocino</span></div>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-83773676917681591922021-04-12T15:12:00.004-04:002021-04-12T15:12:38.426-04:00My Father's Stillson Wrench<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPW1F7zIGDQjjPrX98cExrHdD7fSmwmg3x1_1FluYXoxNTjGLCCcO7slpzqNMQq3KsW_CXph0IjDQaMhAxXl2GkyRStjeEqSTJUhGAUSGlTgBdxfwST2iU_JHvxSppnM_QxiXorNFUccE9/s567/Stillson+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="567" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPW1F7zIGDQjjPrX98cExrHdD7fSmwmg3x1_1FluYXoxNTjGLCCcO7slpzqNMQq3KsW_CXph0IjDQaMhAxXl2GkyRStjeEqSTJUhGAUSGlTgBdxfwST2iU_JHvxSppnM_QxiXorNFUccE9/w400-h208/Stillson+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><blockquote class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" type="cite"><div class=""><div class="">Original owner: Francis Chelsea Bacon (Bob’s Dad)</div></div></blockquote></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">In the Seabees, my father was a motor machinist mate. I was always impressed with his knowledge of knots. He knew them all. Square knots</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">, running bowlines that didn’t slip, and even simple half hitches.</span></p><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">In Port Hueneme, California, at Seabee Electrician Power Pole School, we learned the bowline to rescue a man from the top of a 35 foot power pole. Everyone calls power poles telephone poles but they ain’t. Bowline sounds like a way to tie up a boat so that it doesn’t get away. That knot does not slip.</div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">In his civilian life he was a millwright, welder, and blacksmith. Knowing ropes and come alongs and torches, he could fix The Crusher at New England Lime Company when it broke down. Huge, no tailgate Euclids would dump the broken up limestone into the The Crusher. It was loud, and you could easily hear it all over the Italian section of town, Zylonite, where we lived. When it broke down, everything from Greylock Mountain to the valley floor in Adams stopped. Except the blasting. Every day around 2pm, the quarry crew would blast a huge section that would then topple into the open pit quarry bottom. You never went near the quarry around 2pm. Never.</div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Rosa Carnazzola, at her grocery store, would have to put the cans that had fallen back on the shelves. Mom would straighten her picture frames in our little house. As I was saying before you interrupted, everything stopped. The ball mills that pulverized the soft ball size limestone, the kilns that heated the powder, the bagging machines that had nothing to bag if nothing was coming from the quarry. The empty tractor trailer trucks and railroad cars that would haul the lime out of state. Some of it even went to Yankee Stadium. There were no Red Sox fans in Adams. We got our TV signal and news from WRGB Albany. It is in New York. </div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Dad would drive up the limestone road with five or six men and they would do the repair. Sometimes it would take days.</div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">In Ms. Malley's English class in 1962, each of us had to stand in front of the class and make a presentation. I made mine using Dad’s Stillson wrench pictured above. It is the actual one.</div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Ms. Malley wore her hair pulled back and she had leather, quite substantial, tie shoes, which she wore with her below-the-knee dresses. She wore granny glasses and took NO prisoners. She was partial to the high school football players. My halfback Adams High captain father was scouted by the New York Giants. But then the war came. In 1939 she was my father's English teacher also.</div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Just like Samuel Colt of Connecticut did with his pistol, Daniel Stillman of New Hampshire, around 1865, made his prototype from wood. What was new about it was unlike the monkey wrench, the teeth on the Stillson were on an angle. He paid someone to build it of steel, and every plumber or swimming pool builder you know today has a Stillson. </div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">I carry this one in my pick up truck. The loop loc swimming pool safety covers are secured with brass screws into the concrete. There are around 40 of them. They get full of sand, or they get stripped, and sometimes you cannot unscrew them -- unless of course you own your Dad’s Stillson wrench.</div>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-67709610644109745572021-04-12T15:01:00.007-04:002021-04-12T15:01:45.451-04:00Say Kids, What Time Is It?<div class="separator"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI12rLMIZ7_OEcUUZiFRH9S5uXdWyKQQqByt4ENBYsvJ5kddU6nAQVgmm48PToXmH_tntq5qBw_vR-C2SNxszVA0023z0cqbRyLAAYQ944qQ3w95O1-S_v9ib2vE0bHiyEfcU4l37G9BY4/s500/51OW0KKfvFL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI12rLMIZ7_OEcUUZiFRH9S5uXdWyKQQqByt4ENBYsvJ5kddU6nAQVgmm48PToXmH_tntq5qBw_vR-C2SNxszVA0023z0cqbRyLAAYQ944qQ3w95O1-S_v9ib2vE0bHiyEfcU4l37G9BY4/w266-h400/51OW0KKfvFL.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> I am reading a book called The Other Custers.</span></p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">George Armstrong Custer, who married Elizabeth Bacon, had three brothers and one sister. The book covers from their births, through the Civil War and Little Big Horn in Montana Territory, and more. Brother Tom won two Medals of Honor. Boston was not named after our town but after a small town in Pennsylvania called East Boston where their mother was from. I am still reading.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWIL0iSzd1WhGTe9aLCnjZv5NMABTJrk1IeBnEfRbkAgLzas29rskKRR5P67qyzMyBZXyejc_ihdwDfe6Z19c8u8VOzfhKKpmOjdoMyhlZneWK_w48eS5xzCxGhio2wMcmLleiu7kU8GU/s781/photograph-George-Armstrong-Custer-Mathew-Brady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="649" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWIL0iSzd1WhGTe9aLCnjZv5NMABTJrk1IeBnEfRbkAgLzas29rskKRR5P67qyzMyBZXyejc_ihdwDfe6Z19c8u8VOzfhKKpmOjdoMyhlZneWK_w48eS5xzCxGhio2wMcmLleiu7kU8GU/w333-h400/photograph-George-Armstrong-Custer-Mathew-Brady.jpg" width="333" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">His brother Nevin was the only brother who did not go to war. Tom and Boston, and sister Maggie's husband James Calhoun, all died on that hill near the Big Horn River. In the end Captain Myles Kehoe's horse, Comanche, was the only warm body of the Seventh Calvary still standing. Crazy Horse, Gaul, and Sitting Bull were not harmed.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />Nevin had a daughter named Clarabelle. We know Clara from Hotel Cabanas on Isla Mujeres.<br /><br />Why is that name familiar? Then it hit me, “Say kids, what time is it?"</span><div><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AATdefIyF-EdkrpDqmbS1RSI-J7OFP97aziMxGuoZffaZ92ZHCMfPeyYNhQSwk6T2BKnsfcTS6VJtccuJZGsXQfEfeQ4O0bwfvWao4ihCcxhkq2z8qO6liEE0IJ6E6RWbXiKhfqBQAb3/s679/81x-AgpG2ML._SY679_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="506" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AATdefIyF-EdkrpDqmbS1RSI-J7OFP97aziMxGuoZffaZ92ZHCMfPeyYNhQSwk6T2BKnsfcTS6VJtccuJZGsXQfEfeQ4O0bwfvWao4ihCcxhkq2z8qO6liEE0IJ6E6RWbXiKhfqBQAb3/w298-h400/81x-AgpG2ML._SY679_.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Sing with me, "It’s Howdy Doody time, it's Howdy Doody time!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />It ran on TV from 1946 until 1960. Buffalo Bob was the host. How did he come up with that name? He lived to be 80. Some of the characters were <br /><br />• Clarabell</span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">• Princess SummerFallWinterSpring</span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">• puppet Howdy, of course <br />• Phineas T. Bluster<br />• and Don Salmond's favorite, Chief Thunderthud<br /><br />No wonder that children born in the 40’s, especially Republicans, are dull witted.<br /><br /><i>Bob Bacon 1945</i></span></div></div></div></div>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-58227251719505356652020-09-17T16:49:00.004-04:002020-10-12T16:58:06.678-04:00Senior Chief Chester Urbati has left the building<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1Zitp6QJUzLRw82U5Sj9BzT9pP1hw5S1dsR1z19t6Jbw_HzKQ_4jTcqc-ixEz6PmHuOrfwMPI4vTa58yuzzP9Mg4d9Qtn-GzHD-OGI8qWs_Ii77h-vRu9CZ1vXAeiENceRIylOXgXXqP/s2649/NavyGroup.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1187" data-original-width="2649" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1Zitp6QJUzLRw82U5Sj9BzT9pP1hw5S1dsR1z19t6Jbw_HzKQ_4jTcqc-ixEz6PmHuOrfwMPI4vTa58yuzzP9Mg4d9Qtn-GzHD-OGI8qWs_Ii77h-vRu9CZ1vXAeiENceRIylOXgXXqP/w400-h179/NavyGroup.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Attention on Deck!</span></p><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Sandy and I spoke to Carmen Urbati in Gulfport this sad sunny Sunday afternoon from our deck.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Chet needed a heart valve and had the operation through the groin in December 2019.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Part of the old valve broke off and did serious heart damage. He needed open heart surgery but the Navy doctor said that he was too old to possibly survive it.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Carmen arranged a drive by via their front porch for Chet's 85th birthday on June 25th. Seventeen cars drove by and the Urbatis truly enjoyed that day.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">It seems he did not suffer a lot, but at the end he was ready to go. Chet was cremated along with a Navy Seabee flag. Shocking!</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Carmen met Chet in her native Puerto Rico, at the PX, when he was stationed there. Wish I watched that courtship happening. They celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary plus six months this year. They could dance Cajun and the four of us did just that at Mulates on the waterfront in New Orleans once or twice.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Carmen is planning Chet's funeral for 2021 in Gulfport. The funeral company is doing a write up on him. I hope they have enough paper to record the many places that he was stationed during his 44 years of service. South Weymouth Naval Air Station, Sicily, Rhoda Spain, Italy, Vietnam, Gulfport Mississippi, Guam, American Samoa, Ethiopia, Puerto Rico, and probably seventeen other places that he forgot to mention.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">I met Chet in 1965. He was my section leader in the electrical shop at NAS South Weymouth. I was only 20. We kept Barracks 76 and the NAS runway and taxi way lights, and the two airplane and blimp hangers lights, on even during the East Coast black out of 1965. We also kept the runways clear during the winter Snow Bill, during twelve hour shifts. “Snow Bill is In," was the telephone call we would get, calling us back to the base for duty off of weekend liberty. I think it only snowed on weekends.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">He totally took me under his wing, as if I was family. As a matter of fact, he even took me to his mother and father's house in Hingham, at Crow Point. They made me feel totally at home. I visited often on my own.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Did you ever see him not happy, or complaining about anything? Or even criticizing anyone? I wish I had his eternal optimism and general happiness. He was always smiling and telling sea stories. He had a way of telling original stories that made you feel you were hearing them for the very first time. I am so thankful and blessed that he was a part of my life.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">He sent me a baboon skin from Ethiopia. Has this ever happened to you?</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">He was dating the Army captain's daughter. It was an Army base. The chief called him in to has office: “Urbati, do you think as an enlisted man that you should be dating a base commander and officer's daughter?" It was shortly after that that he was transferred to Da Nang. Who could that possibly happen to? The one, the only … a true patriot: Chet Urbati.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Bacon R.F. CEW 2 10-93-10-63 United States Navy Seabee </span><div><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsDQcuo6OLiAEUcVAKHq8-RgDHTpy1zVEekHRfUtAXiVw-n5obyFY5Z8BSC3bY_8lshrftBp4OakpCfE8hKc5gYKtexcXcdXL1vVsQLKwiujevWFi15136vj0RMZQmVCDYhjmQMfYKxwbI/s2048/SeabeesGroup.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1670" data-original-width="2048" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsDQcuo6OLiAEUcVAKHq8-RgDHTpy1zVEekHRfUtAXiVw-n5obyFY5Z8BSC3bY_8lshrftBp4OakpCfE8hKc5gYKtexcXcdXL1vVsQLKwiujevWFi15136vj0RMZQmVCDYhjmQMfYKxwbI/w400-h326/SeabeesGroup.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-33871748744418782672020-09-17T12:08:00.004-04:002020-09-17T12:08:32.673-04:00Mercedes Barcha & Gabriel Garcia Marquez<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwls23wu2e1eYuo_fhAlyLfct9cO3Gb9JdMQrRBNg_lrlhyphenhyphen7sItmn2HtDhdesgIJcPWWUhGcri6VrebDQZ7mXp_rYe1_j9xKZeCbx_LLeTZJ3oSkRGQkDzUdjFtjAfCwNob-iIGM5D7wr8/s310/Barcha.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="310" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwls23wu2e1eYuo_fhAlyLfct9cO3Gb9JdMQrRBNg_lrlhyphenhyphen7sItmn2HtDhdesgIJcPWWUhGcri6VrebDQZ7mXp_rYe1_j9xKZeCbx_LLeTZJ3oSkRGQkDzUdjFtjAfCwNob-iIGM5D7wr8/w408-h213/Barcha.jpeg" width="408" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Gabriel “Gabo" and Mercedes met when they were 9 <i>y</i> 14 years young and he knew. She did not. Sandy and I met when we were 14 <i>y</i> 15 and I knew. Sandy did not. I really did. And I didn’t know much, but I knew.</span><br class="" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /></p><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">We have to stay married for three more years to tie the Garcia Marquez’s. I have read many of his books. I always wondered why he would take two showers every day. An adventure to Colombia taught me why.</div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Is theirs a fabulous story or yes? Sandy, Marnie and I have been to his <i>casa</i> in Cartagena, and even the bar at the El Hotel Santa Clara where he drank.</div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">A friend, Charles Gregory of Albuquerque, New Mexico, pushed the book “One Hundred Years of Solitude" on me twenty years ago. Charles had spent much of his young life in a mission near the Alamo in San Antonio. </div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">I do not enjoy fiction. I read the whole book on the <i>playa</i> at Na Balam with my toes in the warm white sand. I did not like it. A little too fictional for me.</div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Years later on Isla Mujeres, Mexico, I found a copy of the novel abandoned at the free book table at “Cabanas" Maria del Mar. That copy sold for $3.95 in 1971. Once again. I reread it, thinking to myself. “Don’t be so serious. Enjoy the words.” Last night in my casita on the bog, I reread the first three pages -- WOW!</div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Only 50 million copies sold? Published the same year Sandy and I were married. A coincidence? I think not. </div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">ja ja </div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Have YOU read it ?</div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br class="" /></div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><i>su servidor, </i> </div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Roberto Francisco Tocino</div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Follow this link to read Mercedes Barcha's obituary: </b>https://www.nytimes.com/2020/08/23/books/mercedes-barcha-dead.html</div>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-45927317866662391602020-04-12T21:05:00.003-04:002020-04-12T21:05:35.587-04:00Souvenirs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjrrLyrN8NmIDisSL-wgUn8EnWAb07h1vWq5ZXfX3I77VSMCP8zvD5-nNySZpvQq9TR61vmK1SpNPQKRPaG9cj4_ihnjc-BuyM2yZwajNNLwl8SD-fTppC-bJ-QYBcvRHsGqGx4P18-Fq/s1600/IMG_8060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjrrLyrN8NmIDisSL-wgUn8EnWAb07h1vWq5ZXfX3I77VSMCP8zvD5-nNySZpvQq9TR61vmK1SpNPQKRPaG9cj4_ihnjc-BuyM2yZwajNNLwl8SD-fTppC-bJ-QYBcvRHsGqGx4P18-Fq/s400/IMG_8060.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">I am dusting the six lighted shelves in our kitchen, in what was once a broom closet. All kinds of cool memory-souvenir-travel stuff: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• kachinas from the Hopi Mesa</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• some awesome Maya statues from Coba, Uxmal, Tulum, Campeche and Chichen Itza</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• pottery pieces from the ancient village above Agua Caliente, New Mexico</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a coffee cup from Cortez, Colorado near Mesa Verde</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a rug from Istanbul (OK OK we didn’t buy it, but it is a fun story)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a stone statue from Portovenere (port of Venus) in Italy at the south end of Cinque Terra</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a carved Maya wall piece from Palenque in Chiapas </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a cowboy statue from Disney Land 1967</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a beautiful sandstone with a natural red heart from Capital Reef National Park in Utah</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• four kachinas from Santa Fe, Canyon de Chelly, Gallup and Flagstaff</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a stone from the bottom of the Grand Canyon on the Colorado River</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• three pieces of cholla wood from the cholla cactus of the hills of Albuquerque</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a salad bowl that has a piece of medical tape on it that says "Nora Bacon" in my mom's own handwriting</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• four types of railroad spikes that held the wooden ties of the Old Colony Railroad that once ran to the Cape through our back yard (1845- 1939)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a lava stone from Hawaii, and one from Phantom Ranch</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a small white Zeus or Poseidon bust from Athens</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• beat-up Pusser's Landing BVI tin cup that once held a Pain Killer drink or two</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• Sandy’s father's WWII medals and his cigarette lighter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a piece of white coral from Isla Mujeres </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a slice of red rock from Sedona</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a flat wall rock from Connecticut that has imbedded fossils in it </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">6,000-year-old </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">spearhead that I found on a pool excavation on the North River</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a rectangle rock labeled "2001 Montana" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">and </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">• a Mohawk Trail plate with an elk in the center that Rich Busa gave me 19 years ago. I have family photos with my father's father on that very site on the Mohawk Trail on Route 2, at the top of the Hoosac Mountain Range. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Thank you.</span>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-4185650641664908832020-03-29T17:14:00.000-04:002020-03-29T17:14:03.381-04:00Why Did You Come Back?<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Sandy & I came back from our winter in Mexico 10 days early. Some asked "Why?" </span></span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">We were afraid that we would be stranded there for months possibly. It probably is true that we would be safer in the Yucatan area of Mexico than here.</span><br />
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For a while we thought we would have to drive back. How long would that have taken? It all started when a rumor spread that the Isla Holbox ferry was shutting down. It was only a rumor. When we are on vacation, we do not turn on the TV or read the news. My phone stays in my truck in Massachusetts. The last of the ten hotels we were staying at was on Isla Mujeres. Sandy said, “If they shut down the Puerto Juarez ferry, how will we get to the aeropuerto in Cancun?” </div>
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One of the books I devoured while on vacation was Paul Theroux's “On the Plain of Snakes” (October 2019). He drove from Cape Cod to Mexico. He toured only the western part of Mexico, and it was scary. Maybe even scary enough for us not to visit Mexico City or Cuernavaca next year, or ever. 30,000 cartel people were killed in one year.</div>
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One of the girls on Marnie's Belize Yoga Retreat told of her recent escapade. She and her sister were traveling in Barcelona and Lisbon. Her sister had a serious fall in Portugal. After the hospital stay, she could not fly. They managed to get on a cruise ship to Great Britain, even though they were told that it was impossible to do so. Then they managed to get on a second cruise ship that was heading for St. Marten, full of drunken Englishmen. They got off in Florida. It took 40 days and it cost $30,000 for them to get home.</div>
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I broke a tooth in Mexico. I went to the dentist on Isla Mujeres. She said, “You need a crown.” I think that is what she said. </div>
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My dentist from the Navy told me the same thing for years. I never got one. He retired after being my dentist for 40 years. My new Duxbury dentist has been trying to get me to do one for only $1600. I am old. I am in no pain. But now, in Mexico, I <i>have to</i> get it done. </div>
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I ask, "How much?" ("Cuanto cuesta?")</div>
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She says 6,800 pesos. </div>
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It is still early in the vacation. Tom and Sandy are figuring out all the meal bills. A margarita -- <i>rockes y sal</i> with Don Julio -- is $4.00. I get that. But when it comes to big things like motor scooters or refrigerators or a house, I don’t know where to put the decimal point. You have to divide everything by 20. Twenty pesos to the dollar. Right now it is 24.2 pesos per dollar. In 1988 it was only 10 pesos to the U.S.dollar. </div>
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Anyway, after three separate trips to Dra. Victoria Arteaga, up in the Colonias, I have a brand new Mexican crown. Alfredo, our private taxi driver, drove me. His grandson is attending West Point. ycmthissup</div>
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I paid her in cash. It cost $211 US. </div>
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Stop by our casa some time if you want to admire it.</div>
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All-inclusives are not this much fun. </div>
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Keep traveling! </div>
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Tocino</div>
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Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-12897444422260322992019-12-30T17:17:00.000-05:002020-01-31T16:48:09.938-05:00Don't Look Down<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">My father’s mother and father lived in the big house, and we lived in the small house to the left. The first time I experienced fear of heights was when my father decided that he would put a slate roof on Frank & Hattie’s house. The big house. I went up into the attic, and then up through the partially torn-out roof, and knew right away that I did not like heights, and departed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br />The comedian George Carlin said that he is not afraid of heights. He said he is afraid of <i>falling from</i> heights.<br /><br />Not having any idea what I would do after high school, like my father I signed on with the Navy Seabees. They were called Seabees because they were the construction battalion for the Navy during World War II and Vietnam. Get it? C.B.’s<br /><br />I wanted to operate bulldozers like John Wayne in the movie “The Fighting Seabees.” We build, we fight. We wore Marines uniforms overseas. To this day, the Marines love the Seabees. On a walking tour through Sicily, I found myself one night at dinner sitting across from a female retired Army Colonel. She didn’t have a lot to say. She was stoic. She sat up very straight. I didn’t know how get her to open up. She had been stationed everywhere. I finally asked her if she'd had any contact with the Navy Seabees. She blossomed, smiled, and said, “I love the @$#&* Seabees.”<br /><br />Eventually an Electrical Construction school opened up in California for three months during the winter. California for the winter sounded good. The last phase of electrical school turned out to be pole climbing. In pole climbing school, when </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14px;">rookie </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Seabee climbers first strap on their gaffs, at least half put them on inside out. Try not to gaff into a knot hole. Your next step will be interesting to say the least.</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">It was the first time that I heard of the country called Vietnam. I did not have a choice. To pass school, I needed to become a pole climber or flunk. A telephone pole, really a power pole, is 32 feet. Some are as tall as 90 feet. When I completed school, Dad was really proud that I had conquered my fear of heights. With gaffs nonetheless strapped to the insides of my legs.</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14px;">Spurs and tree climbing spikes. Specifically Buckingham steel climbers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">That is me gaffed in on the forward pole with Elmer Berkee sitting on the crossbars. That was 1964. How do I remember that and so clearly? The </span></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 10.5pt;">second pole down is a red-haired real sailor from the fleet, who shipped over to the Seabees. He called every one Mate. He probably was from Ohio. I don’t know who his partner on the power pole is. But I can picture his face. Just like runners, pole climbers have different styles.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Up to that point I had not done much that pleased him. That was my fault.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Eventually orders come and I am stationed at the Naval Air Station in South Weymouth Massachusetts. I work out of the Public Works electrical shop. We change fluorescent light bulbs, install duplex receptacles, and maintain the emergency generator and all the taxiway and runway lights. One runway was called 826. The second one was</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">17/35</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I forget the other one. Occasionally we have work to do at the two ammunition dumps in Hingham, Wompatuck and Bare Cove.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br />One day at 0800 muster, Chief Harley Taylor tells my section leader, Urbati, to take three sailors and go to Bare Cove and change the light on top of the rusty 80-year-old water tower. It is like the joke: How many Polacks does it take to change a light bulb? Two to turn the ladder, and one to install the lightbulb.” Urbati takes me aside and says, “I don’t need to take three men to the Hingham Ammunition Dump to change a lightbulb. It’s Friday. Why don’t you take an early liberty and go visit your girlfriend in Adams.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Oh I forgot to tell you, we also took care of the lights on the blimp hanger, which was 148 feet high. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 14px;">I got really good at giving tours to new Seabees, or anyone if they dared. Taylor gave me half a day off every time I climbed the inside stairs to reach the top and the magnificent view. Even sailors that didn’t like me had to admire my new-found courage at age twenty.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Look how little the orange and white water tower looks, compared to being on top of Hangar One!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Monday 0800 muster. The first thing out of the chief’s mouth is, “Did Bacon climb, or did he chicken out?” Urbati said, “He climbed.”<br /><br />Time goes by. Muster 0800. Urbati gets orders to Ethiopia of all places. He is gone. I have advanced in rank. The light on the rusty tower goes out again. Taylor says we need to fix it before a small plane crashes into it. "Bacon, take three men and go over to Bare Cove.”<br /><br />I do not know how tall that water tower was, but it was high. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">It looked like this.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">There were no safety belts. You are free climbing on your own. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The last twenty feet leans out before the roof peaks. A rusty ladder is welded to the floor of the roof. There are no hand rails. I remember the climbers rule: Never look down, and don’t stay on top ogling the view. You might freeze up, and then you are basically screwed. Oh, and then there is the red shouldered hawk who might dive bomb you, a clear objection to you being in his air space.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Mission accomplished. We drank beer on the way back to the base. There were no medals issued. But I should have received one.<br /><br />I’m almost 75 now, and Sandy will not let me go on our 30-foot roof to clean the gutters. It is a good thing.<br /><br />- Bacon R. F. <span style="font-family: "garamond";">10-93-63</span> United States Navy Seabee CEW 2</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-81742772786295278972019-10-08T20:45:00.002-04:002019-10-08T20:45:17.935-04:00Planet Zylonite<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">“I know he had a mustache.”</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">This is from Eugene Michalenko who is responsible for the Adams Massachusetts Historical Newsletter. He sings in the Saint Stanislaw Choir on Hoosac Street also. Sandy Zabek and I married there. Well, she is Polish. We attended on Sunday with Cioci Flo. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Sandy and I spent this whole last weekend in the Adams area celebrating our 52 second anniversary. Jack’s Hot Dogs, SWAT teams with drawn pistols on Howland Avenue, Mt. Greylock, Porches Hotel, Grazie Italian Restaurant, apples and cider, Hairpin Turn, my grandmother Hatties’ kitchen, fall foliage, St. Stan’s, train ride from Adams to North Adams, Mass MOCA, Angelina’s, George Haddad at the Red Carpet Restaurant on Park Street (opened in 1927 -- WOW!) Midgie Bechard, blah blah blah. It was so much fun that I just might write a blog about it. Or maybe I just did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">No wonder I like Eat-alian food. I spent my first eighteen years here. You probably did also. Aldo and Santino and Alvin and Etalo were common names. Taut, Hipe, Shorty. And I thought we had good nicknames. Remember Reno and Rose and Red and the beautiful Rosetta at Carnazola’s Store? Saturday night dances at the French Church, dandelion wine, anyone? Or how about a game of Kick the Can? Raise your hand if you went to Howland Avenue School. WRGB. Meet you for a pick-up game of baseball? See you at Eileen’s Dairy Bar. Did we have fun or what?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Kipper Avenue is now, and was for us, Apremont Street with a terrific story of why the name changed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The Quaker House, built in 1782, is on Friend Street. Some of the Friends fought at Bennington against the British.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> Comedian Steven Wright says he likes to reminisce with people he doesn’t know. But I remember you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-54579149167329169622019-06-30T13:56:00.004-04:002019-06-30T13:59:55.548-04:00North River Pontoon Boat Cruise<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGOEhWWOY9jKSYiAsjdpVvTbZz5j0KKLnlXYlHSpG0z-CLRWzAoeX35By2Ssxb1wnGyVtpocI5Tuu9zP87bTujrTtrHr29gnJ2N1QyRbHoadGan8chJpWeAAvyTRhNVC8r9lO1Ch6Jrgir/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-06-30+at+1.50.40+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1484" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGOEhWWOY9jKSYiAsjdpVvTbZz5j0KKLnlXYlHSpG0z-CLRWzAoeX35By2Ssxb1wnGyVtpocI5Tuu9zP87bTujrTtrHr29gnJ2N1QyRbHoadGan8chJpWeAAvyTRhNVC8r9lO1Ch6Jrgir/s400/Screen+Shot+2019-06-30+at+1.50.40+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kezia leads a North River Pontoon Boat Tour. Photo by Greg Derr.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">June 9 - Kezia arranged for a historical cruise for this Sunday afternoon by way of the North & South Rivers Watershed Association. There were nine of us on board. Mainly the tour was about the 24 shipyards that built wooden ships from the 1645 -1871. We took off from Mary's that is now called Roht Marine. Their restaurant was buzzing. The river was loaded with boats from The Spit and as far west as you could see or sea.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">My wife abandoned me for Colorado, so Kezia invited me along to fill my time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">There were over 1,000 ships launched. One was the Columbia that gave its name to a river in Oregon. Another was the Beaver. In 1773 Sam Adams and a bunch of his friends threw its load of tea from England into Boston Harbor. Some were built for the whalers in Nantucket and New Bedford. There was even mention of Tom Egan's favorite war, the King Philip's War, that affected Scituate, Norwell, Rehoboth, Deerfield and Medfield. It ended in Rhode Island. King Philip was the son of Massasoit and had a regal bearing, so the Pilgrims made fun of him and called him King Philp. His Wampanoag name was Metacomet. But you knew that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">It took 57 acres of trees and 2,000 oak trees to build one ship. This factoid is from Nathaniel Philbrick's book <i>The Hurricane's Eye</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Today was the most beautiful day we have had yet this year. Kezia told me to bring warm clothes but they were not needed. I brought a drink to hydrate me in a special container. And NO, wise ass person, it was not Coca Cola laced with Pussers Rum from Tortola.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Captain Bill has a long history with boat tours that handle five hundred people in Boston Harbour so the North River was not a big challenge for him. We were cruising right along. We stopped once to pick up a floating plastic bottle with a swimming pool skimmer. Nice touch.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Our tour director mentioned that in the 1600s to 1800s rivers were the way people got around. No one thought about 128 or Route 3 until 1957.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">The above paragraph jogged my memory of building an indoor pool on the river in 1976 and being held up by archaeologists who were sifting through the sand and gravel. I asked what they were doing and one of them explained that 5,000 years ago the Wampanoag camped on the north side, built their fires, and kept the southern sun on their faces. I said, "Wow, 500 years!" He said, "No, dummy. 5,000 years." He shoveled one shovel full of sand into a screen and there were seven arrowheads in the screen. I have a spearhead that is 8,300 years old. Whoa! Good spelling word <i>arcilojist</i> whatever.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">The house they discovered while extending the airport in Marshfield ten years ago turned up 11,000 artifacts. Some of them are 8,000 years old. Four jets are housed in Marshfield. You can fly by yourself to Chicago for only $20,000. And that is the truth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Along for the ride was photographer Greg Derr from The Quincy Patriot Ledger. He is also a birder. He has actually banded owls and osprey. He says osprey stink. One of the screech owls he banded at Daniel Webster Wildlife Sanctuary ended up in Montana. The osprey stand just west of the Route 3A bridge is named after its residents. Ozzie & Harriet Osprey. Old people, please explain this connection to the younger folk who don’t remember the 1950-60 TV show. First episode on TV: 1952. It pushed family values, whatever that means.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Kezia did a perfect job with props and notes. She was not stumped, not even once, by the many questions asked her. Her favorite place on the river is Couch Beach next to Blueberry Island. It is kind of obvious. Yes we talked about the book <i>The Red House</i>, of course. That is the oldest continually lived in house in New England. One of the daughters who grew up there in Two Mile wrote it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Wish you were there. I am sure that there will be an article with photos in the Ledger, so save it for us por favor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">To register for a Pontoon Boat tour (Kezia only leads a few per year, but NSRWA runs the trips every weekend), visit https://www.nsrwa.org/events/?customize_changeset_uuid=</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: garamond; font-size: 14px;">Article from the Ledger:</span><br />
https://www.patriotledger.com/entertainmentlife/20190629/back-in-time-with-north-river-pontoon-perspective?fbclid=IwAR0Yx7TUMyqWeo1Zz5Xepzap8Oqigel-3TxToQqnfBr6CoHf3u9gLGKM9nQBob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-77429780904578462702019-06-12T08:15:00.003-04:002019-06-12T08:15:58.899-04:00Just The Facts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">52 Sleeps in sunny warm Mexico this winter. <i>Febrero y Marza</i> 2019. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Sandy packed me 19 short-sleeve dress shirts.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Sandy y Bob. 52 years married. A coincidence? Engaged for five years also. Never mind.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeA4LE61T7WheFeiM5SEgZczeK_ElfDwaCnha1fmHrtPSGoCjSTqeEpUGzVPXNwwzLIKQnrhOP3XvQAOAi21dpc-cBVLVNjw2b5e2ouSKYGNmo7EHpfZ9VLuexmr1hkWDS03tU5JNTSQR9/s1600/JackWebbFriday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="463" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeA4LE61T7WheFeiM5SEgZczeK_ElfDwaCnha1fmHrtPSGoCjSTqeEpUGzVPXNwwzLIKQnrhOP3XvQAOAi21dpc-cBVLVNjw2b5e2ouSKYGNmo7EHpfZ9VLuexmr1hkWDS03tU5JNTSQR9/s320/JackWebbFriday.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">On the TV show "Dragnet," 1967-1970, Jack Webb playing Detective Joe Friday, while getting the information on whatever recent crime was committed, would always cut to the chase. When questioning the witnesses, he'd demand: “ just the facts.” One of his TV detective partners ended up on MASH as the first Colonel Henry. A free carnita to you if you know his real name.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">We started out in Punta Maroma on the south coast of the Yucatan. Isla Mujeres was next, followed by Puerto Juarez, then to Isla Holbox on the <i>Gulfo</i> Mexico. Then it was back to Isla Mujeres. This is my confession. Whoops! I just slid back to my former religion. <i>Lo siento.</i></span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Sandy and I stayed at eight different hotels. I know, I know, but we like to do that.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">The startling facts are that we ate at 54 restaurants. We tried 19 different new ones. Well, we have been traveling Quintana Roo for 34 years. Of the 19 new ones, we would do only four again. We ate out 187 times. Sorry we can’t join you for dinner this first week back.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Olivias, Mogagua, Lolas, Javis’s, La Esquina (the corner), North Garden, Rubens, El Veradero, and Chlitos topped the list for more than once.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">"How was the weather?" you ask. Hot! It rained only two days. Twice it rained at night, but it did not affect us. Many Mexican people walk with <i>sombrillas</i> to keep out the sun. As always, the ocean water was warm and blue. Holbox was the warmest ocean water we have EVER experienced. I always bring my swimming pool thermometer, but because it always registers 82, I left it home this time.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">I cannot read on the <i>playa</i>. There is too much to see. But someway, somehow I read eleven and one half books.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFLa-Xgce6bLFiPDbAt9F_EFrue_HeRv2MZLeB2rmVevuYQvIwDaHHDEBwcDP5kQ1D1gaylKGH3oMCJU9NvGkdmH27wA0W3v2dRu0y7S6PFX2Uwy6GI6o5ryRP_Mg3ccbZvWnEAJ1U43M/s1600/CaptainsWife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="318" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFLa-Xgce6bLFiPDbAt9F_EFrue_HeRv2MZLeB2rmVevuYQvIwDaHHDEBwcDP5kQ1D1gaylKGH3oMCJU9NvGkdmH27wA0W3v2dRu0y7S6PFX2Uwy6GI6o5ryRP_Mg3ccbZvWnEAJ1U43M/s320/CaptainsWife.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>The Captain's Wife</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Three years at sea, 1830, from New York to Manila and back, by way of Cape Horn and Elba, where Napoleon is buried. Madera wine originally came from Madera because they let it sit in the sun for longer than usual and it changed the flavor. Only Don Salmond knows this.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Casey Stengel </b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Manager of the NYY from 1950-1960. He was hit by a taxi in Kenmore Square and hospitalized. That is why he walked like he did. One year for Christmas, his wife bought him an ashtray. He was born in Kansas City and that is why they called him ...</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Dear Bob and Sue </b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">A couple do ALL 59 National Parks. They did Bright Angel Trail in the Grand Canyon and stayed at Phantom Ranch.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Indian Givers</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">How South and North America affected Europe, especially the potato impact. Who knew? Tomatoes tobacco, tequila, topkapi. Thanks Barb!</span></span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Sea of Glory</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Yup. Nathaniel Philbrick again. <i>Mayflower</i>, <i>In the Heart of the Sea</i>, blah blah blah, <i>Last Stand</i>, <i>Bunker Hill</i>, Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award, yada yada yada. He lives on Nantucket. Thanks Tomas!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Stranger in the Woods </b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">A twenty year old leaves his car in the Maine woods and disappears for the next twenty seven years. YCMTS up Thanks Eileen!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Hey Buddy! </b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Buddy Holly from a great perspective. Where were you on February 3, 1959? The day the music died. With his first big check, he bought new pews for his church.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Louis L'Amour </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">His life. Prize fighter, shipped out on a freighter, writer.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Black Flags, Blue Waters </b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Pirates of the Caribbean. Good stuff. Gracias Tomaso!</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>History of Wolves </b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">OK OK it was a novel and she didn’t marry the guy.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>Arthur Garfunkel </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Way too much poetry but an interesting life. Like a bridge over ...</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><b>True Heroes of Texas Music</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Texas musician legends like Willie, like Janis, Barbara Mandrell, Lyle. Like Waylon, Buddy, Freddy, George Jones. Like Flaco …… Sorry I overheard many "like" millennials talking on the beach. What is with the tattoos and nose rings and cigarettes? Did you get your TRAMP stamp before or after you found out what they were called? Wow, that thong bathing suit must hurt.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">A friend asks, “Why would you get a tattoo on a part of your body that you can’t see?" But can I please look closer at the one between your breasts?</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Oh and by the way, sixty year old guy, your fashion statement ball cap is on backwards. Jack ass.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Speaking of Dopey. Can you name Snow White's seven dwarves? And who came up with her name?</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Eleven folks joined us, probably for fear that our marriage would disintegrate with so much time alone together, Tom y Eileen, Annie y Dennis, Dave y Robin, three jogis from past retreats Janis, Illene and Nancy, and of course Marnie y Steve. We just missed Navy Seabee friends Janice and Fat Jack. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Disintegrate is a good spelling word. Thanks Google.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">We have made some friends in Mexico: </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Javis y Marla, Ariel y Bonnie from Alberta and Vera Cruz, Anna y Spartacus from <i>es-Spain</i>, Oswaldo, Ruben, Jon Carlo from Madagascar, David, David and David, Romel y Joanna, Nick y Dianna from Minnesota, Jessica y Anibal from Chiapas, Ken y Debbie from Indiana, Alberto from <i>Barthalona (</i>he owns Mogagua), Luis y Mary Theresa from France and Mexico City (they own Colores de Verano - the colors of summer - Hotel), Victor, Hortensia y Mauricio, Jorge, Jorge and Jorge, Victor again (he was in the movie from 1960 called "The Magnifico Seven,") Edgar, Martin from Quebec, Spanish Maria at PTO Morelos, Santa from Cleveland and the North Pole, Santiago, Salvatore, Mildred, Anna y Juan Carlos, Luis y Manual from PTO Morelos, Pedro, Carlos, Diego, Mosquito, Paeaso, El Penguino, Robin y Nayomi from Milano, Estavan, Rubin a second time, Nina y Nora Switzerland, Gaston, Ruffino, Enrique y Guadalupe and Jose, Laura Dumm “Lola" Oregon, Maria, Lior y Yuron Israel, Karen, Ricardo, Elvis from Villadolid (Bia doe leed), Gilbert, Margarita, Melania y Chucho Spain y Mexico City, Jesus, Lia y Mia Texas, Clara, Dino Puerto Vallarta, Lupita, Renee, Mario and Mario two, William Francis Giarmo, Ophelia, Alberto, Roberto, Victor (a different one), Joe from Detroit, Lilia Robles who owned hotel Na Balam for 30 years, Jan her friend married Stevie Ray Vaughan, Andrea from Saskatoon, Marvin, Susan, Loy, Polo of Mangos, Claudia, Armando, Fernando y Brenda from Argentina, but it seems EVERYONE is from Argentina, Monci from Merida, Donna y George from Michigan, Bruce y Marjorie from Maine, Axel, Lilia from Cuarnevaca, Aloy, Phillipe, Sonney from India, Maria, Iris, Braulio from Cancun no problemo ... even his Mom can’t pronounce his name, Irving, Nancy, queen of the Carnival 2018, Rafael owner of the Cuban Restaurante El Veradero, Luis (aha! we saw you with your boyfriend dancing at Face Bar Cantina), Lucia, Norma, Robert sells honey, Jesus, Pablo not Cruise or Escobar, Alexander, Milton 15 year old waiter at Javis (HAH v's), Lea May and the Mexican maestro from Isla Holbox who makes mandolas out of driftwood and played with the Russian symphony but chose to live on a Mexican island for forty years that did not have electricity until 1984. I probably missed some.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Fascinating places … fascinating people.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">For all or friends and familia and jogis who have shared this paradise with us, NAMASTE.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">--</span></span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">“What do you do there?" my good friend asks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">The restaurants are fabulous. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">The choices are incredible. Peruvian, French, <i>Eatalian</i> from Milano, Sardinian from Sardinia. Mexican? Yes. Cuban. Fish? Well Isla and Holbox are fishing villages. Mediterranean? You bet. People watching is simply astounding. Especially on the main <i>calle</i> on Isla. The United States is behind on some things. The main street on Isla, Hidalgo, has no vehicular traffic. All the electrical wires and telephone wires are buried. Christmas lights abound.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;"><i>Musica</i>. "Is there <i>musica</i>?" Oh my god! Cantinas, street music, classical Spanish guitars, flamenco, Ventures instrumentals, Cuban, Cumbia from Colombia. Jimmy Buffet and of course Bob Marley.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">“Yah but ... what about cost?" Well dinner generally costs $10-$20 per meal for two including drinks. A stiff margarita is four dollars compared to El Serape's $16. Cervezas are $1.30 to $ 2.50 compared to $5-$6 dollars U.S. One night we went totally against my rules and ate from the street vendors. Dinner set us back $5.25. Our Sicily trip cost us more than fifty two days in Mexico for only nine days. One year Florida at nine days cost us more than five weeks in Mexico. Good bye Florida.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">One of our friends is having a knee operation and asked Sandy to buy the pain meds in Mexico. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">In the United States they were $600. In Mexico they cost $18. </span><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">NO This is not a typo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">My 10,200 cans and bottles, cleaned off Marshfield streets in 2018, paid for almost all of our meals in Mexico.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">"How do you sum up your experience?" Great food, warmth, blue skies, blue water, no shoes, no coats. Eleven friends joining you at various intervals. It keeps the marriage fresh. Friends. The ones that joined us and the ones we have made.</span><br />
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<br />Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-5171969103945702992019-06-12T07:32:00.000-04:002019-06-12T07:32:06.979-04:00Men of Color to Arms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8T6JZWjFqH3iJwp8waL50Ko55y-M66TWWT9k_hy20pNN7d-KfvNHFThzDdY-9G5cZ8a3MAyEbc3EZI48ZIecdwTz7f41tlNQL14l2Ftte2jsAu0JtIZw1gTm3wXriJSOKmHaWHTD6-8G0/s1600/102494-primary-0-nativeres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="440" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8T6JZWjFqH3iJwp8waL50Ko55y-M66TWWT9k_hy20pNN7d-KfvNHFThzDdY-9G5cZ8a3MAyEbc3EZI48ZIecdwTz7f41tlNQL14l2Ftte2jsAu0JtIZw1gTm3wXriJSOKmHaWHTD6-8G0/s400/102494-primary-0-nativeres.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">In the 1860 Unites States census there were one thousand nine hundred and seventy three negro males in Massachusetts.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">You probably have heard of the 54th Massachusetts Infantry. They trained in Readsville. They fought and died at Fort Wagner in Chesapeake Bay during our Civil War. There was a movie that starred Matthew Broderick. It was called </span></span><i style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Glory</i><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">. It just did not make sense that he should play the white colonel of the 54th, Robert Gould Shaw. All I could think of was his role as Ferris Bueller. "Danke schoen, darling danka shane." "Bueller? Bueller?"</span></span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Although the Infantry was raised in Boston, many of the men volunteered from different states, especially Pennsylvania and Ohio. More black men came from New Bedford than signed up from Boston. White infantry men were paid $14 per month. But black men were only paid $11 per month, and they had to pay for their uniforms. Most blacks were freed men but there were also some runaways.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Check out Augustus Saint-Gaudens huge bronze relief on Tremont Street, on the north side of the Boston Common. Two hundred black men were still alive but were not chosen for the negro faces in the relief. Boston men were who were not veterans. It was unveiled in 1897. It is quite beautiful.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">The most stunning fact to me in Douglas R. Egerton's book <i>Thunder at the Gate</i>s is the fact that there were FOUR MILLION slaves in the South at the start of the Civil war. Well, George had 347 at Mount Vernon alone. Jefferson had a bunch. In the song “Ben McCulloch" Steve Earle sings, as a Texas southern white infantryman, “I don’t know what I'm fightin' for, I ain’t never owned a slave."</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">The last veteran of the 54th died in 1940.</span>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-31057026462782710702019-06-08T07:43:00.004-04:002019-08-08T10:33:24.487-04:00Ultramarathons<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHSKGmo1InON8uADGe2FhQcVYvCIJ8q6nJDbfYFJa7BxpZzzoDTaRHcoWvb8gBKY6wds3O4eAir5ebQ0_YOczt-AGDYTl9NjHEf6NlWdo1edcYY-6S7zi0ka9swFuk5bp4O8ZpO3OwiJaq/s1600/WS100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1215" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHSKGmo1InON8uADGe2FhQcVYvCIJ8q6nJDbfYFJa7BxpZzzoDTaRHcoWvb8gBKY6wds3O4eAir5ebQ0_YOczt-AGDYTl9NjHEf6NlWdo1edcYY-6S7zi0ka9swFuk5bp4O8ZpO3OwiJaq/s400/WS100.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo was taken at Elephant's Trunk in the Western States 100. Professional photographers were stationed at the end of a section of trail that is flat rock, and looks like an elephant's trunk from the air.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Salesman, smoker, tennis player. Started running to get fit. Dropped 43 pounds. Started in 1972 maybe. Ran for 23 years. Ran over 54,000 miles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">24,901 miles is the circumference of the earth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">I was out running a six miler by myself, at the corner of Webster Street and Careswell, late on a gloomy Saturday, when a runner pulled up alongside of me and asked if I was “doing Falmouth.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">"How long is Falmouth?" I asked. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">I ran Falmouth on the Cape. Running that race was the exact moment I became hooked on running.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">I was a slow -- embarrassing for all my efforts -- marathoner at 3:30 - 4 hours. Two NYC, 8 Bostons, some others. Embarrassing is an excellent spelling word. Excellent ain’t bad either.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Decided to try 50 milers and did better. Makes total sense, right? Eight hour finishes. Ran in Maine at the college that Joshua Chamberlain, one of the heroes of Gettysburg, taught at. Bowdoin. His wife found out he had joined the Union by reading the newspaper. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Decided to try 24-hour track ultras and found my calling. Makes total sense, right? Came in third in Rutland Vermont on my first attempt, and came in sixth in Framingham Massachusetts. Probably because no one else thought it was a good idea. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Note: You cannot get lost in a 24 hour track race. Someone said, “You must feel really good after a 100 mile run, and you must sleep really well.” No! Number 5. You feel like you were hit by a truck is the correct answer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">My first 100 was Vermont in 1990. I ran with Roger Welch's friend for the first 70 miles, but got lost -- alone on the trail -- three times at night with just me and my flashlight … but I finished. One NY woman remarked, “Right at this moment my friends are at the opera in NYC and I am here.” They hang little green lights in the trees and bushes along the course. You become very religious in praying to see the next one. They schedule the VT 100 during full moons.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">The Marshfield Road Runners of Massachusetts took notice. We only did marathons up till then. Marathons and bike riding. I started the trail running ultras. Eventually most of the Marshfield Road Runners took part in the 50’s and 100 milers at Vermont. Mary Kate Shea completed a 50 </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">by doing a cartwheel </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">over the finish line. Now she handles all the elite foreign runners for the BAA. Spelling again: elite -- good one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Roger and I formed an “Ultra Running Society." You could get in only by running 50 miles within the particular race cut- time. One guy finished a half hour late and we barred him. He is in Heaven now, laughing at this dumb e-mail. Amazingly, we all still have our original knees and hips. Finish WS one minute late and you are not acknowledged.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">We had some really good runners in our small club. Roger Welch did 144 miles in 24 hours in a NYC track race. Rich Boretti did 21 hours at Western States. Tom Donovan did 17 Bostons. Mike Coleman switched to race cars.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">I met Rich Busa at a 50 miler in Essex Junction Vermont. He was 60 and it was his very first 50 miler. I was 44. We stayed at the same B & B. We also have stayed friends for 30 years. He is kind of an interesting fellow. It took me 5 years to learn that he had won the Silver Star for Valor in Korea. He was a left-handed pitcher in a Texas league, and -- oh yeah -- he won 17 snowshoe races from Syracuse to Alaska . . . but now back to me. Only kidding. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">We had coffee in Marlboro last Saturday. He is still sharp as a tack, still married to his original <i>esposa</i>. Me too. In October he will be 90 years old. He has a Korea sticker on his vehicle. People are always coming up to him and thanking him for his service. Little do they know what a hero he actually was, and still is, to all of us who know him. He still goes to VT 100 to work the aid stations for 24-30 hours. That is nearly as hard as running 100 miles. Recently a 22 year old female collapsed into tears at Bill's Place around 80 miles in. She just could not go on. Her feet were loaded with huge blisters and her knees were killing her. Rich consoled her, and told he she had many years running ahead of her, and she would improve and finish.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Two DNFs (did not finish) at Western States 100 Mile Trail Race. I was pulled out at the Rucky Chucky River crossing for dizziness, by the clean up crew, who were on horseback. I did this with the support of my family. We stayed at the Super 8 in Truckee California. My daughter Kezia said, “Dad, if this is the Super 8, I would hate to see the Regular 8."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: "garamond";">Not far west of the cowboy town of Truckee, named after a local Indian chief, is where the famous Donner/Reed covered wagon Party in 1846-47 became snowbound and stranded. Out of the Sierras, not that far away, is the San Joaquin Valley where there are palm trees growing. In October the tractor trailer rig drivers can be seen putting on tire chains to help them get over the mountain. The Lake Tahoe area gets some serious weather.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">WS was originally a horse race on a mule trail. Watch out for cougars. But the second time, four years later, I was ready. I had done my 8th Boston as a training run and it was a breeze. Weight down to my high school football days. Brought three experienced runners with me. Rich Busa would run with me from Forest Hills mile 70 to the end. Elephant's Trunk, feeling good. At Robinson Flat, I still felt strong. Red Star Ridge -- nice. I made my worst running decision ever in my running life at mile 55. No blisters, more than half the race complete. In only 15 more miles I would have a handler to run with me. He couldn’t be a mule for me, but he could think for me and encourage me. In a 100 mile race your thinking becomes difficult. Your fingers swell. Don’t wear your rings. You will lose ALL your toenails no matter what. Even your nipples hurt. The 100-120 degree heat in the canyons heat was over. The snow at 8,800 feet was only at the start at Squaw Valley. No more painful down hills. You actually pray for uphills. The downhills kill your quads. The hardest part was over and I stopped. I just stopped. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Currently only 3% of the entrants get accepted into the Western States 100. Crazy! Only 4 % qualify for the Boston Marathon. One million 400 thousand water cups are ordered for the BAA marathon this year. Only 1% are ultra marathoners.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">I then decided on a total whim after a wedding in Springfield Massachusetts to run home from the base of Mount Greylock, the highest mountain in Massachusetts, across the whole state, to Marshfield on the coast where we live. I ran by myself. No GPS, no cell phones, no brains. My wife Sandy would try to find me and meet me with food and drink along the way. We used a road map. It took three days and four hours before I ran into the Atlantic Ocean at Fieldston. It was Halloween time, and I only ran from 7am to 5 pm per day because of the darkness. Some would say it was a bonehead decision. All are correct. The Springfield marriage did not last. We are still going strong after 52 years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">The Magnificent Seven movie, 1960. In the movie someone asked one of the stars, Steve McQueen, why he did a another bonehead thing in the movie. His response was, “It seemed like a good idea at the time."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">In Mexico, on a small island last <i>Febrero</i>, I met for the first time, Alexandro, at his store on Calle Hidalgo. He played a child in that movie in Cuernavaca, south of Mexico City, way back when. The name of his shop is Ek Balam. He asked me how old I was. That happens a lot lately. Usually asked to me by old men. Comparing themselves to me? I don’t know for sure. I’m 74 now. </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">I have outlived everyone in my <i>familia</i> except my great uncle George Washington Bacon and his <i>esposa,</i> Georgina.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Do not worry. There was an article recently in a Heath magazine that equated miles run to longevity. Do the math. I will make it to age 147.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Robert Francis Bacon AKA </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Roberto Francisco Tocino </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Junio siete 2019</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-80759836953121398202019-01-05T17:52:00.005-05:002019-01-05T17:52:55.131-05:00Worth a Thousand<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">So what if my financial advisor, my dentist, my urologist, and my barber all chose to abandon me for sweet retirement in 2018. BFD</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Sandy said, "Why don’t you try this barber in Green Harbor?" I called. They don’t take appointments. What? I try a barber downtown. They have big screen TVs and snappy-looking hair stylists. Guess what? They don’t take appointments either.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">For 40 years I would call Yankee Clipper -- cool name if you think about it, for a harbor and ship-building town -- and schedule my appointment with my friend Carol Santacross. A relative changed their name from Santacroce because of the racial bias against Eatalians in Boston at the time. Are you kidding me? Who doesn’t love Italians? Who doesn’t like pasta fagioli?</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">I am starting to look like Forrest . . . Forrest Gump when he decided to run across the country. OK I will give Green Harbor Barber a shot for the pleasure of cutting my hair and trimming my beard and mustache. I call. No answer. No message on their machine either. I Google. They -- there are two barbers -- open at 10. I arrive at 10. Parked on either side of me are two customers. 10:18 she arrives. She is encumbered by something, but from the tall vehicles on either side of me I cannot see why she is moving so slowly. She unlocks the door and lets her dog enter first.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Cosmetology salons Chapter 61G5-20. "No animals shall be allowed in salon." You can, however, have fish.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Naturally the dog greets me on my entry. "How long until I can get a haircut?” She says she is the only barber.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">I try my second choice in downtown Marshfield. It is even worse than I remember. Both stylists are showing off their tattoos. As you remember, Sandy owned a day spa for 17 years. She had hair stylists, massage therapists and estheticians. Each group looks so different. You can actually see the difference and you know who is who. I am in a hair salon and it is obvious to me that I am in a hair salon. I am asked to sign in on their computer. They want my e-mail address and telephone number and they INSIST that it is OK to TEXT me. Not this cowboy. Never. Let's just say it is not a good start for the 73 year old. I type in an incorrect cell phone number. E-mail address? Not today. I am in the chair. Should she do a Number 2 or a Number 1 on me? Do you want a sand filter or a diatomaceous filter? How the hell should I know? I am a pool guy, in for a simple hair cut and beard trim. We decide on a Number 2. </span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">It seems that this week my hair stylist cracked a tooth while eating or drinking a pomegranate drink. Her dentist is off till next week. “What the fuck," she says. “I will have to drink Jack Daniels over the weekend for the pain." Help me, Dear God, for I am so fucking far out of my league. Whoops, did I say the F-word? How unprofessional of me.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Pomegranate is a wonderful spelling test word.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">On the way home, I am kind of itchy from the hair cut. Somehow with Carol I never was. Remember the old days with the hand clippers and the pain they caused?</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">I catch Sandy in the kitchen. She says, "What happened to you? Your mustache is totally crooked." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">It's true. If I frown, it looks really bad. But if I smile it looks ok.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Later I say "Hi" to my grandson Abel and he says, “Grampa, you look so different."</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Kezia took these photos.</span><br />
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<br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" />Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-48936450761259561962018-10-23T20:43:00.001-04:002018-10-23T20:43:21.867-04:00Cheyenne, Wyoming<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">“All my sisters soon were gone, to Denver and Cheyenne” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">From “My Father,” a Judy Collins tune from 1968.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">Cheyenne Wyoming has been on my travel list forever to visit. Rhode Island has way more people in it than Wyoming -- Wyoming being our 10th largest state. YAH we saw buffalo along Route 25 and bighorn sheep on the way to Rocky Mountain National Park. Did you go to a national park this year? Why not? 4.5 million people went to Rocky Mountain National Park in 2017. Tom Egan introduced me to Estes a while back. We hiked Bear Lake. And Gettysburg and Moab and Tombstone and Leadville and Yosemite and …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">People who lived in Cheyenne:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">Pat Paulson<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">The Union Pacific Railroad founded this town. We loved hearing the trains traveling through, especially at night. We stayed at the historic 1911 Plains Hotel. It was not that long ago that the stagecoach ran from here up to Deadwood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">We are just back from visiting Steve and daughter Marnie in Fort Collins, Colorado. It snowed the night before we drove 45 minutes to Cheyenne. Our icy walk from the Plains Hotel to Hacienda Guadalajara Mexican restaurant was freezing in the 13-degree temperature.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">We had a few setbacks on the trip. Our computer was out for EIGHT weeks. This blog post was my very first e-mail when we finally got it back. Sandy’s fancy phone died on the first day in Colorado. My simple old phone that people laugh about still works. On Steve’s birthday, I ended up in the hospital with my kidney stones acting up. All of Marnie’s dashboard lights came on. It is amazing that she had no troubles on her and Kerri's 2,000-mile trip out. Even thought all this happened, we still had a sweet time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">After Sandy’s phone gets fixed, we are canceling our home phone. Maybe that will stop all the robocalls during dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">Marnie and Steve’s townhouse is spacious and warm in Fort Collins. They are enjoying being together after first meeting 30 years ago. They actually -- years ago -- rode Big Wheels together in the neighborhood. ycmtstuff u Spacious is an excellent spelling word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;"> I did NOT miss the computer but I did miss Google.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">Gracias to all you joga people who showed Marnie so much love on her big adventure and on her CD release party.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">So we are home. St. Augustine is up next, in Florida, for Marnie’s next yoga retreat. Then the Berkshires this spring, followed by Corfu, Greece, in Septembre. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">The Egans built a home next to ours in 1980. Son Paul Egan gets married to Danielle in Novembre, in Pennsylani,a so we are working on that. He still calls me Uncle Bob and I love it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">52 days set for Mexico vacation in the spring. Three couples are joining us. Are you one of them?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">Nearly all of these facts are true. I would NEVER lie to you mi amor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">FUN photo below of Sandy packing for home at Maria del Mar “Cabanas” on Isla Mujeres, Mexico, taken 100 years ago. Gracias Clara. Our first trip here was in 1988. Did I ever tell you the story on how and why? ja ja<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">su servidor, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 16pt;">Roberto Francisco Tocino<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-67134749628641380372018-08-08T14:48:00.002-04:002018-08-08T14:49:12.583-04:00And She Will Smile Every Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">A first class old fashion showman -- that is how I characterize Lyle Lovett. His <i>grande</i> band played at the South Shore Music Circus in Cohasset, Massachusetts last night. It can be stifling hot inside the tent in the round, but it had rained all afternoon to cool things down a bit on the South Shore, and during the show, a breeze would come through now and then. Stifling is a good spelling word. Does Lyle polish his own, up-to-the-knees cowboy boots? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Do you know anyone named Lyle? I actually grew up with Lyle Jelley. Joanne was his older sister and Jamie was the younger brother. They moved to Zylonite from Pownal, Vermont. The family owned a rest home, as they called them back then, on Old Columbia Street. My Russian grandfather Walter Lemanski did time there. In high school, I dated Judy Pikul. Dad played football with Walter Kriple. Rosa met Joe LaRosa and they married. Now she is Rosa LaRosa.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">I swore off concerts like this years ago because of the patrons with their cell phones and drunken behavior, talking, dancing in the aisles, and standing through most of the show. That sounds like a Cajun dance hall that we love so much. Not sure why I agreed to last night, but I did. I went with no expectations. For me that is a good thing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">2018 - 1967 = 51 years that we have been going there. The Cowsills, Frankie Valli, The 5th Dimension, Frankie Avaloni, Bobby Ryderelli and Fabian Forte, Art Garfunkel, Neil Sedaka, Judy Collins, the Everly Brothers, Susan Tedeschi, Diana Ross, Tony Bennedeto, Willie, Boz Scaggs a few times, and the Beatles Show, to name only a few. Scary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Oh my god! I forgot Chuck Berry. Chuck came down the aisle to open his show and our friend Maggie said, OUT LOUD, “I didn’t know he was black."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Why was it such a special night? Let me count the ways.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">A stage that rotates. No cell phones, no standing during the show, no intermission, no second-rate warm-up group, <i>musica</i> from a mandolin, steel guitar and a fiddle. David Greely once said the difference between and fiddle and a violin is you can spill beer on a fiddle. Even though it was warm, the whole band was dressed in nice, expensive black suits. They all wore ties. They had nice haircuts. They mentioned Texas quite a bit. But Lyle calls it <i>Tegsas</i>. Remember the bands from the 50s? Grown ups and professionals. Nice. An aisle seat for me. We never had to stand up once during the two and a half hour show to let people by. The third row in front of us certainly did, but in our ninth row we did not. One year a ritzy Cohasset couple came in late to their front row seats, disrupting the show. The entertainer stopped and said to them, “Can I get you anything? A glass of wine, some popcorn . . . a watch?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Lyle Lovett has developed his own performing style. Not unlike Leonard or Bruce or even Elvis. I don’t know of any band like his. Do you? He has a terrific sense of humor. At one point they had a technical problem. To give the crew time to repair it, he told a story about a show that they did in Oregon. During the show, one of their buses caught on fire. The Oregon fans thought that it was part of the show. He paused made a face and dryly said, "Portland!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";"><span style="font-size: 14px;">“ Steamin' greasy plate of enchiladas, . . . with ice tea and a waitress, and she will smile every time.” He forgot one of my favorites but thats okay. He named it "This Old Porch."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Lyle talked about his 29-year-old guitar. The man who made it originally was from Scituate, Massachusetts, where he made wooden boats. He was at this show and it was his birthday. Please file this under ycmtstuff u.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Sandy and I bumped into four <i>joga</i> couples from daughter Marnie's retreats. We missed you. Were you there?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">After the show, we found a bar that had heard about mescal sours and even knew how to make them. Sea salted & spiced rim and everything. Jen the bartender introduced us also to cucumber margaritas. Yum.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Two hours later. on our way home, at midnight we bumped into Lyle's two large buses heading south on Route 3A. You can’t make this stuff up. Instead of heading up Route 123 to Assinippi at the rotary, they took Pine Street in Marshfield up to Union and then probably went south on Route 3 towards the Cape Cod Melody tent in Hyannis, and to their next show which is tonight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">We went straight. I am pretty sure it was Lyle who waved to us as they drove up Pine Street.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14px;">Thanks for tuning in to our world. No need to reply. Just nod if you enjoyed my blog.</span>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-7385963118767770322018-07-19T10:19:00.002-04:002018-07-22T14:43:25.317-04:00Sea-Ment<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14pt;">I was 13 years old in 1958. I had a job working for Rene Comeau Trucking. In Adams we pronounced the French name "Rainey," but thinking back 60 years, properly he should have been called Renee as in “Don’t walk away Renee.” But his nickname was Smokey. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14pt;">There were Comeaus forced out of Acadia by an English general whose house still stands in Marshfield from 1699. Adams was a manly town and you would not call a man a girl's name. You also would never wear a tie into Chick's Café. Unless you wanted trouble. Mr. Comeau would have been appropriate. Mr. Comeau owned the trucking company that hauled the limestone products from New England Lime Company on Route 8, Howland Avenue. Rene always drove a beautiful Cadillac. That's when Cadillacs were Cadillacs. He had pure white hair and a permanent smile. Nice fella. Mom waited on him at Eileen’s Dairy Bar in the Italian Zylonite section of Adams. Eileen's lunches were wholesome and awesome and there was a lot of limestone covered parking lot in which to park your big tractor trailer rig. Mom got me the job to keep me out of trouble. The $15 a trip, 15-hour round trip to NYC wasn’t bad either.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">So Rolland the tractor trailer driver and I are at a dock at 7am in Brooklyn -- it is in New York City kind of -- unloading 100 pound bags of limestone dust. At the end of that particular dock stood the Statue of Liberty. Quite a sight for someone who had never been out of the Hoosac Valley. We would handcart it to the end of the trailer box and unload it onto a wooden pallet. The handcart took seven 100-lb. bags. Then a forklift operator would pick it up and bring it to a ship. Not all of it left the country. A lot of it went to line the ball fields of the old Yankee Stadium. No wonder that almost everyone in Adams was a Yankees fan. Some went into toothpaste, and the rest to animal feed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: medium;">So around the corner comes the fork lift operator. To my total surprise, he is a black man. Possibly the very first one I ever saw. He is well dressed, and his handsome smile shows some silver or gold teeth. He hollers out to us, “What you boys got in dem bags -- sea-ment?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Why do I remember this so well? It probably is the reason why today I am in the <i>sea-ment</i> business. And that's the truth. I am sure of it. Besides I would never lie to you, mi amore. Never.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-89019967819727973342018-05-02T15:40:00.002-04:002018-05-02T15:40:33.050-04:0030 Right Whales<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">April 22: The right whales did not come last year. But they are here yesterday and today. Just cruising our Atlantic Ocean coast of Brant Rock with their mouths wide open fishing. The Brant Rock section of Marshfield is named for the Brant ducks that live here. Seagulls are flying all around them, catching what the whales miss. An airplane from the Boston Aquarium is keeping track of them and actually took a count. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Boaters from Greene’s Harbour are out taking photos. These whales can grow to be 59 feet long. That is two telephone pole lengths, end to end. Green Harbor is named after the first mate of some ship that was called Mayflower. He was called William Greene in 1620. For 10 points, who was the captain of that ship? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">The right whales know to come now, before our Massachusetts fishermen set their lobster traps, which the whales know they can become entangled in. Some kind of ducks follow them also. Brant Rock has hundreds of people observing from the seawalls. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3ZVDAqPnIBNk3u8Xrc8SSj7-cjtEYfjMATEj-IFuBisbpPoXN-3yqkwMBNbfvnqlXV3awow5ElNXMty9ETYKi8N_reg3ooOOU4D7pVIZFm5HiBQ4p0nZs2qdTUNSNT8c0BBm1263mF_v/s1600/MarnieMomWhalesFB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="480" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3ZVDAqPnIBNk3u8Xrc8SSj7-cjtEYfjMATEj-IFuBisbpPoXN-3yqkwMBNbfvnqlXV3awow5ElNXMty9ETYKi8N_reg3ooOOU4D7pVIZFm5HiBQ4p0nZs2qdTUNSNT8c0BBm1263mF_v/s400/MarnieMomWhalesFB.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">In March, this section of town was hit by waves that were twice the height of the beachfront homes. The photos made the national news. A few of those homes are totally missing now. But everyone is smiling today. It is finally a beautiful sunny mid 50’s day. Boston’s ocean water temperature is 43. Nantucket Sound is registering 45.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">Marnie and Sandy were interviewed and photographed by the Patriot Ledger News out of Quincy.</span><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14px;">“ Here comes summer. Well go swimming every day. Here comes summer. Meet the gang at Joe’s Cafe" (1958)</span>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-77478482334851224572018-04-25T14:00:00.001-04:002018-04-25T14:00:05.849-04:00Bio for my 55th High School ReunionClass of 1963<div>
Adams Memorial High School<div>
Adams, Massachusetts</div>
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At Raphael’s Cuban ristorante, El Varadero, on Isla Mujeres <o:p class=""></o:p></div>
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Robert "Bob" Bacon</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Not being any kind of a student or having any particular talent, I had few options for the rest of my life. After graduating in 1963, and following John F. Kennedy’s assassination in November, I joined the United States Navy Seabees and grew up quickly in the following 80 days at Great Lakes boot camp. Assassination is a good spelling word. Dad was a Seabee, and I was born at the hospital on the hill in Adams while he was fighting in Okinawa. I gave my country four and a half years of my young life and loved it. I attended Navy Construction Electrician school in Port Hueneme, California. But I never wanted to work with my hands. I get no enjoyment from it. I’ll split wood, or rake, but do not hand me a tool. One of my jobs as an electrician was changing lights on runways and taxiways, water towers, and airplane and blimp hangers. I truly have no close high school friends, but I have nine close Seabee friends that still meet yearly. Comedian Stephen Wright says that he likes to reminisce with people he doesn’t know. <o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I ran the coffee mess at my last naval air duty station and was told that I was good at it. I joined the Friendly Ice Cream management program right after I was honorably discharged, but after two years I quit and I drifted. I carried a pistol and drove Yellow Cab for a while. Only once was there was an attempted robbery. No shots were fired.<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Reliable Fence Company of Norwell Massachusetts was hiring salesman. I chatted with a man in the showroom who turned out to be the vice president of the company. He called me back the next evening and said if I changed my eyeglasses and shaved off my mustache the job was mine. I had wire rimmed hippie glasses. In one year I was the top salesman out of twenty-eight. I finally found something that I was really good at. Seven years later the owner of a swimming pool company approached me and said I could make twice as much money working for him, and would have four months off every winter.<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I took the chance and ended up selling 1181 in-ground gunite pool projects in eastern Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and southern New Hampshire in thirty years. This led me into the concrete business that I currently work in. Retirement just will not work for me.<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I love numbers. Here are my numbers. Johnny H. once said, “the only thing he knew about algebra was that x equaled 3."<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Married to Sandy Zabek, class of 1964, for over 50 years. I met her at a high school dance in the original Adams High gym in 1960. In 1985 we discovered Louisiana Cajun / Zydeco dancing, which certainly has shaped our leisure time and travels, and live band house parties here in Marshfield.<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Built a house in Marshfield Massachusetts in 1972 that now has six additions. It is on a cranberry bog. My brother and I cleared the lot with axes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve sold stuff to over 8,000 households in 145 different towns.<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Fell into running, which was a great break from selling. Gave up smoking. I have run over 54,000 miles. Google says that Mother Earth is 24,901 miles in circumference. Health magazines say that with my running history I should live to be 147.<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was not a good marathoner, but excelled at much longer distances, such as 50 and 100 mile races. I did them from California to Vermont. On a whim I once ran 200 miles by myself from Zylonite to Rexhame Beach in Marshfield. It was Halloween time, and it was dark by 5:00pm so I only could run 10 hours a day, x3 days, plus four hours on the last day. April 1996 was my final Boston and my eighth finish. Eight is my very favorite number. I used it as a training run for my final Western States 100 trail run in California near Squaw Valley and Tahoe. One year at Boston I started off in Hopkinton dead last on purpose. There were some terrific 24-hour track runs. Sounds crazy, but you cannot get lost on a track and you don’t need to carry a thing. Lost at 3:00am near Red Star Ridge by yourself on a remote, rocky mule trail is no fun. There are mind games to be played while running for 24 hours. When I first thought of doing it, a friend asked, “When was the last time you were up for 24 straight hours, never mind on your legs and moving?"<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Road running led to side road cleaning. I keep track of the number of cans and bottles that I pick up. In 2015 I picked up 27,000. I bought this Apple laptop with the money. Last year I bought a snow blower. Duxbury beach is one of my designated cleaning areas.<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We travel a bit. We have been to Istanbul, Bogota, Portugal, Virgin Gorda, Meeteetse Wyoming, Costa Rica, and 646 other places. If you ever get a chance to go to Bogota, don’t. Mexico is a favorite, and we spend every winter on an island there. This year was our 30th at Hotel Na Balam. One of my daughters (I have two) teaches yoga internationally. Sandy I go along to assist with the golf cart tours and snorkeling trips. That has brought us to Sicily, Greece (History teacher Mr. Bolger would be shocked by this fact) Cartagena, and Mexico so far. “At times Bacon could not find his locker, but he did a sailing trip to the Greek Islands?” I had never even been to Amherst, never mind Paris. My family only traveled to Lake George, New York. Years later it dawned on me that we had no books in our little house on 90 Howland Avenue.<o:p class=""></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My first daughter is a writer, which I suppose led me to write a blog. You can find it at bobbacons<a class="" href="http://world.blogspot.com/"><span class="" style="color: #386eff;">world.blogspot.com</span></a>. She edits it for me. I really enjoy writing. My e-mail address is my name in Spanish. My Mexican amigos ask “Roberto, your name in the US is Bob?”</span></div>
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Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-60991027920856515952018-04-14T14:09:00.001-04:002018-04-14T14:11:27.509-04:00Holy Molé<br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Puerto Morelos is just
south of Cancun, 20 km, and is touted as the next Isla Mujeres, but it isn’t. It
has two main streets. One is called Avenue Ninos Heroes. Unlike Cancun, it has
no Krispy Kreme, Hooters, McDonald's, or bull fighting ring. It does have a
quant <i>zocalo</i> (park) where you can watch current movies for free against a white
cinder block wall, or taste all the food that the vendors are cooking, frying
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"><i>Domingo</i> is <i>playa</i> day,
and every Mexican family is enjoying the beach. Most swim in their clothes.
They bring Cokes, Orange Fanta, and Sol or Tecate <i>cervaza</i>, sandwiches and salty
treats to eat. People-watching is fun. One year, as we were sitting on a park
bench, the kind where you face one another like in Valladolid (by-a-dough-leed),
a Mexican man armed with a machete brushed passed us, climbed a coconut palm,
and cut down some coconuts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Puerto Morelos is a
really easy place to snorkel, with a long reef just off the white soft sand
<i>playa</i>. It is the world’s second largest barrier reef. The signs say, even
though it is a short distance, "DO NOT try to swim there." Snorkeling fuels Puerto
Morelos’s economy along with some wonderful <i>ristorantes</i>. The pace is a slow,
hot crawl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Sandy comes back from getting
her hair done at Layla’s and tells me that she has signed us up for a bird tour
on the only road leading west, called the Ruta de los Cenote. The girl that
colored her hair told her about it. Damn. Now the secret is out about Sandy’s
hair. The hairdresser/waitress is from Milan. Of course. That makes perfect
sense. A visit to a <i>cenote</i> is not on the schedule today. A <i>cenote</i> is a fresh
water cave that you can swim in. The names of a few on this old chicle railroad
bed are Kin Ha (I know “ha” in Mayan is “water”), Zapote, Verde Lucero (<i>verde</i>
is green), and La Noria. There are many <i>pantera</i> crossing signs. It’s a jungle
out there. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnd4FzcYXqmSAtl5O-XMWF7Vd6o1M19vxl3KfQSKvXdS9USHYyy5Xw8zW6zOcf2mFWOkkzm5zT-XuF3Y0aTIzI6uhQW5vmiT9pStDv86IKfXbdc2GxxX59N3XfVt_y7o7BMR6QbCmuOxUa/s1600/chiclero-farmer-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnd4FzcYXqmSAtl5O-XMWF7Vd6o1M19vxl3KfQSKvXdS9USHYyy5Xw8zW6zOcf2mFWOkkzm5zT-XuF3Y0aTIzI6uhQW5vmiT9pStDv86IKfXbdc2GxxX59N3XfVt_y7o7BMR6QbCmuOxUa/s400/chiclero-farmer-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">See these cuts? The sap
runs down and is collected to make gum. Do you remember Black Jack or Double
Bubble or Spearmint? Well it was. Now gum is man-made.</span>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">There are thirteen of us
on this bird tour. Most are Canadians from White Horse, Alberta and Toronto,
who come away from the cold the first of December and do not go back until May.
You thought our 50-day Mexican vacation was excessive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">We pull over and park.
Robin, our guide, walks us into the jungle. What the hell? This looks like
a junkyard, but instead of cars, this Maya village has wood carvings -- started,
finished and complete. Do you want a wooden bust made for you that really looks
like you? Chain saws are sawing. Chainfalls abound for lifting. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh47EyUx_pB2H_Dwv77VB4Zx0PdMODuaNAQ-t9qosZN5mTE1jp0w-q0TNWPzMXqPzcBRNYrxrye5rn2ifGwAUW4PTbmPTJpZYhgzZzTQW6tPIczDEVgdmRkAYsSnQntEd52JDBGx3r8KP8-/s1600/bench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1053" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh47EyUx_pB2H_Dwv77VB4Zx0PdMODuaNAQ-t9qosZN5mTE1jp0w-q0TNWPzMXqPzcBRNYrxrye5rn2ifGwAUW4PTbmPTJpZYhgzZzTQW6tPIczDEVgdmRkAYsSnQntEd52JDBGx3r8KP8-/s400/bench.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wooden benches carved in the jungle, at Mango's.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskV3Bpk0sKdXmkqt3QIgr-o5IOrviuHCSHsYwDb53cvmetg6OLtJzwLtWnhSiREPsa0_9AVPxc8YhHSWEdT-1v0uKjUpf5vSogrjvVwVp4t8P0Ezjk_pBQA9D0bliH6C5YwIoVHqM5r95/s1600/NaBalamBeams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1007" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskV3Bpk0sKdXmkqt3QIgr-o5IOrviuHCSHsYwDb53cvmetg6OLtJzwLtWnhSiREPsa0_9AVPxc8YhHSWEdT-1v0uKjUpf5vSogrjvVwVp4t8P0Ezjk_pBQA9D0bliH6C5YwIoVHqM5r95/s400/NaBalamBeams.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wooden beams from the jungle at the restaurant at Na Balam.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">We are in a Maya village
that gets no sunlight. There are no bugs. A man who seems to be the village
chief greets us. Robin says his name is Braulio Poc Chuc. He is a fourth
generation wood carver and artist. His Spanish sounds Mayan. He points out
macaws in the tall trees. </span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1Lc5dpon5wBagbJsdpx733TTSjc3t4aeYMKcy8vTrV86d1rLWo0WfkaPVH0WDLlkjK-ee8yzRdKRWO48pXFTNovstKMTo_HMCu2MHdnxM0SALLhlt0uS4FUI4g1VyZ9SrpSE5DD69Dyo/s1600/Macaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1600" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1Lc5dpon5wBagbJsdpx733TTSjc3t4aeYMKcy8vTrV86d1rLWo0WfkaPVH0WDLlkjK-ee8yzRdKRWO48pXFTNovstKMTo_HMCu2MHdnxM0SALLhlt0uS4FUI4g1VyZ9SrpSE5DD69Dyo/s400/Macaw.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macaws were high in the trees over the Maya village.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">A group of green parrots
fly by. Across the road where we are parked, there are many spider monkeys
putting on a show, hanging from their arms and legs and really long tails. We
are not that far from busy route 307 which takes you south down to Chetumal and
the Belize border. So close to a major highway, yet the animal life is amazing.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlJ_NlLCcnfo0ZTU3-S0kKWaVPKXb10uXUfxg3qrcFTtdYTDo1o6oDiAfYhjVg8z6OXnu5mcc57Kp3V9GgcQAU93E_RC1InveXZ3B7YFEm8T7GpVr5sRGaCCwmPgfDVwzUBkYzyHUxh0Ex/s1600/parrots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="1600" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlJ_NlLCcnfo0ZTU3-S0kKWaVPKXb10uXUfxg3qrcFTtdYTDo1o6oDiAfYhjVg8z6OXnu5mcc57Kp3V9GgcQAU93E_RC1InveXZ3B7YFEm8T7GpVr5sRGaCCwmPgfDVwzUBkYzyHUxh0Ex/s400/parrots.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We saw many of these parrots flying freely, in a group.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Sandy kept it a secret
from me that this is also a food tour. A woman introduced as Adalita has a huge
pot of molé heating under an outside wood fire. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQ7gPpzbujONbuGYLghsgS9YhAMjZaMNgxA4hl-xMfxiHLIi8CjB-FD0l43mOQLLwIb2qVBZX97srOPFxoF7m9INUyo4sVSWC2IfB7RaysqVGUlUi4GwIE_01Fgsdst4xVkXB7kWaaovw/s1600/MakingMole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1021" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQ7gPpzbujONbuGYLghsgS9YhAMjZaMNgxA4hl-xMfxiHLIi8CjB-FD0l43mOQLLwIb2qVBZX97srOPFxoF7m9INUyo4sVSWC2IfB7RaysqVGUlUi4GwIE_01Fgsdst4xVkXB7kWaaovw/s400/MakingMole.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">None of us understand
the words she is saying, but we know the foods that she is adding. Plantains,
<i>pollo</i> (chicken), tomato, hot peppers, <i>azucar</i> (sugar), and animal crackers to
thicken. Mexico introduced tomato, White Owl cigars, chocolate, and tequila to
the world. The original recipe in molé was stale bread. She slides in three of
those big chocolate hockey pucks of Abuelita Mexican bitter sweets into the
boiling cauldron. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">I counted seventeen
ingredients. Her mother, the <i>abuela</i>, stands to her side just silently watching.
Yogi Berra said you can observing a lot by watching.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKQiMtiO1WZYzCXR-4oZ0HjPg86IxX_sOhq78tYZPGZrMThxXGDlwcxlYv4KR0aID_RM7nQb6aBEQq2nPnW9UHOiQmkIY8YdU_Pdz5US9nJxh5S6VErYPKvZLHjhmoDFY_tI1uGVE4-AW/s1600/MayaStatue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1074" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKQiMtiO1WZYzCXR-4oZ0HjPg86IxX_sOhq78tYZPGZrMThxXGDlwcxlYv4KR0aID_RM7nQb6aBEQq2nPnW9UHOiQmkIY8YdU_Pdz5US9nJxh5S6VErYPKvZLHjhmoDFY_tI1uGVE4-AW/s400/MayaStatue.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">This original recipe is
from the west side of Mexico at Puebla. Rumor has it that 16th century nuns of
the convent Santa Rosa, upon learning that the archbishop was visiting, went
into panic mode because they had nothing to serve him. <i>Nada</i>. The nuns started
praying desperately and an angel came to inspire them. They basically threw
everything they had into the pot. What they served him is today called molé poblano.
Do you believe in angels? I do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">We go into the kitchen
to make the tortillas. Adalita has a refrigerator covered in rust. She even has
a blender and a microwave. The roof is of rusty corrugated tin. The floor is
dirt. There are no walls. Somehow this works in the jungle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">We sit on outside picnic
tables and are served some kind of jungle <i>bebida</i>. There are no knives or forks.
Think about it. Mexican food was made to eat with your hands. Tacos, tortillas,
<i>pico de gallo</i> (beak of the rooster), chile rellenos. Maybe not chile rellenos.
Perhaps, at an all inclusive, they will mash some avocados at your table while
making guacamole. Do not pronounce the “G.” Oh and when you say salt, do
not pronounce the “T.” <i>Gracias</i>. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2lSfUidiaZ6YEya6TOL2mSLwLkRO6T3UM4nh68rENic7795VA8zc95-2FDZhlMBBl3J2-c3vFR4sVGPbsv_CGB92zBWCWvQuF77z28QquBU1EdkjkpDBpRPWc73MKjg79zVrGlRUa_LS/s1600/BobMoleDay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1077" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2lSfUidiaZ6YEya6TOL2mSLwLkRO6T3UM4nh68rENic7795VA8zc95-2FDZhlMBBl3J2-c3vFR4sVGPbsv_CGB92zBWCWvQuF77z28QquBU1EdkjkpDBpRPWc73MKjg79zVrGlRUa_LS/s400/BobMoleDay.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob with jungle <i>bebida</i>.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">This was an awesome
experience -- one of the best of this vacation. Wish you had been there.</span>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">We say hasta la bye bye.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"><i>Hasta la juego</i>, see you
later alligator, <i>via con dios </i>(may god be with you). He was.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXs0u2DpyhkzMF8owbrblowvKizoXvptRQK-jGy2M2evC9xLRI1HiOX-FOrBYsBZwtZ-F8jizlom1OH9RDhKHkk9-PiHXhU5HuDAP52XW-tQmMsGXryvn1te0YI9YJcXnvd9pIsZA7TJ6r/s1600/BobSandy2018Mexico.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1074" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXs0u2DpyhkzMF8owbrblowvKizoXvptRQK-jGy2M2evC9xLRI1HiOX-FOrBYsBZwtZ-F8jizlom1OH9RDhKHkk9-PiHXhU5HuDAP52XW-tQmMsGXryvn1te0YI9YJcXnvd9pIsZA7TJ6r/s400/BobSandy2018Mexico.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">While writing this I am
listening to our amigo Chucho's (Jesus, he plays saxophone) band’s CD, recorded
in Puerto Morelos. Chucho and Melania met at college in <i>es-Spain</i>, at Salamanca
University. She is Basque. He is from Mexico City. His mother’s father was
Chinese. Do you still want me to read fiction? </span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLF-2RhaB2GhfWZrVPJZt8NYlj863kZ6_5MNiH6jP_ofq0kDOlsMZvlybS-Z0d_hkrsFMYh9eI8uyUoJPCGGP7pu50_KF43a7LSJ3u_UwrqXIJ57BmIym8QVTycEyi7KFEtUm_w9yGb4hF/s1600/ChuchoMelania.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1076" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLF-2RhaB2GhfWZrVPJZt8NYlj863kZ6_5MNiH6jP_ofq0kDOlsMZvlybS-Z0d_hkrsFMYh9eI8uyUoJPCGGP7pu50_KF43a7LSJ3u_UwrqXIJ57BmIym8QVTycEyi7KFEtUm_w9yGb4hF/s400/ChuchoMelania.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chucho, Melania and their niñas.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">The band plays a lot of
reggae. My favorite is “Tree little birds by my door step, singing sweet songs,
the melody pure and good. Don’t worry bout a ting. Cause every little tings
gonna be alright.” It is by Bob Marley. Chucho's <i>esposa</i>, our friend Melania,
says, “Sometimes the lead singer / guitarist shows up, sometimes he doesn’t.
Sometimes he shows up without his guitar.” Right now they are singing, “I’m
still in love with you girl.” I am.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEe81oypuVr-QPvaoPguS8i5vyVblssLAlvb5kTJDxo6wti9uMV4eNov56RWqnNsHaOx_vzHOuEFHJaMI2spN3bI9O9jajxBkaG0ZtJE-KXakqfNHIBa96xJcCDQ1maPhcVNSnkYI5DQzB/s1600/SaxophoneArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="1600" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEe81oypuVr-QPvaoPguS8i5vyVblssLAlvb5kTJDxo6wti9uMV4eNov56RWqnNsHaOx_vzHOuEFHJaMI2spN3bI9O9jajxBkaG0ZtJE-KXakqfNHIBa96xJcCDQ1maPhcVNSnkYI5DQzB/s400/SaxophoneArt.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chucho plays the same instrument,</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">They play for tips on
Playa Norte (North Beach) on Domingo. You just sit in the warm sand and sip
your mescal sour, rimmed with chile pepper and <i>sal</i>, while the sun sets.
Comedian / drinker W.C. Fields once said, “We lost our corkscrew and had to
live on food and water for the next several days."</span>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Life is <i>muy bien</i> in
Quintana Roo, Yucatan, Mexico.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">- Tocino </span></div>
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-->Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-31883931800319868062018-04-03T19:14:00.005-04:002018-04-03T19:14:54.913-04:00Home . . .
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdseYX2OxT0qe96n-SN8HtBKb1lS-WahBeq2bWmxhYIbLW1yaIptOrZj0vfh6SkQIrZ2XyJKmpmZVWecDAZ8DTLqILaiBC62D__NjOAFz015x4y0h0d0-0Ix61lHaPvud1EUTc1PLaTlGM/s1600/ArmandoGutierrez.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdseYX2OxT0qe96n-SN8HtBKb1lS-WahBeq2bWmxhYIbLW1yaIptOrZj0vfh6SkQIrZ2XyJKmpmZVWecDAZ8DTLqILaiBC62D__NjOAFz015x4y0h0d0-0Ix61lHaPvud1EUTc1PLaTlGM/s400/ArmandoGutierrez.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Armando Gutierrez, the</span> singer on
the Ultra Mar ferry. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">March 26, 2018</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">HOME . . . late last night
after 50 glorious sunny days all over the Yucatan. We ate at 38 different
restaurants and stayed at 7 hotels in 4 different towns and <i>islas</i>. YCMTstuff .
. . So much to share. Blogs? Did someone say blogs?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">On Sabado (Saturday),
yesterday, we crossed over the warm turquoise water to Puerto Juarez with five
suitcases that we saw stowed in a pile on the blue <i>y</i> yellow Ultra Mar ferry
boat. We, along with our friend Braulio, sat topside in the hot sun. We
<i>propinoed</i> Armando to sing “Welcome to de hotel California,” and things were
running sooo smoothly. Check out Armando Gutierrez on YouTube. The whole trip
had run smoothly. Then when we went to retrieve our 5 bags of luggage they were
GONE. As in, “Where the hell did they go?!!! They were just here.” GONE.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">After a frantic search,
we found, through the security cameras, that they had been sent back to Isla.
Braulio from Na Balam, who crossed over the 8 miles with us, saved the day by
speaking to many of the dock workers in Spanish. Our bags were returned to us
on the next ferry, and we (and our luggage) still managed to make our Jet Blue
flight home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Earlier in the trip,
after traveling to Puerto Morelos, Akumal, Playa Del Carmen, and Isla Holbox,
on our first day back to Isla, we met a frazzled Minnesota couple, Mike <i>y</i>
Connie, during a beautiful sunset at La Joya Hotel. They had just arrived on
Isla Mujeres for their very first time, but their luggage was left on the dock
at Puerto Juarez. They eventually got it. We said, “We know the feeling. But in 30 years, it only happened to us once.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">But then, yesterday, we lost those
5 bags.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Once while going back to
Cancun from Merida, one of our bags decided that it wanted to break away and
see Cuba (<i>coo bah</i>). Janis, our veteran travel agent, said, “Forget it. You will
NEVER see it again.” It had all of our warm January wedding clothes from
Albuquerque, including jewelry. We did eventually get it back, and with nothing
missing! "Jewelry" and "turquoise" are really good spelling words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Once while traveling to
Isla Mujeres and Isla Holbox (<i>Hole bush</i>) from Day One ALL of our luggage was lost.
Our last time to use curbside check in. Later in the week, we had a call from
Jet Blue. "Tocino, good news and bad news.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">“Okay, what is the good
news?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">“We found your luggage.
The bad news is that it is on Isla Aruba.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">So what is so bad about
the bad news? Aruba will NOT ship luggage without the attached passengers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">It was transported – naturally --
from Aruba, through New York City, and on to Cancun. One day it arrived at
Cabanas <i>habitation</i> #65 unexpectedly. That time we went 9 days without our
luggage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">How was the weather
while we were away in <i>Febrero</i> y <i>Marza</i>? Adventures in traveling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">"</span><span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">The only way to go to
Mexico is to stay at one of those ALL inclusives and never leave the walled-in
property."</span>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">- Tocino </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span>A generous amigo to
all the maleteros (porters) in Quintana Roo. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span>On this adventure we met every
single one of them.</span></i></span></div>
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</style>Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4223546682152025204.post-29154297648074230682018-02-02T16:50:00.002-05:002018-02-03T18:06:29.244-05:00Who Who<style>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4-Znep04VDLEyQ6AzEMGQl1EGUMRBue_w40d7kdrwRmJOSDj5p7zLNt9MoGd79dLZa22QoXg-TQM5zixFWHZJVeAJRpi05Bz4Cd_wjbqG7H3NjKxoSjhscpFJV05WaEvn9OBDYbmqxOc/s1600/MaleCardinalWithPondView.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4-Znep04VDLEyQ6AzEMGQl1EGUMRBue_w40d7kdrwRmJOSDj5p7zLNt9MoGd79dLZa22QoXg-TQM5zixFWHZJVeAJRpi05Bz4Cd_wjbqG7H3NjKxoSjhscpFJV05WaEvn9OBDYbmqxOc/s400/MaleCardinalWithPondView.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a male cardinal • photo by Sandy Bacon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKbpjrOHn_6ckJriH_6rJ-7rmix0tEumHr8sHu_PSKYfCGvqHb33O3PboNetonvojVgNTDMLO0jh8tupJyToPU15Sub_AZkiWxlfqdukZSH2mUfhozYjG0ur3ndqWW10Ao1N_mMrrzFf_/s1600/RedShoulderedHawkInSnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Five degrees below
freezing and I am walking the Gurnet again. I guess that I am a full-fledged
New Englander. Yesterday was a GREAT bird day with a red-shouldered hawk
perching within 20 feet of our eight inch light fluffy snowed in <i>casa</i>. We all
watched the show for at least four hours. At first I told Abel that it was a
red-tailed hawk but when I Googled it, I saw it was actually a red-shouldered. My
very first sighting. Love is a many splendored bird. His feathers were just
beautiful. They were many red-shouldered hawks in the 1950’s until the
red-taileds came back big time. Sandy snapped a photo or two or three or
twenty. Here is one or two or three. What a beautiful, magical bird. Si?</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKbpjrOHn_6ckJriH_6rJ-7rmix0tEumHr8sHu_PSKYfCGvqHb33O3PboNetonvojVgNTDMLO0jh8tupJyToPU15Sub_AZkiWxlfqdukZSH2mUfhozYjG0ur3ndqWW10Ao1N_mMrrzFf_/s1600/RedShoulderedHawkInSnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKbpjrOHn_6ckJriH_6rJ-7rmix0tEumHr8sHu_PSKYfCGvqHb33O3PboNetonvojVgNTDMLO0jh8tupJyToPU15Sub_AZkiWxlfqdukZSH2mUfhozYjG0ur3ndqWW10Ao1N_mMrrzFf_/s400/RedShoulderedHawkInSnow.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">red-shouldered hawk • photo by Sandy Bacon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> </span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">I </span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">park at the pavilion
on Duxbury Beach. The tide is still high so I have to walk the gravel road
south toward Saquish. The sky is blue; the snow is white. There is no wind.
Mexico in less than three days, but this is spectacular Also. Dad called ….
never mind. Right away I come up on three cars checking out a snowy owl. The man
that catches them at Logan Airport has relocated 24 of them here this winter
from the taxi and runways of Boston. A car stops. The driver asks me if that is,
in fact, a snowy owl. It is the first one he and his son have ever seen. I have
seen so many that I rarely stop now to eyeball them. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwCZ0gnsv9tXuhP2MF1G_PGivQQ8j59zANXSwKfFQNI90q7hzF4BQbB6NDNSA1zUaPDPmm9beF5LrbkBA_JOyrCdpGIea65KP68UFFLrHZwzuz9DkZaGSErOU2ODM0ysa1ZtrBw38NYkdk/s1600/SnowyOwlSignDux.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1600" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwCZ0gnsv9tXuhP2MF1G_PGivQQ8j59zANXSwKfFQNI90q7hzF4BQbB6NDNSA1zUaPDPmm9beF5LrbkBA_JOyrCdpGIea65KP68UFFLrHZwzuz9DkZaGSErOU2ODM0ysa1ZtrBw38NYkdk/s400/SnowyOwlSignDux.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">As we talk, a harrier
falcon with a face just like a peregrine flies right in front of us. What a sight!
I see him hunting, flying, cruising, 6-10 feet over the dune grass, nearly
every time I walk Duxbury Beach. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxXvkfhyE552tP0zj8caooPeUeFnVtTu95Zg-fzpRK2sjudKlXETbVCIkdky_Pc0V76HhArOGjul33xj5aa9UGYrI8S0KjbaF-UWUylmd9piikaYji0KXw_Vg2D-AmrC53wNIc9aVf1-dW/s1600/northern-harrier-female-flight-mia-mcpherson-3855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="850" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxXvkfhyE552tP0zj8caooPeUeFnVtTu95Zg-fzpRK2sjudKlXETbVCIkdky_Pc0V76HhArOGjul33xj5aa9UGYrI8S0KjbaF-UWUylmd9piikaYji0KXw_Vg2D-AmrC53wNIc9aVf1-dW/s400/northern-harrier-female-flight-mia-mcpherson-3855.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Before the father leaves, he tells me that this
very morning he spotted an eagle in the west bay. What a day we are all having.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhW3Fv6G3HCovevaprXUHKVd7okhfd3IZiLhnVBn9VfFgCvtqjM38b2065hfp0u4Q3ZqyV9e23iqJQIvw4-lU6QadoPHpsb4mJG9Zmmln5302aJHa6IIQH6kjsNdsyDslej8jccHJKbWeE/s1600/eagle-864725_960_720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="960" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhW3Fv6G3HCovevaprXUHKVd7okhfd3IZiLhnVBn9VfFgCvtqjM38b2065hfp0u4Q3ZqyV9e23iqJQIvw4-lU6QadoPHpsb4mJG9Zmmln5302aJHa6IIQH6kjsNdsyDslej8jccHJKbWeE/s400/eagle-864725_960_720.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"></span><span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">There are loons swimming
in Duxbury Bay and the Powder Point Bridge is still covered with yesterday’s
snow. Just past the Second Crossover I see vehicle activity and instead of
walking the beach, I continue on the gravel road. Good move. There is this face
as big as a dinner plate on top of a snowed-in dune. “It is a female snowy,” the
lady with the scope tells me. She has been here since 7:00am. It is now 1:00pm.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ru3hbROt1UUF8OD_UlRYGfliuZek6iz8xO8B1c7jkVQvfS30Icym2oa-RsY2e2Vc9xeggXN3cHdPcSwtGcY5uFI-sthF6YK9nV3CIvYThp7T3wiR6ace2TH_oSsU3tdSScSv2n7nT8E5/s1600/SnowyOwlFace_DSC3231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="650" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ru3hbROt1UUF8OD_UlRYGfliuZek6iz8xO8B1c7jkVQvfS30Icym2oa-RsY2e2Vc9xeggXN3cHdPcSwtGcY5uFI-sthF6YK9nV3CIvYThp7T3wiR6ace2TH_oSsU3tdSScSv2n7nT8E5/s400/SnowyOwlFace_DSC3231.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> </span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Some days are better
than others. Wow! What a day. There has to be a God.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHkdSBlcFzN6ryac_-Mmsbbh0Qbghv4WBnn7IVZmzg_VcyDEoP-c9AXJMhyphenhyphenkv2OuE7e54ZS3Izz-kZBkglsmAQotEcDCdS0FtUY5byxzDMDJmX7AYwM7wsz66eXjFGau-DUyo-OvPqIPA/s1600/BlueJayInSnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1016" data-original-width="1600" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHkdSBlcFzN6ryac_-Mmsbbh0Qbghv4WBnn7IVZmzg_VcyDEoP-c9AXJMhyphenhyphenkv2OuE7e54ZS3Izz-kZBkglsmAQotEcDCdS0FtUY5byxzDMDJmX7AYwM7wsz66eXjFGau-DUyo-OvPqIPA/s400/BlueJayInSnow.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">blue jays <span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> • photo by Sandy Bacon</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPeYCerts-o6H_UJT47Wjmeryode9I7FdK-dNFZbHsQvhmOyRioUfd1iMJbXyUbOie7sLLWJRN3y9e2jH9RT8VX4Y9FeXlYQuntvMrZGRrVjT8M58FaTPRq1sbH5Qk8m4Qp4DcXBS-f_T/s1600/MaleCardinalInSnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPeYCerts-o6H_UJT47Wjmeryode9I7FdK-dNFZbHsQvhmOyRioUfd1iMJbXyUbOie7sLLWJRN3y9e2jH9RT8VX4Y9FeXlYQuntvMrZGRrVjT8M58FaTPRq1sbH5Qk8m4Qp4DcXBS-f_T/s400/MaleCardinalInSnow.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a male cardinal <span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> • photo by Sandy Bacon</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhI5EA4eaY7RucRi9wUsxI9w1VQmbhOVro9zXfZ6o5QmaT4Jmg8bZzX-_FIH8Nhclym2IZow1r2h0BjeWtm2Ln_INvjIy8v9o4Dpp7Log83pNFYSmgHGm_Qkqk3BL-6TJIYGqZ3WRm5WBB/s1600/DownyWoodpecker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhI5EA4eaY7RucRi9wUsxI9w1VQmbhOVro9zXfZ6o5QmaT4Jmg8bZzX-_FIH8Nhclym2IZow1r2h0BjeWtm2Ln_INvjIy8v9o4Dpp7Log83pNFYSmgHGm_Qkqk3BL-6TJIYGqZ3WRm5WBB/s320/DownyWoodpecker.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">downy woodpecker <span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> • photo by Sandy Bacon</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLTKRIyZKJv5fjgWCwjL42msLF1PBeKyI5gh_ShFtlOQXtPxV8qojN_NKyl5AwldxIOevw207EeXftsVeiRJRO8lOOYyVy3AEqKp8hU2aaujyC7mvf3Zn3Td9rQf3ld54PYn3Ama7Paim8/s1600/TurkeysOnTheDeck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1066" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLTKRIyZKJv5fjgWCwjL42msLF1PBeKyI5gh_ShFtlOQXtPxV8qojN_NKyl5AwldxIOevw207EeXftsVeiRJRO8lOOYyVy3AEqKp8hU2aaujyC7mvf3Zn3Td9rQf3ld54PYn3Ama7Paim8/s400/TurkeysOnTheDeck.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">turkeys on our deck <span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> • photo by Sandy Bacon</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLd3AErz4Q6SoaBXU1ysPTMRAFBj5xmVJzky_SPdGNB4ZZOrxkknzWZSuF3EodrEbs5P-iHJiglAbFhyCuixOkF4ZObrr7FzQbQN5Tsa9dVpOyJZ-3KY9s6ic9URSUIYNeEibwjOmIrN0I/s1600/TurkeysOnTheMarch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLd3AErz4Q6SoaBXU1ysPTMRAFBj5xmVJzky_SPdGNB4ZZOrxkknzWZSuF3EodrEbs5P-iHJiglAbFhyCuixOkF4ZObrr7FzQbQN5Tsa9dVpOyJZ-3KY9s6ic9URSUIYNeEibwjOmIrN0I/s320/TurkeysOnTheMarch.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">turkeys on the march <span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> • photo by Sandy Bacon</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LBm8DTfcBqegrmadnSBVSz9_5GOQqa794UNVCtFV0_RiEMcGoI5IYXke9jWe3q3jjXvMCo5e7MZnI4sN7ISElSTjLgVrG_AQYaXIm2LNqTyd-lRD0GHYWewHK-J8KERi0fnKfy8E1SNE/s1600/JuncoInSnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LBm8DTfcBqegrmadnSBVSz9_5GOQqa794UNVCtFV0_RiEMcGoI5IYXke9jWe3q3jjXvMCo5e7MZnI4sN7ISElSTjLgVrG_AQYaXIm2LNqTyd-lRD0GHYWewHK-J8KERi0fnKfy8E1SNE/s400/JuncoInSnow.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a junco <span style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> • photo by Sandy Bacon</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Bob Baconhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02892912523831374138noreply@blogger.com0