Old Guy y Viejo #T

Had I a bit better facility at languages, I should learn some rudimentary Spanish. The population here in Hidalgo County, where we are currently ensconced, is more than 88% Hispanic. A little while ago, we were in a Wal-Mart and while Beloved Beautiful made a last pass through some of the aisles, I sat on a bench near the entryway. Presently an old gentleman, meaning a man near my own age, came and sat on the other end of the bench. I remarked that old guys had to sit sometimes. His broad smile told me he was friendly, but it also said he didn’t understand a word I said. Presently he asked me habla Espanol? I said, No, not really. Whereupon we engaged in a conversation with much hand-waving and gesticulation. It was not fruitless, either, because before we parted company, we knew that our spouses were still shopping, that he had children, five sons and a daughter, that I had two of each. He learned that I lived in some foreign place called “Indiana,” and I learned that he was originally from Mexico, but had lived in Edinburg for forty years. When I left the store, I gave him a hearty, buenos dias! and he returned the benediction. It was a doubly pleasurable experience, for I spent some pleasant moments with a stranger, and left the encouter feeling that most people are good people. And too, it brought back to mind an experience I had some twenty-three years ago when the father of a daughter-in-law visited us at our place on the lake. He was from Germany, and he had about the same amount of English as I had German, which was very little. We stood on the lakeshore enjoying the sights and the sounds of a summer morning, the sunshine warming our shoulders. The gentle waves lapping at the hull of the boat tied at the pier; the occasional "plop" of a fish reentering the water following its leap for an insect, or of a frog returning to the water from his lilypad puncuated our verbal gymnastics, lending a sense of well-being to the interchange. Opa, we all called him Opa, even though he and I were at most a short generation apart in age, visited for quite a long time, employing the same techniques that I used today with the old gentleman in the Wal-Mart. Much pointing, hand-waving; smiling and exclaiming "Ah, so!" But again, a bond was formed which I treasure to this day, though Karl has long since departed this earthly realm.

Chupacabra, Palm Rats and Road Runners #T

Update: According to feedjit, chances are you are here because you are looking for information about or a picture of the roadrunner.  Thanks for visiting, and please join me on String Too Short to Tie on a more or less daily basis.  It is a potpourri; you never know what you will find.  Comments appreciated.

One of the challenges the Winter Texan is faced with is that of sorting out legend, fantasy, and nonsense from reality.

That it is a different world in South Texas from the world we are accustomed to in the Midwest is evident. A day's drive across the semi-arid mesquite and cactus-ridden landscape is more than enough to convince one of the truth of this.

But consider some of the strange "inhabitants" of this land. Following the title, I first mention el chupacabra, and that may be first because he has recently been in the news. Whether or not a thirteen-year old boy actually killed a chupacabra will no doubt be debated into the pages of history until it becomes a part of the legend. El chupacabra: legend or reality?

I learned of palm rats the first year I spent in this area. My skeptical nature more or less demanded that I believe the purveyor of the tale was leading me pretty much on a "snipe hunt." Over the years, I have come to be aware that in some parts of the country there are rats that climb palm trees to raid the fruit thereof, and that some may jump onto roofs; hence we have "roof rats." But of the "palm rats" of which I was first told, those that live in the dead fronds near the top of palm trees and never go to ground, I ask: fact or fiction?

Road runners appear in my birders' manual, so I am quite sure that they exist. I have been told that they inhabit this area; but as to the question as to whether they really do or not, I say, Seeing is believing. One morning while taking an early perambulation around the park, a road runner ran out in front of me and fled down the street on which I was walking! He soon sped out of sight around a corner. I did not see Wile E. Coyote. But I'm pretty sure he or his near-kin are close by!