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Martha Egan. La Ranfla & Other New Mexico Stories. Santa Fe, NM. Papalote Press, 2009.
ISBN-13: 9780975588147

Michael Sedano

Martha Egan and Papalote Press have put together a seven-story collection of enjoyable, readable short fiction. Two of the stories feature automobiles, hence the “ranfla” title, and all take place in the state of New Mexico, hence the “New Mexico stories” subtitle. But for the latter add a subtle flavor of insider-outsider seasoning that I find curious. This doesn't diminish the pleasure of reading the collection, it adds an unsettling dimension that, perhaps, is another New Mexico element.

The title story, “La ranfla,” begins in late 1960s Berkeley, when a law student, fed up with law school pettiness and male chauvinism, storms out of lecture and huffs off with a handful of joints to move in with her hippie lover living in New Mexico. Her wheels start to show signs of conking out as she arrives in the state. A gas station attendant admires her “ranfla”, to her mystification. Gradually, the blonde Mary Kowalski and boyfriend Oso, begin fitting in. A kindly neighbor warns her about Pito, the crooked reverend and mechanic. But Oso and Starshine—her New Mexico name—already know Pito from the night Oso catches Pito stealing Oso’s marijuana crop. The story ends in a “cada cochino le llega su Sabado” irony, when the hippies conspire with an itinterant Mexican to pull a sting on the crooked local.

“Green eyes” delves into convoluted family histories. A lovestruck teenager wants to hook up with Teddy Gonzalez. Grandma Guenther tells Stephanie a tale about great grandmother Seferina and her husband, hubby Wilhelm. Seferina rides into the night to a remote home where she widwifes a sickly neonate. Fearing for the infant’s survival, and the hardship on the already large family, Seferina puts the child in her apron and rides back home. Fast forward to to the kitchen. That baby is Stephanie’s grandfather. Teddy comes from the family that consigned the preemie grandpa to the widwife’s apron. Cousins can’t hook up, and Stephanie learns a life lesson.

Egan’s third story, “Carnales,” makes the insider-outsider theme more explicit. A group of locals in the village of Ojo Claro, held at gunpoint by another local, feel unsure when the first deputy to arrive is an outsider—Procopio “Porky” Lucero. Porky’s wife is a local, but he’s from Española so the locals aren’t sure where Porky’s loyalties lie. The dispute grows from a greedy land grabber, in one view, protecting his property rights, the other view. It’s a spare story that hints rather than explains the complications of ejido lands held in common versus the fence ‘em off values of the outside economy. The dispute ends with gusto for the locals when they get the upper hand.

Two dog stories, “Mutt” and “Guapo” are strong pieces. In “Mutt” a transplanted local artisan is two-timed by a traveling salesman. “Guapo” offers a charming love story of two locals, a veterinarian and a rancher widower whose love story revolves around a singing, suicidal, dog. The story’s tragic ending both tugs at the heartstrings and leads me to wonder why locals cannot have happiness in an Egan story?

At least one outsider gets his come-uppance, in “Time Circles.” A philandering psychiatry profe at UNM, toys with blonde Anna, a woman 25 years his junior. The story treks out to “the rez” for a Navajo curing ceremony. Anna develops a kinship while helping Bernarda, a high school principal with a doctorate, pick her corn. Bernarda presents Anna with choice blue cobs and the truth about her lover. Shades of Tony Hillerman, the blonde records clerk finds a precious arrow point that she presents to their host, Dan Tom. Anna thinks Dan planted it as a cultural test. He didn’t and, unknown to Anna, her gift become a family treasure. It’s a moment of cultural and romantic truth for the woman. She dumps the profe and starts her own business in an Alburque adobe. Comes the flood when some pendejo runs a car over a fire hydrant and Anna’s gift craft antique shop fills with mud. The accident attracts a local snooty blond teevee news woman. It’s a “cute meet” as the tall indio camera operator is smitten with the damsel in distress and the rest, as someone says, is love at first sight.

“Granny” closes this excellent collection. A surfer dude, an east coast footloose grad traveling to California to find the perfect wave, has a car break down outside a dusty trailer park town on the edge of nowhere. Penniless, and ripped off during the night for his stereo and cool hubcaps—dastardly locals, no doubt—the fellow hangs around to teach middle school. It’s his lucky day when two precocious students help their grandmother escape from a jail on the other side. The dude can’t believe the outlandish story, but when he goes to find the truth, the kids and their dad have taken it on the lam. Eventually, they return to their trailer. The dad is the mechanic who’s promised to fix that broken down ranfla. Granny comes to the door and she is one hot mamasota. End of story but obviously the beginning of an affair to remember as the outsider hooks up with the local.

I think the vestiges of cultural nationalism infect my own experience of these seven stories. On their own, divorced of cultural baggage, they tell about a cultural patchwork and the melding of cultures and genetics overlaid upon the New Mexico landscape where we meet some decent gente and a variety of crummy people: drunks, thugs, crooks, exploiters, philanderers. Other than the philandering psychiatrist, all the lowlifes and losers are locals. But then, the star-crossed lovers are locals. The trump card for me is Egan’s persona , an outsider looking in with that sense of curiosity and apartness that allows the writer to express a subtle contempt for the local losers. Don’t think like that and you’ll enjoy the heck out of the occasionally bumpy ride in Egan’s ranfla suave.

I'm a bit late today, but nonetheless, here, on the penultimate Tuesday of the 9th month of 2009, a Tuesday like any other Tuesday, except You Are Here. Thank you for visiting La Bloga.

Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez. The Husband Habit. NY: St Martin's Press, 2009.
ISBN-10: 0312537042

Michael Sedano

Way back in 1999, the Los Angeles Times ran a review that skewered a comedian and his tired, insulting act. I remember sitting up and taking notice of the writer, thinking to myself, “Self, this writer, Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez, has a lot of power in her pen, I wonder what kind of fiction she’d write if she ever gets a chance to cut loose?”


In the course of a handful of novels, the writer demonstrated she has a lot going for her. She aligned her work with a popular strategy other writers had pursued to great success, following multiple characters. It worked. Valdes-Rodriguez enjoyed popular success in her Sister Sucias novels, The Dirty Girls Social Club and less so with Dirty Girls On Top, advancing with superb work in Make Him Look Good. In her latest novel, The Husband Habit, Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez sows fertile new ground. She’s freed herself of her inner Mary McCarthy and allows one character to take over the novel. And I’m glad she has. With a reservation.

Although readers can depend on a Valdes-Rodriguez novel to bring smiles that brighten even a dismal day, a mélange of characters doesn’t allow much opportunity for a woman to stand on her own feet and show the world of what she’s capable. Ditto the writer, in as much as the group tactic pressures the writer to leave deserving characters ill-developed while sending others into extreme behaviors to wrap up an errant plot.

Thus, shaking off The Group mentality frees the writer to focus upon a singular character, a continuous narrative, and to write the heck out of a novel to the benefit of both the reader and author. This is what The Husband Habit reaps, a better developed central character around whom all the characters and action pivots, and some interesting writing.

Vanessa Duran exercises culinary genius in a fancy Alburquerque restaurant. Clever with quick repartée, she has a solid sense of herself, but refuses to take her own side. The big-name chef she works for steals credit for Vanessa’s creativity. Big sister Larissa bosses Vanessa around as if the latter were not a fully grown adult woman. And Vanessa submits like a good little sister. The worst part of Vanessa’s problem is being gulled by married men, hence the title.

Valdes-Rodriguez opens the novel with a deliciously funny scene. Vanessa, the unknowing “other woman” has flown cross-country to tryst with an internet romance. The vato has money, charm, fancy clothes and an impressive bottle of wine. And a wife with son, who follow from the airport to the tony hotel. Sancha Vanessa and fulano learn they’ve been followed when the irate wife rams her own SUV into the lying philanderer’s fancy car. Again and again and again the betrayed wife slams her vehicle into the Mercedes until cops haul her away. The mortified Vanessa flees to the registration desk and a sympathetic clerk. Hilarity surrounded by the woman’s tragedy.

Vanessa lands back home and resumes a courtship with Bryan, a pastry chef. Another fiasco. This pendejo not only is married with a son, his wife has found out about the affair and is hospitalized after attempting suicide. In the space of the first 40 pages of the novel Vanessa takes a pair of you-didn’t-tell-me-you’re-married gut punches from men she was dating. Sadly, Vanessa’s feeling of betrayal is so profound she blames the wife, telling Vanessa’s good friend Hazel that Bryan is “a lying sack of crap with a depressive and unstable wife.”

Older sister Larissa enjoys a successful academic career. In fact, she’s about to depart for a research jaunt to Morocco. This leaves Vanessa in charge of their aging, bickering, alcoholic parents. Vanessa rightfully senses a new nightmare in the offering. Larissa senses danger in the hunky next door neighbor and extracts a promise from little sister to lay off men for a few months. No rebound dating, especially with the neighbor. Vanessa, overwhelmed at the prospect of spending quality time with her mother and father, meekly agrees.

Then she lays eyes on the neighbor. Vanessa cannot keep her eyes off the he-man’s body. He-man cannot keep his eyes off Vanessa’s legs. But Vanessa holds true to her promise, hence the plot thickens as she resists her feral urges and keeps the neighbor at arm’s distance. Slowly, however, he wears her down with Vanessa's help. He cooks. He knows literature. He finds ways to surprise her with music, knowledge, kindness.

Paul is an interesting man in numerous ways, with a major drawback. He’s military and neither Vanessa nor Larissa want anything to do with this type of person. But Paul is not a tipo. He is a pilot recently returned from Iraq, wounded--Post-Traumatic Stress wounded. He’s fallen hard for Vanessa’s beauty, skill, sincerity. Vanessa’s anti-military blindness deepens his wounds, as if his life choices were entirely of his doing. They’re not, if only Vanessa will provide him an opportunity to explain.

Paul, it develops, has turned against the war. He’s of Vanessa’s opinion, of the futility and mindlessness of an unprovoked invasion. For Vanessa, it’s a theory. For Paul, the knowledge of what he has done in prosecuting the war is one long, sustained gut punch. Bridging the gap between Vanessa’s attitude and Paul’s remorse sends the novel roiling into political territory that adds interest and enlarges the capacity of chica lit to give something beyond a mere beach read. Not that this novel is not a lot of fun. It is.

Valdes-Rodriguez’ antiwar attitudes are not a reason to endorse The Husband Habit, but that hasn’t stopped a cabal of conservative assholes from raking the book over the Amazon coals. The day I looked, Amazon's featured negative review slices and dices at the novel’s strengths with unmeasured sophistry and mean spiritedness. It’s interesting to note the 1- and 2-star (bad) reviews mostly come from anonymous critics who sign with “handles”, whereas 5- and 4-star (great) reviewers generally have the honest courtesy to sign a real-sounding name.

Sophisticated readers who aren’t grinding axes will find excellent writing gives The Husband Habit a stature several steps above typical chica lit titles. This is one of the rewards of Valdes-Rodriguez shedding the group novel in favor of developing a single relationship for a singular character. Certainly there’s ample clowning around and clownish moments in her characters. But the characters can be deadly serious and self-disclosing in disarming ways, as when Paul talks about his hatred for hunting the animals on his family’s ranch:

I liked animals, Vanessa. Alwavs have. I still do. I love 'em. I'll never forget it. I was a little kid, and he took me out here, and he downed a doe, and took me with him to get it. She wasn't dead yet, just there bleeding, you know? She looked right at me. And her baby, that fawn, was standing there, not knowing where to go or what to do. I was sickened by it. I hated it, but you know how it is. You have to suck it up, when you're a boy, right? You gotta play soldiers and cowboys and Indians, you gotta like to shoot stuff, and you gotta play sports, right, or you're not a real boy. And my dad wanted me to learn to hunt, to do this thing that his dad taught him, and that his dad's dad had taught his dad, and so that's what it was like. Like my legacy, and I hated every minute of it, but when you're a kid you don't have the guts or the power to stand up to your dad about something like that, and you think there's something wrong with you.

Lucky Vanessa. True to the template of chica lit, the would-be lover has money. Rich is so much nicer than poor. And, because Vanessa is the center of her novel, Valdes-Rodriguez gets opportunities to paint a complex woman, not the foolish girl who bounces from bed to bed. As in the excursion Vanessa’s thoughts take when driving the open road and her thoughts wander to roadkill:

Brutality and grace, locked in an endless dance. This is how it works, a vile vein woven through all this beauty, life and death tangled together and dependent as inhale to exhale, as sleep to waking, when you are brave enough to look closely and without blinking. Roadkill. Rabbits, coyotes, dogs. Do they never clean the sides of Interstate 25, the road crews? Or do things die here with such frequency that regular removal is not enough to hide the truth of the dance between the modern and the ancient? It wounds her, these dead things. Maybe it was the eyes of that one dog, still open, surprised at the blow, the head disembodied and the rest of the animal spread like paste across the roadway.

What an interesting grammatical paragraph, the appositions. The Husband Habit offers numerous instances where the writer has her way with language. Rich in metaphor, landscape, spiteful character asides, Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez has achieved a milestone in her career with this masterly crafted work. And true to her title, Vanessa's in for a huge surprise from Paul she did not see coming, and readers will chortle about. Be prepared to suspend disbelief in that final plot twist.

My one reservation is a quibble with the character’s seeming helplessness, though this more is wrought of the chica lit template, less from the writer’s skill. I’d like so much to observe a strong, powerful woman with guts and judgment. Vanessa’s pal, Hazel, for instance, takes no caca from domineering men. Paul’s mother, like sister Larissa, is an accomplished academic, I bet they kick ass in a man’s world no holds barred. I hope to read such a character in an upcoming novel. The author surely is moving in that direction. The cutesy stuff of comedy makes for fun reading, and that’s its own reward. I think back to the controlled anger and unbridled contempt 1999's Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez unleashed on that clueless sap. He got what he deserved. I think some future Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez character is out there, waiting to get what she deserves, her own novel and powerful self-reliant independent ethos. It's what we deserve.

Lost my dad two years ago this month. I'll always miss his great advice, his hearty laughter and his cheerful smile. A mechanic for military trucks and planes while in the USAF, he was also an excellent car mechanic. If it belonged inside a vehicle, Dad knew what it was, and if it broke, he could fix it. He loved cars, especially race cars. Something I never knew about Dad was the extent of his experience actually driving race cars. During the Winter of his life he talked a lot about the things he'd always wanted to do during his life, the things he either didn't get around to doing, or the things he'd hoped and dreamed of doing, but didn't for whatever reason. As a youth, he did some racing for money. He knew when to accelerate, when to brake, when to coast, when to push it toward the red line, and when to let the car fly itself across a finish line. A few months before he died, he told me about racing with the Unser brothers, drivers who made their fame at the Indy 500. They wanted Dad to drive on their team. Dad said he was torn, and when he discussed it with my mother, she said no. He abandoned his dream of professional driving and resigned to being the mechanic who kept cars on the road for other people. He never lost his great admiration for truly fast automobiles. I was very young, but I well remember the day the Unser's showed up at our house in Corrales, New Mexico, and talked Dad into one more race. The three of them, and my brother, disappeared in the Unser's race car. That evening during dinner all my brother could talk about was how well Dad drove the Unser's car. My brother followed in Dad's footsteps. He raced on tracks in several states, and he was good. But he died young, and I don't know if he'd have ever made a name for himself as a professional team driver. I do believe Dad would have made a name for himself in car racing, and I believe he would have been remembered for both his skill as a driver, and his knowledge of his cars.
I think of my dad this Father's Day. I miss him enormously. I am proud of all the things he did do during his life, and I'm a bit sad for those dreams he never did complete.

I grew up in the village of Corrales, New Mexico. My friend Megan's mother owned the Molino Rouge, a popular restaurant across the street from our elementary school. I spent at least one weekend a month at Megan's house, and we often helped out at the Molino in the afternoon. That's where I met Vincent Price. He was having lunch with his son (who lived in New Mexico). Megan's mother, Jean, told us to ask Mr. Price if he would like tea or coffee. Megan had acquired a fit of giggles in the kitchen. I put on an apron and marched my ten year old self out to his table, and asked in my greatest attempt at maturity, "Would you like coffee, or tea?" He flashed the most alarming smile, and all I could think of was the Edgar Allan Poe piece about the raven. My mind kept repeating "never more, never more, sayeth the raven." By the time I got to the kitchen, Jean asked me what Mr. Price wanted, I had forgotten. I pretended he wanted a nice pitcher of ice water. I carried the ice water to him and he smiled again. He asked what grade I was in. I told him, still thinking about the raven. While pouring ice water into his glass, I spilled ice on his place setting. He laughed again. And then he reminded me that he would also enjoy some ice tea.
Tomorrow I am going to share some raven stories. I think they are remarkable intelligent birds. And by the way, Vincent Price was a remarkably nice person who was not perturbed by a child who poured ice water on him at a restaurant by the Rio Grande.

We at La Bloga receive so many books to review each year that we 're never able to cover them all. A year ago one snagged my interest, and I went out on a limb to suggest that Cibolero by Kermit Lopez deserved to win the Premio Aztlán Literary Prize. Apparently, the gente de Premio Aztlán paid no attention to me, but nevertheless I stand by my original post.

Six months later, following in his son's footsteps, Kermit's dad also got his novel Sirena published by IUniverse. I don't know who wrote his story first--the son or the dad--but I imagine a family dinner at this house could be worth listening in on. Do they debate which is better, more historically accurate, or more Chicano? Are there family feuds where half line up with the old man and the other half with his hijo before la comida starts flying? Or do they do a typical Chicano-family thing and never talk about that subject?

In any event, below is info on E. G. Lopez's Sirena, taken from the book itself and the publisher's website. If anyone out there has had the opportunity to read both, we'd welcome your comparative lit piece on the two. It's a sign of the current flowering in Chicano lit when two in the same family can become authors. Who knows?--maybe there's a female member of the Lopez family composing something that'll top them both.

Overview from back cover: Epic account of a New Mexico Hispanic family swept up in a clash of empires, one waning and the other ascendant. A tragic tale of parallel nations, peoples, and lovers converging nowhere this side of infinity, marching in lockstep towards disaster.

The twins see it coming. Ron and Jake Valdez, prophets without honor, hamstrung by their own demons, powerless before the juggernaut. After Guantanamo, it was easy, first baby steps, later giant steps.

Homeland Security, Patriot Act, private armies, and concentration camps. In the name of freedom, they destroyed freedom, the bright shining star imploding, devouring itself.

About the author: E. G. Lopez was born in Santa Rosa, New Mexico. He is a Navy Veteran and graduate of the Milwaukee School of Engineering, BSEE, and the University of Pittsburgh, MBA, and a retired investigator for the National Labor Relations Board. In Sirena, he focuses his experience and a 300-year New Mexico oral heritage on an issue as old as humanity that threatens the integrity and the very viability of our great nation today.

N.B.: To my recollection, neither son nor dad tend to use the word Chicano in describing themselves or their work; the use of Chicano is purely my own perspective. - RudyChG

Mexico is currently in the midst of its Día de los Muertos celebrations and there are some wonderful pictures appearing on various blogs, which highlight the color and exuberance of the festival – such as this at Zocalo de Mexican Folk Art; while Sue at Cottage in the Cedars recalls a past visit to Mexico and gives lots of background information. There are some great children’s books around – I blogged about some last year (including author René Colato Laínez’ as yet unpublished Magic Night, Noche Mágica). My Readable Feast has a new post about the Global Wonders dvd, with an extract to view about The Day of the Dead –it’s also worth scrolling down through the tag to her previous posts too, both for suggestions for children’s books and to see some very impressive home-made sugar skulls…

A new book, Abuelos, by Pat Mora and illustrated by Amelia Lau Carling (Groundwood, 2008), explores a less well-known tradition which carries traits of both Spanish and Pueblo cultures, and which is celebrated further north, in the mountains of New Mexico, around the time of the Winter solstice.

“Los abuelos” are not only grandfathers, in this context they are scary, sooty old men who come down from the mountains once a year to make sure the children have been good. At the time of the abuelos’ visit, villages have a big party, sharing music and food around a huge bonfire, and men dress up to tease the children.

In this delightful story, the preparations and the party are seen through the eyes of Amelia, our narrator, and her older brother Ray, who have only recently moved to the village. Amelia’s feelings are mixed – she loves the excitement but she’s not completely convinced that the abuelos are wholly mythical. Her father reassures her that it’s fun to be have a scary feeling sometimes – like at Halloween – because actually “No one is going to hurt you”. Ray teases and scares Amelia unmercifully but at the actual party, she’s the one who courageously leaps in to push an abuelo away from him…

The writing and the illustrations together perfectly capture both the magic of this tradition seen through Amelia’s young eyes and the warmth of the village community set against the cold, winter landscape. Monsters loom large, whether in caves up in the snowy mountains, or in the form of masked villagers – certainly all enough to convince Amelia to do anything her mother asks her straight away!

This is a great new addition to the bookshelf, whether for a cosy winter’s bedtime or for those in hotter climes wanting to escape the mid-December heat – as Pat herself says in her author’s note at the end:

Since I’m easily frightened, I chose to write a gentle version of how I imagine a spunky little girl responding to a visit by “los abuelos.” Enjoy!

As I write, it's Friday afternoon 7/20/2007 and we’re driving through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, heading toward Utah. It’s difficult to write, though, not only because the views are stunning up here at 10,000 feet, but also because the narrow roads are snaking back and forth through the valleys and are making me queasy. More about Colorado in a bit. First, I’ll bring you up to date. Karen helps out—she’s in a different font.

GREEN CHILLI AND GATOS, GATOS, GATOS IN NEW MEXICO

MARK: New Mexico is truly one of my favorite places on earth. I spent a summer in Albuquerque in 1994 and fell in love with adobe houses, pow-wows, green chilli, and the Spanish language. I met Karen the following spring and I think my introduction to the Espanol of New Mexico played a role in my early spark with her – Karen’s family is from Argentina, and from the very beginning I was eager for her to teach me Spanish, which is why I can speak it today.

I think every state has its own unique personality, but in my humble opinion there are probably none so distinct as New Mexico’s. When you’re there, you know it. “The Land of Enchantment” (that’s the state nickname) just looks and feels different from anywhere else.

SANTA FE

KAREN: Santa Fe is beautiful. We spent most of a day walking around the town center. We visited the Georgia O’Keefe museum which was very interesting and gave us a good look into her life and why she loved New Mexico so much. Then went for lunch at a great Mexican restaurant called Tomasitas, where they were amazingly kind to us. Ignatios Patsalis, the owner/manager, showed us the royal treatment by giving us a tour of the restaurant. He took us into his the kitchen and showed us how they make Sopapillas. (MARK: A sopapilla is kind of a deep fried New Mexican donuty thing that, unfortunately, I can’t get enough of.) KAREN: Here is Ignatios showing us a barrel of red hot chili peppers. (MARK: Unfortunately, Lucy decided to stick her finger in and touch one, prompting Ignatios to have us wash her hand with soap immediately, before any of the spiciness got in her eye and burned her. Ahh, life with Lucy…) KAREN: Yes, even Evan ate the red and green chilies! It was the best Mexican food ever!! Thanks Ignatios and Tamasitas!




GARCIA STREET BOOKS

Santa Fe is the home of Garcia Street Books, a charming independent bookstore just a short walk from the center of historic old Santa Fe. They host quite a few authors. Here I am with bookseller Adam Gates, a recent transplant from the east coast. :-)


OUR FIRST STRING OF HOTELS

So far on our trip, we’ve been fortunate to be able to stay in the houses of generous friends and family on all but one night. In Santa Fe, though, we started a string of evenings where we actually had to spring for hotels. :-( But the good news is that we’ve been running into terrific people wherever we’ve been. Here we are with Vince, Heidi, Nick and Sam Battelo of Redland, CA. We met Vince, Nick, and Sam at the Holiday Inn swimming pool. Nick took this underwater picture of Evan as he jumped into the pool. Way cool! Great to meet you, Battelo Family! :-)


YOUTH HOSTELING, CATS, AND A CHURCH-GOING BIKER GANG IN TAOS, NM

Just outside of Taos (which we loved!) we stayed overnight at a youth hostel called “The Abominable Snow Mansion.” It was warm so we had the window open. All night long a parade of cats kept walking in and out through the window, and I kept getting up to shoo them out. I’m allergic to cats. Lucy loved it, though. She has since said those cats were one of her favorite parts of our trip so far.

Staying with us at the hostel was a fun gang of bikers from the Ft. Worth, Texas area. Here we are with Dwight Wilson, Scott Dishnow, Malcom “The Dukester” Duke, Craig Bearden, Jeff McDonald, and Noel Yandell. They told us they are all from the same Sunday school.


MOBY DICKENS
Taos is the home of the fantastic Moby Dickens bookshop. In addition to having an excellent selection of new books, they also order and research rare and out of print books. Another draw to the store is Ruby the Cat, who appeared at the store’s door in 1995 and has lived there ever since. Ruby apparently has a slew of fans who visit the store just to see her. Here I am with Mary Raskin, Carole Vollmer, Elizabeth Shuler, and Susan Hilliker. I didn’t catch the name of the gorilla. :-)


LIVING THE ARTIST'S LIFE IN COSTILLAS, NM

KAREN: On our way from Taos to Denver we stopped by to meet Linda Louden a friend of my cousins Bernie and Liz of NYC. Linda is an artist who dropped everything in her high-flying New York life to move to a one-bedroom white adobe house in Costillas, NM with her dog Daisy. Now in her backyard she has a re-vamped trailer that she converted into a studio. When you walk into her house you feel an immediate sense of tranquility, and she is surrounded by her art and the art of her friends. There is nothing in the town except for a few houses…it made me appreciate Georgia O’Keefe’s reasoning to go into the New Mexico Desert to create art. Here we are with Linda, who gave us osha, a new Mexican root that is rumored to heal just about anything, and some hot cheese & jalapeno bagels. Thanks Linda! You are an inspiration!




UPS AND DOWNS IN THE MOUNTAINS OF COLORADO

MARK: By two days ago, when we came to Colorado, we’d been traveling for 22 days. We passed the 5,000 mile mark in Denver—which is why I upgraded my total-mileage estimation from 9,000 to 13,000. I think that’s why yesterday we all seemed to crash a little. We were tired. We needed a down-day. We’ve recovered now, but our little dip in energy meant that we didn’t do full justice to Denver. I’m sure it’s a lovely city – and what little that we saw of it (see below) was very nice – but we definitely benefitted from lazing around the hotel room and staring at the boob-tube. All better now. :-)

OBSERVATIONS ON TRAVELING IN THE LEMONADE MOUTH VAN WITH THREE KIDS

A yellow van that says “Lemonade Mouth” in big, bold letters seems to sometimes confuse passers-by. Here’s a guy in Denver who came over to ask if we had any lemonade for sale.


Sorry, overheated Denver guy. No actual lemonade here.

BTW: We’ve christened the car Penelope.

Another thing, we’ve been seeing so many amazing sights for so many days now that I think the kids are starting to get a little jaded. Example from this morning: “Look, Lucy! Have you ever seen such an interesting-looking bridge? I know I never have!” Lucy momentarily glances up from her Barbie laptop and in a bored singsong monotone says, “Whoah. That certainly is an interesting bridge.” Then back to Barbie.

As I type, we’re still driving through the Colorado mountains toward Utah. I’ll ask the kids what was their favorite part of the trip so far and report it here. Here are their answers:

LUCY: When the kittens slept with me. (MARK: That was at the youth hostel in Taos, NM).

ZOE (Note that she and I only speak to each other in Spanish): ?Te acuerdas el caballo mecanico? (MARK: Translation – “Do you remember the mechanical horse?” She’s talking about a horse ride in the center of Taos, one of those rides for little kids where you put a quarter in the slot and the horse rocks back and forth for a minute or so. I wish I’d taken a picture. She really did love it.

EVAN: Burger Beach in Fort Worth. Remember? The big pool with all the diving boards and swings?

Okay, so not exactly the o-beautiful-for-spacious-skies answers Karen and I were hoping for. Still, I know that they really have enjoyed themselves so far. We all have. And they’ll always remember this long road-trip discovering America with their family. At least that’s what Karen and I keep telling ourselves. :-)

THE TATTERED COVER

No book-lover's trip to Denver would be complete without a pilgrimage to The Tattered Cover. It's the second largest independent bookstore in the country. And it is huge. Sidney Jackson and Judy Bulow and met us and showed us around. Their Colfax Street location is in an old building that used to be a theater, and it still has the curtain, the lobby, the orchestra pit, etc. It’s way cool. Here I am with Sidney. Thanks, Tattered Cover!

THE BOOKIES

The Bookies is a smaller but absolutely amazing bookstore away from the center of town. They specialize in books for kids and also teacher resources. Karen is a high school Spanish teacher, so she immediately got absorbed by the Spanish teaching resources and ended up buying a pile of loot. Here I am with Suzi Fischer, Vicki Hellman, and Mary Lou Steenrod. Such nice people!


HOTEL FROM HELL
Our hotel in Denver wasn’t that great. It was cramped, one of the beds actually broke when we sat down on it, and the TV didn’t work very well. Then as a final farewell just as we left, the toilet overflowed and ran out all over the floor. Lovely.

Goodbye, gushing toilet from the Hotel from Hell! :-)

THE BOULDER BOOKSTORE

This morning we went to The Boulder Bookstore, another big independent that makes you want to lose yourself in its many comfy, shelf-lined rooms. Arsen Kashkashian met us and was very kind. Tonight is the big release-party for Harry Potter 7, and the Boulder Bookstore is having live owls, an actual wizard, and a lot of other fun stuff including this gigantic papier mache sorting hat!



TAJIKISTANI TEA WITH LUCY

While Evan, Zoe, and I went to fetch the car from our distant parking spot, Karen and Lucy had tea at The Boulder Dushanbe Teahouse, which is a big ‘ol fancy Tajikistani tea room in the middle of Boulder. Apparently the barista, Rama Kho, did magic tricks with Lucy and gave her a complimentary hibiscus flower tea.


TROUBADOR BOOKS
Troubador Books is a lovely independent bookstore outside of the center of Boulder. It specializes in new books and books on performing arts. Deb Evans and Julie Leonard really went out of their way for us, including providing lemonade and helping us figure out our route to Utah. It’s amazing how friendly booksellers can be! Here I am with Deb and Julie. Thanks, guys! :-)


HERE AND NOW

As I type, it’s 6:42 PM and we just got out of a lengthy traffic jam on Route 70 heading toward Grand Junction, CO. I took this photo of the Starbucks in the mountains because it seems very Colorado: half coffee-place, half camping store.


Next stop, Utah!

--Mark
LEMONADE MOUTH (Delacorte Press, 2007)
I AM THE WALLPAPER (Delacorte Press, 2005)
www.markpeterhughes.com

Rebecca OUP-US

We have a really special treat for you today. Recently, Holly George-Warren author of Public Cowboy No. 1: The Life and Times of Gene Autry interviewed Jacqueline Autry. Ms. Autry, the second wife of Gene Autry, currently serves as Director and Chairman of the Board of the Autry National Center, the governing body for the Museum of the American West, Southwest Museum of the American Indian, and the Institute for the Study of the American West. The transcript is after the break. Click to play the Gene Autry podcast.

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Earlier today we posted an excerpt from When A Gene Makes You Smell Like a Fish…and Other Tales about the Genes in Your Body, by Lisa Seachrist Chiu. Now we are going to delve deeper into the book with an excerpt that looks at a specific genetic disease, Marfan syndrome.

On January 24,1986, U.S. Olympic volleyball player Flo Hyman took a well-earned breather during a game her team was playing in Matsue, Japan. It was the third game of the evening, and Hyman rotated out on a routine substitution. She sat on the bench and within seconds slid to the floor. Just two years after her team made history winning a silver medal in Los Angeles, the woman touted as the best female volleyball player ever was dead. (more…)

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I’m going to be honest. I have been waiting for When A Gene Makes You Smell Like a Fish…and Other Tales about the Genes in Your Body to come out in paperback. It is one of those book where you are so immersed in the stories you only realize later, after you put it down, how much you have learned. Author Lisa Seachrist Chiu tells stories about rare and not so rare genetic quirks while explaining modern genetics. Below we have excerpted the beginning of chapter two, Just One Bad Apple, this afternoon we will look at the Long Stretch Gene.

Your third-grade teacher was right. Sometimes it takes only one bad apple to spoil the barrel. (more…)

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