Return to the Son of the Revenge of the Land of Manãna

By Mike Nettleton

So where exactly is the Land of  Manãna? And why is there a picture of a cheeseburger with green stuff globbing out of it on your computer screen? And why does the title of this blog look like the marquee of a very badly made black and white horror film?

(Mike inhales deeply)


Yuh see, it's like this. 



The Land of Manãna is New Mexico; more specifically Albuquerque. This is where Carolyn and I lived for a dozen or so years, met, and commenced to live in sin and then marry in 89. We have many old friends there and visit periodically. Part of the reason is to help with my S.A.D.D's which is brought on by the grey of Oregon this time of year. Another part is the food. We'll get to that in a minute.

Why is it called The Land of Manãna? Well because no one seems to be in much of a hurry there. Take your car to the shop and ask when it will be ready? The answer . . . Manãna. When is the rent due? Manãna. How about that overnight UPS delivery? Manãna.
The exact definition of Manãna is "I don't know, maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after, I'll call you, Ese, okay?

The highlights of this trip, along with catching up with old amigos was a couple of field trips with our friend Faye. We rolled down Interstate 25 to a magical wildlife refuge called The Bosque Del Apache, just south of Socorro. 

The Bosque is home to cranes, swans, geese, ducks, coyotes, deer, cougars and literally thousands of other varieties of birds, mammals, amphibians, rodents and reptiles. (A confession here. The first spectacular shot is snitched from the Bosque's web site. We took the one of the crane. 

The second field trip out of Albuquerque was west to Acoma Pueblo better known as the Sky City. This is typical of the terrain on the way out to Acoma, with towering mesas reminiscent of a Western movie.



Acoma Pueblo is built atop a sheer-walled, 367-foot sandstone bluff in a valley studded with sacred, towering monoliths. Since 1150 A.D., Acoma Pueblo has earned the reputation as the oldest continuously inhabited community in North America.  The mesa-top settlement is known worldwide for its unique art and rich culture. 

 Those fun-loving Spaniards invaded in the early 1600's bringing small pox, Catholicism and tyranny in their wake. Using Acoma Indian slaves they began construction of the massive San Esteban del Rey Mission in 1629. Since there are no trees of any size nearby, beams had to be cut from trees near Mt. Taylor about 30 miles away and transported to the construction site. The priest insisted the trees and beams could not touch the ground and still be sanctified so the Acomas had to hand carry the massive vigas (beams) all the way. It's no surprise that the natives revolted against the Spanish and threw them (in some cases literally) off the mesa several times. 
I said there were no trees up there and that's a small lie. Our Acoma guide, Gary led us to a lone cottonwood in the middle of the settlement. "This," he said "We call the Acoma National Forest. Try not to get lost in it." That Gary. What a kidder. A great guide and storyteller though.

Before I finish, I should explain the cheeseburger. Remember the cheeseburger? (The battle cry of the gastric wars of '97)

At the entrance to the Bosque Del Apache is a run down looking building called The Owl Bar and Cafe. Don't be fooled by it's exterior. Inside is a saloon that could have been lifted right out of a Randolph Scott western movie. (Gasp . . .Randolph Scott!) This place is world-famous folks. Even been written up in The New Yorker and everything. And they serve a green chile cheeseburger that is sublime, transcendent and packed with spicy goodness. About 27,000 calories worth. No pilgrimage to New Mexico would be complete without one (or maybe more) of these babies. Ours was brought to us by a sweet, gray-haired lady who had been waiting tables there since I was in Junior High. You do the math.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this mini-travelogue. Watch this space for more spine-tingling bloggish action. When? Oh, Manãna.

 

 

Scourge of the Supermarket

Carolyn J. Rose

You know who they are.

But do they?

And if they do know, do they see any reason change their ways?

I’m talking about people who hold up progress. Not progress on the scale of bridge building or highway construction, but progress checking out of a supermarket in a timely manner.

Being a Virgo and loving to make lists and check things off, I’m well prepared for the weekly hunt for provisions. I even go so far as to structure my list to match the layout of the store. That way I can zip through the aisles without having to backtrack. I can get the chore done faster.

Unless I hit a roadblock at the checkout stand.

Those roadblocks aren’t always obvious. They certainly don’t wear signs advising those in a hurry to detour around them. In fact, some might resent being passed by the more aware and organized.

So, congratulating myself on my progress so far, I unload my groceries. And, being a Virgo, I have a system for that as well. Frozen foods go together, refrigerated items gather in a pack, fruits and vegetables clump together, cans line up in military fashion, and then eggs, bread, and bags of chips take up positions in the rear. I place my cloth grocery bags at the front of the line, get out my debit card, and—

Progress comes to a screaming halt.

The shopper ahead of me seems stunned, not by the tally, but by the concept of having to pay. This shopper—who may be any gender, any age, or from any background—peers at the display, and peers at the groceries piling at the end of the moving conveyor belt. The checker repeats the total and, at the speed of a barely awake sloth, the roadblock shopper digs for a wallet. Then dithering begins in earnest. The roadblock shopper considers paying with a card, wonders if he or she has enough cash, counts out bills and coins, decides to use the debit card after all, ponders a mix of cash and card, then speculates about using a credit card instead.

By this time I’ve passed through frustration and low-level rage to considering whether a jury would convict me for what I’d like to do. Next, I fight the urge to walk away, to do without the items I so carefully set on the belt.

Sympathy for the checker keeps me in place. This is only an occasional problem for me, but not for the person running the cash register. There will be other roadblock shoppers unloading their carts—maybe within an hour, maybe before the end of the day, and definitely in the days to come.

Because they’re out there. Not only at the supermarket, but at movie theaters, coffee shops, bookstores, food carts, and many other places where money exchanges hands.

And the next time you think you’re making progress, one might turn up in front of you.