Yesterday My Guy surprised me with a freshly cut tree to decorate. I had been pining for a pine since we got back to Texas but between the miles and the December days running us over, a tree sort of got lost in the shuffle. When I saw him holding the East Texas loblolly pine my heart melted. He had cut it down himself. This tree is by far the best Christmas gift I have ever received and the Christmas tree I will always remember. I grabbed some scissors, construction paper, glue and started on decorations. It felt good to make something again. It was a gray day that turned into a cozy evening. We made a pizza pie for the first time that turned out rather delicious and warmed more than my tummy. I heard it begin to rain as I put the lights on the tree. Christmastime is here, it is hard not to be present.


Mother of All Mexico

Santiago once told me that on December 12th you are supposed to ask her anything and she'd understand, she'd listen and she'd deliver.

The tilma that hangs at the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico city is said to be the original image given to Juan Diego. The worship of the Virgen de Guadalupe is not Catholic, it actually offends many Catholics, but it is very much part of the Mexican culture. If she was created to convert the indigenous people into Catholics, the plan failed. She became the Goddess to a country of indigenous people who had been orphaned by their pagan gods and raped by European conquerors.  She belongs to them and they go to her for everything. 

These are the days...

Me, in front of a vintage motor lodge in New Oxford, PA. We spent a week here and I was able to enjoy movie after movie on TCM.  We took little day trips to neighboring towns that looked exactly like little Christmas villages and were decorated a full two weeks before Thanksgiving. My outfit matches the siding and my figure the scallops of the door. I noticed this before the photo was taken, so I felt a bit silly. Happy days.



Passing restaurants, bars and businesses bearing names of Ukrainian and Polish origin, each looking hazy as if draped with a light, gray veil, behind them a long rusty steel mill by desolate railroad tracks, this is Pittsburgh. The sun always seems to disappear entering Pittsburgh. I wanted so much to take photos of the melancholic buildings and lonely landscapes we saw but to stop, aim and shoot would ruin the poetry of the drive and I didn't want even the briefest pause. I was enjoying the rhythm of the scenery: Naked trees, falling buildings, fading row houses scattered on distant hilltops. A photo would be insignificant, it would be out of context. To appreciate, one needs to see it all at once.