How Much do I Love This?

 Hola, hola, hola. I take so many pictures. I really am sometimes totally out of control. As I have mentioned I am a wussy photographer. I don't like to get in anyone's space. I often try a secret my youngest little brother, who is a very famous Hollywood camera man, taught me........keep your camera at waist level, stay in the background and click away. Well, when he does it his photos look ready for GQ, but when following professional advice like his, mine look like crap...........sorry, mom, i know i am not supposed to say 'crap'..........

But, LOOK! How much do I love these two photos? So much I can hardly stand it. Waist level, clicking away, staying in the shadows and look what I got. While the bride is messing with her dress back, the photographer is taking photos of the groom. I should win some kind of prize, don't you think?  LOOK at her flip flops, on the ground by the photographer. Really two of the best photos I have ever taken, following some good advice.


I just got back from my yearly walk to La Aduana. I went with a very sore back and returned with a very sore back and a really sore hip. Maybe it's my last time to walk for 2 hours in the dark with a dying flashlight, one hour on a road that is beginning to need new asphalt because it has acquired some new holes and another hour in a deep sand and sometimes rock strewn arroyo. I don't know. I love going so much. I love watching the church procession come in and the deer dancers and the music and and the ladies I walk with and all the people and I love the corn.

Here is a link to my post about last year's walk. At least I think it is a link. It looks suspicious to me. I think it is supposed to have a blue underline. Maybe you will have to paste it into your browser if you want to read more. I could post all my pictures from the morning, but if you read the blog, you have already seen the pictures because they look an awful lot just like last year's. So, try this page or link to see them again.
 http://glasspondstudio.blogspot.mx/2011/11/long-walk.html

But here is the corn. The lady pulls an ear from a simmering pot of corn and slices all the kernels off and puts them into a paper cup. She adds a tiny bit of corn juice from the pot and some butter and sprinkles cheese on top.

Then I take it and fill the cup with lime juice and picante sauce and chili and spices and whatever else she has out on the table because I like it all and then after I eat it I want to have another but the ladies I have walked with are heading for the churro stand. So I have a bunch of churros instead. 

Okay then, I am totally pooped and I am just fixing to get out the heating pad and put it on my hip and take a nap.
Hasta luego! Linda Lou

The Long Walk

Buen dia.

It is 4 in the morning here in Alamos, Mexico, and after a late night with friends and fellow musicians, I am dragging myself from the warmth of a pile of quilts to go on a pilgrimage with my Mexicana amigas.

I was awake most of last night in fear of missing the meeting spot. Eager anticipation and fond memories of last year's walk also kept me from sleep.

The bells of our own Alamos church woke me at 3:00, calling to me slowly, beckoning me out into the cold.

The walk to the old silver mining town of La Aduana to visit the church there, begins a week of holy vows for some people who walk from all corners of Sonora to arrive by dawn on this morning. For others it means party for three days straight, with no work and no vows, punctuated with a lot of tequila.


It is the long walk that keeps me coming back.

Under a moon struck sky, my friends and I link arms as we make our way across the rock studded dirt arroyo. One of us will trip and fall, and arms will reach out to help. The language barrier is no longer noticeable as we attempt to converse in Spanish about children, parents, siblings and inevitably, our husbands. For much of the time we will walk quietly, thinking and wondering to ourselves, solving problems, not solving problems, and then, not thinking at all.

The air around us breathes with shooting stars and mysterious shadows dance across the sand. Along the way, several small fires light the path, their embers fleeing the heat, reaching out to the velvet sky.

For two hours we follow this seemingly never ending path, a path that has been followed before by many steps. We will breathe in a bountiful supply of cold air and relish this time of being together and yet, being alone.

At La Aduana, our faces glowing in the pink and golden sunrise, we sit in the church. Open to the elements of nature, Nuestra Senora de la Balvanera, is small and the wind gathers inside, bringing with it the tantalizing smells from the vendor's pots outside.

We sit quietly, nodding and then standing to kiss the cheeks of friends we see. We watch the long procession of people lay their flowers at the altar, cross themselves and kiss the statues of the Lady of Balvanera.

Back outside, on cobblestone streets we pause to watch La Danza del Venado, the Dance of the Deer, and listen to the mystifying notes of the rattles, flutes and guitars that accompany this ancient Yaqui Indian ritual.

Finally, after warming ourselves with cups of creamed corn, laden with butter and lime juice and hot sauce, we will slowly give up this magic, each of us returning to our homes, leaving a small, but significant amount of ourselves in La Aduana until next year.