Cindy Bradford, Ph.D., Author

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Salute! With A Little Salt & Lime

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In the last blog you were introduced to a dusty little Mexican town where I take visitors to the island to get a flavor of the area, and where I go occasionally with local friends without any real purpose except to shop and take in the “local color.” I also introduced you to my friend, Carlene, who was best known to many of you as a spirited, redhead who pranced down the halls, in extremely high heels that always matched her business attire, of an intermediate school that she “controlled with a velvet glove and iron fist.”

Seldom did you see a break in that professional armor. As principal she was tough, as an educational generalist, keenly knowledgeable about instructional strategies and curriculum, and as an individual, warm, compassionate and self-disciplined. The mother of a Baptist minister, she has always been just such a role model.

But I suppose there comes a time in the lives of everyone when one has to “live a little.” to branch out, and try the forbidden fruit which in this case is the blue agave! And try she did, and loved it. And because her first taste came in Mexico she is convinced that it is the one and only best stuff ever bottled. Granted, it is about half the price there, so that’s a good thing. Thus, came our reason recently to visit Progresso again—for what we say here in the “valley”—a quick liquor run. I might have guessed I would be an accomplice for this type of adventure for anyone in the whole wide world, EXCEPT my friend Carlene. Let’s hope her son doesn’t read this. How the tables turn. And so it goes……….with a little salt and lime. Salute! Or is it, Ay,Caramba???

Progresso-That Dusty Little Mexican Village

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I took the day off yesterday and went to Progresso, Mexico for an “outing” as my parents would have called it. It is always fun to visit this dusty little Mexican village which is about an hour’s drive away.  Not only is the change of culture something unique, the time warp is equally interesting.  It wasn’t until a few years ago that the streets were paved, well sorta paved, and only a few buildings lined the main drag basically to nowhere. Back then, the street vendors sold tacos and other mysteries folded in tortillas (which I am neither brave nor stupid enough to eat), silver jewelry, and almost every “knockoff” ever made available to us gringos.

The street vendors are still there along with some of the early wares from days gone by, but now there are curio shops everywhere, along with at least 100 farmacias and as many dental offices. I will not get my teeth worked on there either, although that is the main draw for the Q-tips—that and cheap medicine. In a few weeks, the cobblestones will be overrun with the winter visitors, especially those who stay in the motor home villages close to the border.  Cheap margaritas will flow and guacamole will be in large demand. I thought now was a good time to miss the crowds although it is fun to see the “winter gringos” wearing their sporty windbreakers, embroidered with the names of their trailer parks. Some wear big nametags, adorned with pens denoting the number of years staying at that park and other similar affiliations. This name tag custom I have never quite figured out.  Are they afraid they will forget their name or forget where they are staying?

Actually, I do somewhat understand, and maybe this is a very good idea because the margaritas in this tiny town are not like those here in the States. None of that pre-mixed, watered down stuff for these hearty bartenders. These drinks are where the lyrics from the country western song by Lorrie Morgan and Sammy Kershaw must have originated: “He drinks tequila and she talks dirty in Spanish.” These are potent concoctions, just the way these visiting folks like them. After all, they haven’t lived this long for nothing, which is another reason my friends and I were there for the day.

Now, as you know I really like wine, and my good friend Judy likes her whisky. But my other good buddy, Carlene, has been a bit of a teetotaler until recently when she read a novel where the protagonist was drinking tequila shots. She decided that she had been good too long, and as she is approaching another birthday, she wanted to do a few things she has never done and drinking a shot of tequila appeared to be one of those “things.” As I said about the street tacos, I am neither brave nor stupid enough to go there—again—in my life.  But for some strange reason, the lime and the salt and the tequila were just the right mixture for my friend…and your friend, for many of you reading this. So, to pique your interest this is “to be continued”.

My Moo Friends

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Last blog I introduced you to one of my old bosses.  You may have also seen in some of the comments to me a reference to moos or cows.  There is a reason for that.  These “moo friends” grew from young, fresh, out of college, inexperienced teachers to seasoned educators in the same school district with me.

The years may have caused a change in our hair color and style and added a few wrinkles, but nothing has dampened our spirits and love of life. Over the years we have laughed and cried together, seen each other through marriages and breakups, babies and losses of parents, watched kids grow up and go away, some too soon and some not fast enough, and most of all enjoyed and treasured each others friendship as we continue to do. In the midst of this, we encountered Mr. Superintendent who not only didn’t like my friends because they were fun, but also because they had history in the district and basically a fan club.

They were all excellent teachers or administrators who loved kids and gave all students everything they had to help them grow into responsible young adults.  It didn’t take Mr. Supt. long to figure this all out, and in his typical loving way he began to refer to them as “old cows.”

Since these are wise and tough ole educators they turned it all into something fun and began calling themselves: the Moo-Moos.  And it stuck.  Nowadays, many still get together every month or so and talk about the good ole days as well as show off a few grandbaby or  travel photos,  share hobbies, or just catch up on the gossip—a few of the things that bring joy in this stage of their lives.

I appreciate them and all my earlier colleagues tuning in to my posts, and making comments when time allows. Just remember all the fun times, Moos, and don’t forget there is a reason we call that thing we flush a john!!!! Now, prepare for a book signing!!!

My Little Red Jeep

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Lately, I haven’t had much time to just run around the island.  In my case that would be drive around the island, but last Sunday I called a truce with my inner-blog and jumped in my little red jeep and took off for a ride with friends.

I love my old red Jeep that I purchased almost 19 years ago. It is still in mint condition with only 76,000 original miles.  Back when I was younger, it was a “man magnet.” Today, when men stop me at the post office or grocery store it is only to ask what year the Jeep is or if I am interested in selling it. And these are older men, not like in the good ole days. True, I am older as well, but the Jeep is just as cute as she was back in 1991.

Spring Break used to be fun because the young boys would pull up with great intentions of flirting and then they would see………..well, an “older woman.” So much for the “show me your t—! I would have had to raise them up over the steering wheel. Now, that is not exactly too sexy for your car!

In spite of all the offers I get to purchase the Jeep, I will never sell her. My friends, Bill and Dave, fight over who can buy it to take to their deer leases.  I would never let “Ole Red” go to a deer lease and be dragged through the mud and overgrown brush. She and I have too many years together and too many good times to ever let her go.

I was on my way to a professional development session in Richardson the day I saw her up on the riser, all shiny and new.  The next day I went back and bought her. I traded my “real” car in because I couldn’t afford a play car and another car at the time.

These were the days when I always wore high heels and suits with skirts and served as assistant superintendent for a suburban district outside of Dallas. I also had the boss from Hell, who did not like anything remotely connected to fun, and didn’t like anyone else who did.  When he saw the Jeep parked next to his big black Tahoe that next morning, I know he must have been horrified – not because he was thinking about how I was going to get in and out of it all dressed up professionally because I guarantee it was a better sight than his big butt lumbering out of his monster truck; he was thinking about how much fun I was going to have and he didn’t like it one bit.

Now, this guy is the only boss I ever had that I didn’t like, and there was good reason. He was one of the “meanest” people I have ever known, and very proud of it. I wasn’t used to this because my boss before him was a true gentleman and all around good person. I hope both are reading this, but I know the cynical one isn’t because this is something fun.

But my point is I wouldn’t care. He was so bad he bragged about putting salt on the shrubs the PTA bought for one of his campuses back when he worked in a different town just because they didn’t confer with him about what kind to buy before they purchased and planted.  Do you know how many bake sales, etc. it took for the PTA to pay for those shrubs?? Shame on him! I know I really should feel sorry for someone that miserable, but I just can’t get there.

If he could see me today at the island, he would really be upset because I am having way too much fun.  Eat your heart out, Mr. Superintendent. Oh, and I failed to mention that when he “left” the district, I was promoted to his job. God not only opens doors—he sometimes lets them hit others in the butt on their way out. I don’t guess Mr. Supt. will want an autographed copy of Keeping Faith, do you?

October on South Padre Island

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October is one of my favorite months on the island, because it is cooler (relatively speaking) and less crowded. The only downside is the scheduled events that the Chamber of Commerce and Tourist Bureau dream up to increase the flow of money. This last week was SPLASH, an alternative lifestyle convention, which means the island was overrun with the cutest, best dressed men of the whole year.

Trouble is they never show the slightest bit of interest in me—not even in chatting with me. Normally they spend a great deal of time at the beach, and though I am not really a beach person, I once went over just to check it all out.  Just in case you didn’t know—they make Speedos in all sizes!!

This week is the Bikefest, better known as the Roar at the Shore.  And that is no exaggeration.  There will be hundreds of very expensive Harleys, Kawasakis, Yamahas and Hondas on the island. It will seem as though this little strip of land is vibrating into the Gulf of Mexico from all of the noise.  Restaurants will have parking spaces reserved for “Hogs Only,” and everyone in leather will have a rip-roaring loud time. A parade caps off the weekend, giving the riders a chance to show off their latest bikes and biking attire. I really hate that I am going to miss it! I’m off to the Galapagos!

Memories of School Libraries

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Recently, I have had the good fortune to spend some time in high school libraries. My, have they changed, and for the better.  Most look like mini Barnes and Nobles with coffee bars and plush chairs and sofas.  It is so refreshing to see students actually using the library resources and enjoying them.

My memories of school libraries are not so positive. When I was in junior high (that in itself dates me since most are now middle schools) I was a “student library assistant” which meant I got the unenviable task of putting books back in their proper shelving assignment, all the while not being able to talk to any of my friends. Nobody was allowed to talk.  At the time I thought the librarian was probably a mute because all that ever came from her pursed lips was a SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Of course, for added emphasis she put her index finger to those ruby red, wrinkled lips and left it there until the last of the shhhhh was complete.  This went on the entire class period, and I am positive all day long.  If a student so much as whispered he got “the look.”

She looked like the quintessential librarian of the 60’s—prim, proper, white hair in a bun, wearing a shirtwaist dress and patent-leather pumps (AKA shoes). She must have had a miserable life, because not once did I ever see the lady smile. She didn’t like me very much, and it showed. I didn’t like her very much, and it showed.

Part of the trouble was that she didn’t get to “pick” me. My mother was a science teacher at the school and had been for a couple of decades so she had a little advantage in planning my schedule, and I needed another elective.  I certainly didn’t want P.E. I already had to lead the calisthenics because otherwise the gym teacher would catch me goofing off. This way if I were up front, she could watch me every step of the jumping jacks way!  I hated exercise, and that hasn’t changed one bit in these years since. When some of my friends here on the island started going to the gym at 6:30 in the morning, I told them I wouldn’t join them if it added five years to my life!!! That’s how much I hate exercise.

Anyway, I became the second period assistant which meant that there were a lot of books to shelve from the early morning returns.  What I liked least about the library was the Dewey Decimal System. You see, I am very global and I find any “system” confining and regimented.  I mean, why not put the books by novels or something easy.  If kids want them bad enough they will find them.  Besides that makes it more a game, and games for junior high kids are fun.

Looking back, I am certain I probably restocked the shelves a little haphazardly and a little in my own fashion, but forty years later, who notices?  Libraries have now changed to be more my style.  I still like to read, and I still like to talk.  The books on the shelf next to my desk are in no logical order, but I find them just fine. Soon, I will add another one—Keeping Faith. Now where should I place it??