THIS WEEKEND WE, MEXICANS, CELEBRATE INDEPENDENCE DAY.

THE HOUSE ARE DECORATED WITH OUR COLORS FLAG: GREEN, WHITE AND RED. 

WE WILL HAVE A MEXICAN NIGHT HOLIDAY. 

I HAVE PHOTOGRAPHERED THIS MURAL PAINTED ABOUT OUR MEXICAN HISTORY.

A TELHUECHE LEGEND FROM THE PATAGONIA, ARGENTINA

KOSPI AND THE FIRST FLOWERS

Once upon a time a beautiful girl named Kospi lived with her people, the Chonke, nomads who traveled throughout the southernmost end of America, a land known as Patagonia. The Chonke camped at the same sites as they traveled from place to place, and they called these encampments "aikes."

(flowers from my garden)

The people say that one day long, long ago, Kospi and her people were camped at Uau Yaten, Lonely Rock, a beautiful place on the shores of a glacial lake, Kelta. Snow-capped mountains towered above them, surrounding this remote land where so few people lived. There were no horses at all, and flowers did not yet exist.

It was summer's end, and the colors of the forest were changing. The days were calm, and the sky and mountains were reflected in the mirror-like lake so that as Kospi wandered the shore, she seemed to be in two worlds at once, one above and one below, the reflection. As the sun began to set, the world seemed to be on fire with beauty, and the spirits that inhabited this lonely place quivered with joy.

Like all the women of her tribe, Kospi spent many hours each day working with animal hides, kneading them between her fingers to soften them, then stitching them together and painting them in her family's designs. Kospi worked just as her ancestors had for ages, weaving headbands and blankets and bindings for boots.

But on those days when the lake was as calm as it was in late summer, Kospi would leave her work to go to the water's edge and sit there contemplating the reflection of this radiant world.

The people say it was just such a day when everything changed. Kospi sat at the edge of the lake combing her long dark hair and singing chants, the stories of her people, when suddenly she heard the lord of the mountains, Karut, Thunder, close behind her. She leapt to her feet, startled by the roaring sound, but she was too late to run. Karut grabbed the young girl and carried her into the mountains. There, high in a secret crevasse in a glacier, he hid Kospi.

The poor girl was terrified. She cried out with all her strength, shouting to her people to save her, but those mountains are vast, and no matter how loudly she called, no one heard her.


For many months Kospi's people searched for her. They loved her and were heartbroken by her disappearance. All that autumn they called to her, but their shouts were lost among the gigantic trees of the forests of Patagonia that muffled sound.

Huddled in the terrible cold of those mountains, Kospi grew exhausted and finally silent. She fell asleep, and as she slept she became a part of the glacial walls, turning to ice. So she remained, throughout the autumn and all through that long winter.

And then, one day Karut woke the clouds with his thundering roar. The clouds began to pour out abundant rain. Great lagoons formed, and streams overflowed as winter's ice began to melt. It rained so hard, even Kospi thawed, turning into water that trickled down the mountainside into the valley, where the parched earth drank deeply and fed the plants.

The particles of water that composed Kospi seeped into tender stalks that swayed in the new season's wind. Spring was here, and the water that had once been Kospi reached the tips of those stalks.


One morning the strength of springtime's sun woke those tips. Kospi had become a bud, folded inside leaves that opened, and with the sun shining overhead, delicate petals appeared.


This, people say, was the birth of flowers.

And there is more. The people say that Kospi's artistry showed itself by giving color to the many flowers of southern Patagonia -- to orchids and neneo bushes, palomita and lupins, to mutisia and to the yellow flowers of the calafate bush. Those who know the ancient traditions believe that Kospi showed herself in these forms so that she might watch over her people forever, carpeting the countryside with an exquisite perfumed mantle, renewing herself every spring.


When those flowers first bloomed, sparrows and mockingbirds, thrushes and swallows began to sing with joy, communicating the news from aike to aike, and when the Chonke heard this news, they held a celebration to show their happiness. Ever since that day so long ago, the petals of those Patagonian flowers have been known as Kospi.

HONORES A JOSE PABLO MONCAYO

HOY ESTA DE FIESTA MEXICO, 
CELEBRAMOS 100 AÑOS DEL NACIMIENTO 
DE UNO DE LOS MEJORES COMPOSITORES MEXICANOS.

BRAVO,  

JOSE PABLO MOCAYO 

TU ESENCIA AUN VIVE Y VIVIRA POR SIEMPRE

EN TU MUSICA

EN LOS SENTIMIENTOS DE LOS MEXICANOS.

A delicious strawberry ice cream

Ingredients:

4 cups fresh ripe strawberries, stemmed and sliced
4 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice


1 level teaspoon strawberry cornflour

1-1/2 cups sugar
4 cups whole milk
1-1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extrac

4 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice

Instructions:

In a small bowl, combine the strawberries with the lemon juice and 1/2 cup of the sugar. Stir gently and allow the strawberries to macerate in the juices for 2 hours in the refrigerator. 

Mash the strawberries.

Boil  3 cups of  milk and  sugar  and vanilla.

Dissolve in 1 cup of milk, the strawberry cornflour. And it is added to milk to a boil. Leave to cool.

In a chilled bowl mix milk and strawberry puree.

Place it in the freezer until you have a smooth, creamy texture.  Stir with a spoon each three hours and return to the refrigerator. 

I have to wait for 8 hours.

Oh, My husband and I 

enjoyed this delicious ice cream.

And This is cheaper and a lot. 

But......We had to eat for one week ice cream.

Relaxing Walk

She is my friend, We have been friends 25 years ago. We went both at the same school. And two weeks ago we went out to walk.  We have seen a lot of beautiful things.

"Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light."

Helen Keller

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched.

They must be felt within the heart.

Helen Keller

"Love is like a beautiful flower which I may not touch, 

but whose fragrance makes the garden a place of delight just the same".         

Helen Keller

I who am blind can give one hint to those who see: use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind. And the same method can be applied to the other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra as if you would be stricken deaf tomorrow. Touch each object as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel as if tomorrow you could never smell and taste again. Make the most of every sense, glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact which nature provides. -- Helen Keller

TODAY IS CORPUS CHRISTI DAY

"There are three Thursdays in the year than the sun shines, 


Holy Thursday, Corpus Christi and Ascension Day." 

In this day here at Mexico, children and some young and old 

people wear clothes like "Inditos"

This is a photo years ago, I am with my cousin.

We celebrate the "Mulitas day", and we celebrate all the people with name Manuel.


These crafts are sold out of the churches, in this special day

YESTERDAY WAS MY BIRTHDAY

My dear husband and my family were with me, we celebrated my birthday.


My husband gave me this beautiful vase with flowers.

 My mother and sister cook for me.

I am really happy because God blessing me, each day.

Sometime I am sad because I am not a young lady but 

I think:

The best is yet to come.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

Este fragmento lo leí en el libro Alas Rotas: 

( The Broken Wings by Kahlil Gibran)

La más bella palabra en labios de los seres humanos es la palabra madre, y el llamado más dulce es madre mía. 

MY MOTHER

GOD BLESS MY MOTHER, GIVE HER HEALTH AND LIFE

 Es una palabra llena de esperanza y de amor; una dulce y amable palabra que surge de las profundidades del corazón. 

La madre lo es todo; es nuestro consuelo en la tristeza, nuestra esperanza en el dolor, y nuestra fuerza en la debilidad. 

Es la fuente del amor, de la misericordia, de la  conmiseración y del perdón.

MOTHER OF MY HUSBAND. SHE DIED 15 YEARS AGO.

 Quien pierde a su madre pierde a un alma pura que bendice y custodia constantemente al hijo.

 Todo en la Naturaleza habla de la madre. El Sol es la madre de la Tierra, y le da su alimento de calor; nunca deja al universo por las noches sin antes arrullar a la Tierra con el canto del mar y con el himno que entonan las aves y los arroyos. Y la tierra es la madre de los árboles y de las flores. Les da vida, los cuida y los amamanta. Los árboles y las flores se vuelven madres de sus grandes frutos y de sus semillas. Y la madre, el prototipo de toda existencia, es el espíritu eterno, lleno de belleza y amor.

¡Madre mía! La palabra madre está oculta en nuestros corazones, y acude a nuestros labios en horas de tristeza y en horas de felicidad, como el perfume que emana del corazón de la rosa y se mezcla con el aire diáfano, así como con el aire nebuloso.

ONION FLOWER

Yesterday I went to the Ecological Market and I bought some onion flowers , very cheap, only one dollar the dozen, It was the first time I bought them. 

Now, for the breakfast I have been cooking Enchiladas with Mole, instead onion rings I put on them  onion flowers.


I really liked it.