Turning Night Into Day

There was once a wise old rabbi who asked his students, “How can you know the exact moment when night ends and day begins?”

“I think I know,” said one of his pupils.  “Is it when, from a great distance, you can tell a dog from a sheep?”

“No,” said the rabbi.

“I know,” said another.  “It must be when, from a distance, you can tell a date palm from a fig tree.”

“No,” said the rabbi.

His students looked at each other and then at the rabbi.  “We don’t know,” they said.  “Please tell us.”

And the rabbi replied, “It is when you look into the face of any person from any nation…

…man…

…or woman…

…Jew or gentile…

…and see your brother…

…or your sister.”

”And that is the blessed moment,” said the rabbi,  “when the dawn is come.”

c2014NaomiBaltuck

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Nighttime.

No Regrets

Forgive me bloggers, it has been two weeks since my last post.

I’ve been traveling out of the country and back in time.  All the stars and planets aligned to make it so.

The journey began, as they often do, with use ‘em or lose ‘em nights at a nice hotel, this time in Cancun.

It was only five days and four nights at stake, and I’d be saving less than the airfare would cost to get there.  But my son Eli was home in between teaching jobs abroad, and he had never been to Mexico.

My Cousin Nancy is always up for an adventure!

If that wasn’t incentive enough, we arranged to stop over in Houston on the way home to visit our cousins, June and Haskell.  We celebrated her 90th birthday with her in San Antonio last summer, and wanted to help Haskell celebrate his 90th.

Of course, they’d been celebrating all month, but what’s not to love about that?

Our first stop:  Chichen Itza.  I’d been there before, but hardly scratched the surface.  Chichen Itza was a large culturally diverse pre-Columbian Meso-American city.  The 1500 year old pyramid at its heart was the Temple of Kukulkan, the feathered serpent god, also related to Quetzalcoatl.

Our guide, Murux, was Mayan. He guided my husband Thom and me on our last trip down.

Murux grew up in the village of Chichen Itza, running in and out of the ancient ruins, playing inside the pyramid, and tagging after the archaeologists excavating the site.  In the 70s, when Chichen Itza became a National Park, locals living within park limits were forced to abandon their homes.

Some still return each morning to sell souvenirs to tourists.  There was something I wished I’d bought last time, only I just couldn’t remember what. Then we heard the snarl of a jaguar in the jungle, an eerie cry.  Then another.  And another.  Oh, yeah!  It was vendors demonstrating ceramic whistles mimicking the big cats worshiped by the Mayans.  I’m not much of a shopper, except when I accidentally purchase rugs, and that usually just happens in Turkey or Morocco.

On this trip I bought only a sun hat, for protection, and two jaguar whistles, for fun.  No more regrets!

If Murux had not been so fascinated by the excavations, today he might be selling whistles or rugs among the ruins.  But he pursued his passions, and became a college professor with a PHD in archaeology.  He also became a lithographer who illustrates his own books about Mayan history and culture.  When not teaching or guiding tours, he explores the jungle in search of ancient villages, or works on digs, excavating ruins.  No regrets.

I asked Murux why they needed all the little pyramids if they had the big one for worship and sacrifices.  He said they were models on which the builders experimented with scale and proportions.  That was how they perfected an amazing acoustic effect.  When standing in front of the temple stairs, one clap of your hands creates an echo identical to the cry of the Quetzal bird, believed to be a messenger of the gods.

Visitors were allowed into the temple until 2006, when a tourist fell to her death.   It’s difficult to grasp how steep and high these stairs are until you are actually climbing up them, or worse, going down.

A forty-five minute drive from there is the smaller, more isolated Mayan village of Ek Balam.

Built 4000 years ago, it’s older than Chichen Itza, less touristy, and more accessible.

We were allowed to climb the ruins, including a very steep stairway like the one at Chichen Itza.

No one knows why the village was abandoned, but the inhabitants filled buildings with rocks to prevent others from moving in.

After further adventures in Mexico, which I’ll tell you about another time, we flew to Houston…

…and rented a car from a good natured cowpoke named Trace.   It’s true what they say; everything IS bigger in Texas.

When we arrived, Happy Hour was already under way.  My cousin Leslie had baked Haskell his sixth 90th birthday cake, a scrumptious carrot cake with cream cheese, raisin, coconut, and walnut frosting.

Haskell mixed our rum and Cokes using an antique gill cup…

 …which was used 150 years ago to measure out the sailors’ daily ration of rum in the Royal British Navy.  Rum from that gill cup was served with a side of whimsey, imagination, and ceremony.  And it tasted so much better that way.

Some folks might call Haskell ancient, now that he has officially joined the ranks of the world’s nonagenarians.  But I say he’s ninety years young.   Unlike many people I know, who are young in years and old in carriage, Haskell is still learning new tricks.

He is still widening his circle of friends and family.

He’s still good with the ladies…and one in particular.

What do you give a guy who has everything, and knows it?  I could think of only one thing.  It was something not everyone could appreciate.  It would involve mastering a questionable new skill.  But I had a feeling Haskell would be up to the challenge.  And of course he was.  He always is.

No regrets!

All images and words copyright Naomi Baltuck

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Abandoned.

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The Most Noble Story

There was once a widow who had three sons, Alberto, Eduardo, and Ernesto. She had spent a lifetime trying to teach them the meaning of charity and compassion.

The day came when she knew she was dying, and would no longer be there to guide them. She called her sons to her bedside.

“My sons, the only thing of value I have to leave you is my diamond ring. It was given to me by my mother, who had it from her mother, whose mother handed it down to her. It cannot be divided and it must not be sold, for one day, it shall go to one of your daughters. Now I must decide which of you is most worthy of this treasure. Go, my sons, and do good in the world. Come back in one week’s time and tell me your stories. The one who has performed the most noble deed shall inherit the diamond.”

By the time the three young men gathered again at her bedside, their poor mother was near death.

She said to her firstborn, “Alberto, tell me your story.” “Well, Mother,” said the eldest, “after much thought, I gave half of everything I owned to the poor.” “My son,” said the old woman, “no one can tell you that you haven’t performed a good deed. But it is not a noble deed, for have I not taught you that it is everyone’s responsibility to care for the needy?” She said to her secondborn son, “Eduardo, tell me your story.” He said, “Mama, I was passing the river when I saw a small child swept away in the current. I can hardly swim, but I jumped into the water and pulled the child out to safety. It was only by the grace of God that I didn’t drown myself.” “My son, you too have performed a good deed, but not a noble deed. Have I not taught you that everyone should be willing to lay down his life for that of a helpless child?” The old woman said to her youngest son, “Eduardo, come tell me your story.” Ernesto hesitated before taking her hand. “Mamacita,” he confessed, “I haven’t much to tell. As you know, I’ve no earthly goods, and I cannot swim a stroke. But I’ll tell you something that happened to me this week. Very early one morning I was walking in the mountains. I came upon a man sleeping at the edge of a cliff. If he were to stir in his sleep, he would surely fall to his death on the rocks below. I determined to prevent this tragedy. I crept over, so as not to startle him awake. Then I saw that it was my bitter enemy, Juan Miguel. At first, I thought to leave him there, for the last time we met, Juan Miguel threatened to kill me if he ever got the chance. But I knew what I had to do.  As I put my arms around him, Juan awoke and I could see the fear in his eyes as he recognized me. “’Don’t be afraid,’ I told him. I quickly rolled him away from the precipice to safety, and helped him to his feet. When Juan Miguel came toward me, I was sure he meant to kill me. But then he threw open his arms to embrace me. Juan said, ‘Last night darkness fell before I could get home. Rather than chance a misstep in the dark, I decided to spend the night where I was. I had no idea I was so close to the cliff edge. You saved my life, Ernesto, and after I treated you so poorly!’  To make a long story short, Mamacita, Juan and I are no longer enemies, but have sworn to be friends forever.” The old woman shed tears of joy. “My son, I have taught you well. That was truly a noble deed, and you are a noble man, for you risked your life to save a man sworn to kill you. With one act of kindness, you have transformed hatred into love and made the world a better place.” With her dying breath she told her sons, “The diamond shall go to Ernesto, but you must all remember that with each noble deed you perform, you shall add to the treasure that awaits you in Heaven.”

All three sons married and had children of their own. They, like their mother, taught their children the meaning of charity and compassion. When the time came, Ernesto left his mother’s diamond to one of his daughters. But Alberto and Eduardo left their children a gem worth as much as any diamond, for their children held in their hearts their grandmother’s precious legacy, the story of the most noble story.

All photos copyright 2013 Naomi Baltuck

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Travel Theme: Enlightenment.

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Forces of Nature.

The Most Noble Story is from Apples From Heaven, copyright 1995 Naomi Baltuck, and retold from a folk tale of Mexico.

NaomiPHOTO1-300ppi51kAqFGEesL._SY300_NAOMI BALTUCK  is a world-traveler and an award-winning writer, photographer, and story-teller whose works of fiction and nonfiction are available through Amazon HERE .   She is also a Contributing Editor and Resident Storyteller at The Bardo Group. 

You Can’t Change That

Like a brilliant sunset, it’s here and then gone.

As fleet as a bird on the wing…

Passing as unnoticed as the morning dew…

…even as it goes speeding down the track of no return.

From here.

To here.

Like a river, it flows, with its twists and turns, its highs and lows.

But mostly highs.

But it’s just as they say.

 Time…

…and tides wait for no one.

Childhood, theirs–not ours–slips away like water through our fingers.

 

Or a kite caught up in a strong wind.

As warm and wonderful as a hug, but just as fleeting.

Suddenly they’re all grown up; intelligent, creative, compassionate human beings, ready to make their contributions to the world.  Which is the whole point, isn’t it?

Their childhood is a gift…

…we gave to each other.

It has its season, and then it’s gone…

Off they go to seek their fortunes.

Dang!  And just when they learned how to cook!

But here’s something they won’t know until they have children of their own.  Long after our kids are parents, long after they’ve gone gray, long after they are elderly orphans…they will still be our babies.

 photo e44fa7f6-b8ce-4182-b007-8bfc3bce5a47_zpsee121352.jpg
Neither time nor tides can ever change that.

All words and images copyright 2013 Naomi Baltuck

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Nostalgia.

Colores Locales

Wherever we go, there is color all around.  Sometimes the colors are muted, but still, they are painting our world beautiful.

In Mexico, color is a feast for the eyes, a celebration…absorbed through all the senses.

From the jungle parfait…

..to the pink cotton candy clouds.

We could hear colors in the music.

We saw it in the art…

…and in their traditional dress.

We tasted it in the wine…

…and felt it in the colorful characters we were fortunate enough to meet.

…including some we will never forget.


I’ve never seen water so intensely blue.

Or skin so intensely red…

…flora so purple…

…leaves so green…

Colors were hiding everywhere, just below the surface…

…ready to burst out and surprise us.

And everywhere we turned, there were rainbows.

We love Seattle, our silver city by the sea, but long after we had flown back north….

…Long after our footprints had been washed away in the sand…

…to tide us over on those cold and gray Seattle days, we carried a bit of the Mexican rainbow home in our hearts.

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Travel Theme: Colorful.

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All words and images c2013NaomiBaltuck

Embracing the ‘M’ Word

On our recent trip to Mexico, we had a Mayan guide, Murux.

 

I was worn out with the extreme heat and sun, after walking around Chichen Itza, a huge complex of Mayan ruins.

  In between visits to Mayan ruins, Murux took us to Cenote Sagrado Azul.  A cenote is a sinkhole or cave providing access to the extensive system of underground and underwater caves beneath the Yucatan Peninsula.  Of the estimated 30, 000 cenotes, a few are open to the public for swimming.  Murux says the Mayans regarded them as sacred entrances to the Underworld.  I was a little skeptical when I saw this sign. I mentioned once that I only swim in the warm waters off the Hawaiian Islands.  I don’t like being cold.  Nor do I like public showers, public pools, or making public appearances in my swimsuit.  But my husband Thom gave me a gentle nudge (with a sharp stick), and somehow I found myself suited up, reluctantly stepping into the open outdoor shower outside the entrance to Cenote Sagrado Azul.  Dripping wet, I walked past the security guard through the archway, and looked down from the rim into the cenote.  In that instant, I was transported from the oppressive heat of a dusty dry world into another world entirely.  With its hanging vines, watery echoes, and tiny streams dripping down stone walls into a jade pool, it was like a scene from a Tarzan or an Indiana Jones movie.

I descended slippery stone steps through a tunnel into the actual cave, along with a swarm of tourists who had just arrived by bus. We all stepped into an underground chamber, open to the sky, with sunlight filtering down through the vines.

  Stairs hugged the wall, leading up to a ledge where swimmers took turns making flying leaps into the water.  No fear of hitting the bottom—this was the entrance to the Underworld, and it was bottomless. Thom marched into line and took the plunge.  I’d already embraced my familiar and comfortable role as photographer and journalist, and I clung to it like a life raft.  I did touch my toe to the water, and it was cold.  I didn’t want to leave my camera hanging unguarded on a post.  And there were all those velvety black catfish-like creatures swimming around in there… Like a mahout with a stubborn elephant,Thom backed me down the first couple rungs of a small wooden ladder.  I was in up to my waist before I balked.  A woman, already in the water, said something in Spanish, and she started to peel my fingers away from the ladder.  I was shocked at this breach of personal space, and held on even tighter.  The woman laughed, and slapped at my hands.  It was clear that she wasn’t going to go away, and she wasn’t going to give up.  Some part of me really wanted to let go, and I knew I would probably regret it if I did not take that plunge.  I released my grip, and splashed backwards into the cool clear water. The word ‘magic,’ is overused.  But the ‘M’ word is the only one I can think of to describe that moment, that magic, that Mexico, that me.  I surfaced, the woman smiled, and melted into the crowd, like an angel who had come down to earth, completed her mission, and moved on.   The tour bus must’ve recalled its passengers, because when I swam out to the center of the pool and looked back, I felt like the only person in a world where time did not exist.  It was like learning to breathe again.  It was a baptism.  It was letting go of the heat, the shyness, the fear.  It was a little like falling in love.

I am now a believer.  And not only in spirit guides.  I now know it’s possible to step through the entrance to the Underworld, and exist in that sacred place where kings and princesses bathe and are renewed.

All words and images c2013 Naomi Baltuck

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Roy G. Biv

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Beating Montezuma at His Own Game

Did your mom ever tell you that the best revenge is living well?  Mine did. I mention this because we were in Mexico over spring break, living very well…

…and then you-know-what happened.  Not to me, but to my husband Thom.


I was so wary of getting sick that I rinsed my toothbrush with bottled water, and kept my mouth shut in the shower, even when I forgot my towel and wanted to holler for a towelgram.  When the water quality is in question, I don’t drink anything that doesn’t come out of a bottle or a can.  Well, for the most part.

After snorkeling by the second largest coral reef in the world, we came ashore and the boat crew opened up the bar.  Thom brought me a Diet Coke on ice.  Horrified, I immediately scooped out the ice cubes, dashed them to the sand, and sanitized my hands.  (Just kidding, but I DID remove the ice from the cup.)  Not wanting to waste all that Diet Coke, I asked the barkeeper to add two shots of tequila to the concoction to kill any microscopic critters in the cola.  Thom obviously didn’t have enough to drink, because I felt fine afterwards (A childhood diet of hot dogs and Franco-American Spaghetti left me with an iron stomach), while his intestines were definitely unhappy.  Of course, it might’ve been The Lemonade of Unknown Origin Thom had consumed the previous day, which, ironically, is the opposite of making lemonade out of lemons.  In any case, we were not going to be redeeming our coupons that night for free margaritas at the mariachi party.


Thom rested and read, while I ran to the store for sick person food.  If you’re a traveler or a parent, you probably know about the BRAT diet.  In the aftermath of intestinal upheaval, Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, and Toast are easy on the system.

The hotel store didn’t stock applesauce.   I bought four Granny Smith apples, bread for toast, bananas, and a bottle of vino.  Back in our room, I had a glass of wine, just in case.  I peeled the apples, threw them into a pan on the stove, and Holy Montezuma, Batman!  It’s homemade applesauce!

Thom didn’t feel up to eating that night, but applesauce is what the dear lad broke his fast on the next morning.

He was in no condition to hop on the ferry to Isla Mujeres to go snorkeling.  But we had a lovely walk on the beach just outside our hotel.

Watching the pelicans diving for fish…

…was almost as good as doing it ourselves.

And the People Watching was even better.


When you’re traveling, smooth sailing is a bonus, not the rule.

We followed the example of the iguana outside our hotel.  After an obvious run of bad luck, his could’ve been a very sad tail indeed.   But he is giving himself the gift of a happy ending.

Besides, my mom also used to say, “Leave something for the next time, so you have a reason to come back.”

All words and images c2013 Naomi Baltuck.

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