Hungry And The Domestic Helper Is Out

By kiki

Early this morning, as I was lying in bed, I started to get hunger pains, so I yelled at my domestic helper to fix me up some grub, but then I remembered when I didn't hear any yelling back that the helper had gone to her second job. 

So what to do? I didn't feel like going to any of the local greasy spoons, so I trekked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and saw some leftover chili con carne (pork) from last night; I also spotted some eggs. I then thought to myself, 'Do I dare?' As you know, I can't cook to save my life or even boil water; I burn it! At that point, one of my imaginary friends, Beto, whispered in my good ear, "Do it, dude; I'll walk you through the process, just don't get the kitchen dirty if you don't wanna get shot!'  Beto then told me to put the carne and chili in the microwave; I told Beto, 'I don't like my food warmed in the microwave. He then jumped on my ass 'damn, for one that doesn't know how to cook, you sure are picky' He then told me to put the chili con carne in a pot with a lid and to turn a burner on the stove on low heat so that it wouldn't burn, I did. Then he said, 'Okay, pendejo (why did he have to call me pendejo? It's not my fault that I am spoiled rotten and don't know how to cook). 

Now find a frying pan and put some cooking oil in it; I did (but I was surprised that Beto, being an old-school Mexican, didn't tell me to use Manteca, that's lard for you gabacho) after the oil was nice and hot Beto told me to crack a couple of eggs (I broke three) nice and easy and put them in the hot oil, I did as he told me so and after a few seconds he told me to get a spatula and turn them over, I did. Then, after a few more seconds, he told me, 'Okay, now you got over easy eggs, put them on a plate and put the hot chili con carne over them. And with some coffee and tortillas, that's what Beto and I had for breakfast this morning - Now, you ask, why am I telling you all this? Well, because I am damn proud of myself!!

Tony "The Tiger" Baltazar Pro Debut

By kiki

                                   Tony's pro debut vs. Art Silvera

February 8, 2022, was the 43rd anniversary of our son Tony "The Tiger" Baltazar's professional boxing debut. On February 8, 1979, three days after turning 18 years old and after an outstanding amateur career that saw him win the 1976 Junior Olympic's National title, Tony stepped into the Olympic Auditorium ring for his first pro fight. His opponent out of Las Vegas was Art Silvera, a veteran of a few pro fights. Tony, a one-punch KO artist with 10-ounce gloves in the amateurs, was looking forward to fighting with the Reyes 8-ounce gloves. 

The Olympic Auditorium boxing fans, who a year earlier had witnessed Tony's spectacular one-punch first-round KO win over top-ranked amateur star John Montes, were expecting to see no less in his pro debut, and he didn't disappoint them.  

With his first two punches (double left hook), Tony ended the fight in a spectacular first-round KO: Time 0.34 seconds. After that, Tony went on to have a stellar pro career, one that he can be proud of, just like his family is.

Working at The Car-wash

By kiki

Watching the 1976 movie "Car Wash" inspired me to write this short story about my days working at Miller's Car-Wash in the early 1950s

In early 1952, I asked my older sister Rachel, who worked at Miller's Car Wash in Whittier, CA. If there was a chance that I could get a summer job there because I wanted to save money to buy my first car, I wanted to meet all the nice lookin' girls working there. The girls were from the local barrios: Pico, Canta-Ranas, Jimtown, Rivera, and Simons - She told me that I had to be 16 years old and needed a work permit from school to get a job there. I informed her that I would be turning 16 in December of that year and that maybe she could say to the owner, Mr. Miller, that I was already 16, "you mean lie for you?" she asked me, "let's call it shading the truth a bit" I replied to her. "I'll see what I can do for you," she responded.

A few days later, she told me that Mr. Miller wanted to see me that coming Saturday morning - I woke up bright and early that Saturday morning, and after grabbing something to eat, Rachel and I left our house in Pico for the car wash. I am trying to remember how we got to the car wash since neither Rachel nor I had a car. But it could be that one of her friends drove us there. When we arrived, Rachel showed me to Mr. Miller's office; I knocked on the door and heard a gruff voice say, "Come in," so I did. Mr. Miller, sitting behind a desk, asked me to sit down so we could talk. The first thing Mr. Miller told me was that he knew I wasn't 16 yet but that if I really wanted to work and could trust me to work hard and not just look at the girls, he would look the other way. He asked me if I could be trusted to keep my mind on the job and not on the girls. I answered him with what I thought he really wanted to hear, "I'm not sure you can trust me to do that" After laughing his ass off, he hired me at 75 cents an hour during the week and $1.00 an hour on weekends. Summer weekends were the busiest days.

My first assignment was on the vacuum cleaners, which was okay, but it was too far away from the girls. Girls were hired to clean the inside of the windows/dashboards. I later saw that Mr. Miller had an eye on Rachel, my second cousins Carmen and Guera, and a couple of friends from Simons, Gloria, and Susie - As time passed, I was reassigned to one of the steam cleaners' trenches. The trenches were about two feet deep, two feet wide, and about five feet long. With one on each side of the cars, we would steam clean the chrome bumpers and the white wall tires from those trenches. 

I worked closer to the girls but was too damn busy to hit on the girls who were not relatives or spoken for. I didn't get a car wash, girl, but I did buy my first car (a 1938 Chevy) before turning 16......I worked at the car wash for the next three years....  by the time I left in 1955, I was married and earning $1.25 an hour...I had a great time working at the car wash!

THE DAY I ALMOST GOT DEPORTED AND BECAME A U.S. CITIZEN

By Arlette Torres

In 2006, I completed an application to become a U.S. citizen.

The process worked like this: I petitioned, was approved to undergo an interview at an immigration and naturalization center and received a date

to appear before an officer, who would decide whether I was fit to be a citizen of the U.S.A. Or not.

I do approach certain things very seriously and this one qualified,

which means I became magnificently obsessed.

I learned I would be tested on history, law and basic constitutional topics.

I bought every guide you can imagine. I studied for weeks with great fervor.

My boyfriend quizzed me relentlessly.

At my request, friends peppered me with random questions.

I mastered the damn thing.

Finally, the date came. I was ready. I had this.

My boyfriend drove us—early— to the interview. But for some reason,

he seemed tense. Nervous. Edgy.

“What’s the matter? You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Are you ready?”

“Me? You kidding? Of course I’m ready. You look more nervous

than me and I’m the one on the slab.”

“Well yeah, I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because. I know you!”

“What does that mean?”

“I know you, Arlette. I know how you are with authority

and I know you’ll say something that’s gonna get you deported on the spot!”

“Please. Get the fuck out. I would never do that. Just breathe. Jesus.”

He didn’t calm down but he did make it safely to the place.

We parked. I got out. He stayed in the truck.

“You coming?”

“Yeah. Just give me a few minutes to relax. I’ll meet you inside.”

I walked in, registered, took a seat among a sea of diverse

human specimens and waited.

Was I nervous? Sure. I was also excited. Pumped. Happy. Ready.

Until officer Davis appeared and called my name.

If you were casting a Western and needed someone to play a sober and law abiding Rooster Cogburn, officer Davis would be it.

He was about 60, sported a military flat top buzz and in contrast, a huge handlebar moustache, yellowed at the curls. Not too tall…maybe 5’11.

Big Texas belt buckle. Booming voice. Liquid, cerulean blue eyes.

The man looked as if he hadn’t smiled since Johnson had turned over

the reins.

I followed Davis into his office, sat down and looked around.

The walls were covered with military posters, awards, certificates, diplomas. Lots of Texas themed décor. Eagles. Helmets. “Semper Fi” in fine calligraphy.

Davis, as expressionless as a heavily sedated man, took a seat at his desk and opened a thick dossier in front of him. I mean, thick. Was it all on me? What was in it? Maybe stuff I didn’t even know or remember. Oops.

“Officer, is that dossier mine?”

“Yes it is.”

“Wow. That’s huge.”

“We are diligent. Okay. Let’s start. I’m going to ask you

a series of questions on a variety of topics.

I will evaluate your answers and all pertinent information.

You will receive a letter in approximately two weeks,

informing you of our decision on your petition.”

Well. The man was, if nothing else, expedient.

He looked down and began asking what I thought were

mundane and factual questions about…me.

Not about history or the constitution or anything

I had studied with great gusto. Just stuff about…me.

I answered respectfully and to the best of my recollection.

But I was starting to get frustrated. Impatient. Restless.

When was he going to start asking me about presidents and constitutional articles and events and dates? I had studied so hard, damn it.

Every fucking day.

I could have been drinking bourbon at Bluestem with my friends, but no. I was home naming 30 presidents, their cabinets

and their mistresses.

Then it happened. Officer Davis asked me a series of questions

that set me off. I thought briefly about what my boyfriend had said.

“You’re gonna say something that’s gonna

get you deported on the spot!”

Fuck it. I am who I am. Let’s get this done.

“Have you ever conspired against the United States of America.”

“No, sir.”

“Are you a member of any organization that has conspired to overthrow the government of the United States of America.”

“No. Sir.”

“Are you a member of the Communist party?”

“No. Sir. Officer.”

“Are you a member of the Nazi party?”

“No.”

“Have you ever committed a crime on American soil for which you were never caught?”

“No. Sir.” What kind of Mickey Mouse bullshit question was that?!

“Are you willing to take up arms to defend the United States of America?”

“YES. I. AM. AND I AM A GREAT SHOT. OFFICER.”

Davis slowly raised his head and looked up.

No smile. No expression.

Watery, cerulean blue eyes staring blankly at me.

Without missing a beat, he asked:

“Pistol or rifle?”

Before I could think, I spoke.

“PICK. YOUR. WEAPON. OFFICER.”

Dammit. My boyfriend was right.

I was going to get deported on the spot.

But instead of cuffing me, officer Davis cracked a smile.

A massive smile.

“Miss Torres. We need more people like you in this country.

God knows we do. I’m going to ask you some questions about

history, constitution, law and we’ll be done.”

“Yes, officer.”

“By the way, you lived in Texas. I’m from Texas. What do you think about people in Kansas City who think they have the best BBQ in the country?”

“Well, I kinda feel sorry for them. They don’t know any better.

And they obviously haven’t had Rudy’s. Texas BBQ is the best.”

Officer Davis winked, laughed and agreed. After the interview,

he stood up, wrapped me in a sincere hug and sent me off with warm gusto.

I don’t remember much else about that day, except that I would add it to the many near-miss moments of my gypsy life.

EPILOGUE

Officer Davis approved my petition. I became a U.S. citizen.

In spite or because of who I am. I don’t know.

All I know is, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be me, than right here.

"Missing You"

In the first eleven days of 2017, we have lost two of our dear pets. One of our doggies, Marshmallow, and our pet rabbit Smoky have gone to pet heaven. I found some solace to help me get through my sadness in this beautiful poem by Colleen Fitzsimmons.

             Poem By Colleen Fitzsimmons - In memory of Shadow

"I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.

I could see that you were crying, You found it hard to sleep.

I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear,

"It's me, I haven't left you, I'm well, I'm fine, I'm here."

I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea,

You were thinking of the many times, your hands reached down to me.

I was with you at the shops today, Your arms were getting sore.

I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more.

I was with you at my grave today, You tend it with such care.

I want to re-assure you, that I'm not lying there.

I walked with you towards the house, as you fumbled for your key.

I gently put my paw on you, I smiled and said " it's me."

You looked so very tired and sank into a chair.

I tried so hard to let you know, that I was standing there.

It's possible for me, to be so near you every day.

To say to you with certainty, "I never went away."

You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think you knew...

In the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.

The day is over... I smile and watch you yawning

and say "good-night, God bless, I'll see you in the morning."

And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,

I'll rush across to greet you and we'll stand, side by side.

I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see.

Be patient, live your journey out...then come home to be with me"

1936 - 2016

By kiki

December 13, 2016, marks another milestone in my life journey; my 80^th birthday. I keep doing the math, hoping to see a lesser number, but that big 8.0. keeps coming up, so considering the alternative, I will fully embrace it. Below is a brief essay about those 80 years.

I was born at a very young age on a Sunday in 1936 at the Los Angeles County General Hospital, - My parents, Aurelio and Eulalia Baltazar, with my older sister Rachel, lived at the Simons Brickyard at the time (South Montebello). I was so young I don't remember much of those babyhood years. But it must have been fun just hangin' and chillin' around the house for the first 5 years of my journey. Around 1941, or was it 1942? Either way, at the beginning of WWII, I started kindergarten at a segregated school (Vail Elementary). Even though Vail was segregated, it was fun to attend, making the years seem months. 

Soon WWII was over, and so were the '40's. And as we entered the '50s, I too entered Montebello Junior High School (1950), And in 1952 I entered Montebello High School. My teen years at Montebello junior and high school were some of my more memorable years - In April of 1954, I met Connie, and on December 13 (my 18th birthday), we were married. Two years after we married, the kids started arriving, and with that, I started transitioning from a teenager to young adulthood. Soon, we were into the 1960s, and I began to see my young adulthood move to older adulthood. But somewhere in between, I got stalled in the process, and I was just kinda drifting, marking time without any great passion for moving forward. It could be that I liked where I was and wanted to stay longer. But time has a way of pushing you on, and in the '70s, with more kids than I could count, I found myself entering middle age. By the '80s and '90s, my youth was just a distant memory.

The '90s were over in a jiffy, and now with grandkids and two or three great-grandkids to go along with my graying hair, I entered, as a retired man, some would say a kept man, and I wouldn't argue with them, the new millennium. So, with the enjoyment of the grand and great-grandkids, the first decade of the new millennium went by fast, but the second decade is like a slow blur because some days I am here, and other days I am with my imaginary friends. In a geriatric stupor...And now, as I travel the last few miles of my life journey, I would like to thank my family and friends who have made my life memorable. Without their love and support, I wouldn't have made it to this ripe old age...Along the way to this ripe old age, I've loved, and I am sure, I was loved by some. I've won a few and lost a few, but in between, I lived life to the fullest. - It has been a long journey and a wonderful experience, and my friends, I've seen a lot, and I've done a lot as I traveled life's roads, yet, I can't say that I've seen and done it all. Life is too complicated to see, and do it all in one lifetime, no matter how long your life is.

Has life been good to me? I have to say yes. I have a loving family and have had 80 years of happiness, and who could ask for more? - Regrets? I have a few, but like the Frank Sinatra song says, "A few, but then again too few to mention" Okay, maybe I do have a minor regret, and it might be a selfish regret on my part: I don't recall ever having a birthday party. I would have loved to have had one, maybe at a very young age, with cake and ice cream, a pinata hanging from our apricot tree, a clown to make me laugh, and perhaps a magician to pull rabbits out of a hat, now that would have been nice. But please don't interpret this as feeling sorry for myself because, like I said, it's just a minor regret, and I am okay with that.

And so now that the sun is setting on me, I wish I am not judged too harshly when judgment day comes around.

On a side note: today is also our 62nd wedding anniversary and the 4th anniversary of my older sister Rachel's death...Happy Anniversary, Babe. And Rachel, R.I.P

Baseball Bats in Simons

By kiki

I don't know why, but I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about the baseball bats we used in our late 1940s summer baseball games...Baseballs and bats were sacred in Simons because nobody could afford them. 

So whenever our one and only bat would be used as firewood in somebody's wood-burning stove, we would improvise and replace it with a long two-by-four. Then, when that two-by-four would become ashes in somebody's stove, we would fall back on "desperate times calls for desperate measures" How you ask? First, we would walk to Vail Elementary School, where the playground was open for summer programs. If the equipment room was empty, one of the guys would walk in and grab a bat, and then we would all run like hell down the hill from the playground and disappear into our safety zone of El Hoyo Simons to start a game with our new bat. We never had a problem in El Hoyo:  we kids needed help finding a solution...And there was never a dull moment either.