Whirlwind Tour of New Mexico 2000

Whirlwind Tour
Brent and Lynae were at the end of summer vacation with Mom. The three had driven the 1990 Escort® from Orem, Utah, through Durango, Colorado, and Farmington, New Mexico, to begin a quick tour of the state of New Mexico before the kids had to return to Las Vegas to begin the new school year at Becker Middle School. They spent a few minutes scanning the boxes of genealogy and history books Mom carried along—without much enthusiasm. “They’re just names of people who died a long time ago,” Lynae grumbled. “Why should we be interested in a bunch of dead ancestors?”
Mom ignored the comment and changed the subject. “If you watch the odometer in about ten miles we can celebrate the one hundred thousand mark. Watch, it will magically change over to zero, zero, zero!” Mom announced proudly as she drove between Cuba, New Mexico and Albuquerque. Visiting Grandma Lucy was the main objective, but stirring up some interest in these two youngest about family history had been high on her list. Exiting the highway toward Río Rancho, Mom read a sign: “Coronado State Park”. That looks interesting. Maybe we can kidnap Grandma and take her with us to visit the park. I hope she can go up to Santa Fé with us too! It would be fun to take her along. I’d like you to get to know her a little. We see her so seldom.“
Grandma Lucy agreed to visit the park later in the evening when it wasn’t so hot. The four tourists parked and walked along the walk-way toward the cave like atmosphere which protected ancient hieroglyphic rocks and less ancient Spanish relics. Brent and Lynae wandered aimlessly through the displays as Mom ooed and awed about the history. Secretly they imitated her enthusiasm.
Grandma Lucy declined the Sunday trip to Santa Fé but insisted she’d have dinner ready for their return.
After three days based at Grandma Lucy’s, the little family drove away early in the morning heading south on I -70 with the goal of reaching El Paso before dark. The plan was to drive on to Safford, Arizona, the following day to visit older sister, Cheryse, with her three little girls, and then back to Orem for a couple of days before Brent and Lynae would fly back to Las Vegas, a week before the first day of school.
“Mom, we’ve been driving forever. When are we going to get to El Paso?” Lynae began grumbling as she woke from sleeping in the back seat. “I want the front seat now. Brent, you’ve had it all morning. I’ve been cramped up in the back seat the whole day.”
“Hijita mía,” Mom attempted to calm her daughter. “Look at the mountains on the left. Do you see them?”
“Yeah, they’re so far away they look blue.”
“Those are the mountains the wagons followed on the long journeys to Santa Fé, and back again to El Paso after the Indian massacres many years later.”
Lynae gazed out the window staring at the long line of bluish mountains to the East. The clouds were darkening and the rain began to spatter on the windshield.
“Oh, no! Now it’s going to rain all day.” Lynae whined again.
“No té preocupas, hijita. The rain comes quickly and only lasts an hour or two in the summer. Look at the mountains, Lynae. See the place where it makes a V and seems to end, then start again. That‘s the pass in the mountains that the wagons took across the river and into El Paso. I want to go there when we stop. I’d like to see Oñates pass to the north that marks the beginning of Europeans into New Mexico history.”
Lynae curled back up on the back seat pulling the Indian blanket purchased in Santa Fé around her to fend off the chill feeling that the pouring rain and the flashing lightening gave her. She dozed off and on again for the rest of the drive.
Brent asked, “No te preocupas. What does that mean in English?”
“I don’t know. I never thought about it.” Mom answered distracted by the pouring rain. “Oh, yes, I guess it is the familiar command -- don’t you preoccupy yourself -- don’t worry about it.” Mom translated very literally.
“Did you talk Spanish in your family when you were a kid?”
“No. I learned it in high school, and then I got a minor in Spanish in college about a million years ago. I’ve forgotten more than I ever knew, I guess.”
“Grandma Lucy speaks Spanish. Didn’t she talk to you in Spanish?”
“Mother spoke Spanish only with her sisters. It used to frustrate me so bad when they would start a story in English then finish the punch line in Spanish. I would beg to know what they said, and then one of them would say, ‘o como me molestas tú.’ I knew that meant I was being a pest. The clichés I understood. I didn’t know the direct translations, but like any child acquiring language, the meaning was clear in the circumstances and tone of voice.
“What sounded to me like Balgumydeeous - was actually, Válgame Diós -- literally, Bless me my god[1] -- accompanied great relief or need for relief -- almost a prayer but somehow more demanding.
“When she said, ‘Commomolestessto -- como me molestes tú.’ (You are bothering me.) That needed no translation; the tone of voice said it all. When she called us Swato, we knew it meant we'd done something foolish, and...."
“Is that what you mean when you call me Swato, Brent?” Lynae was awake and listening, and sat up at the sound of the way too familiar Spanish word.
"That’s like the joke about the Lone Ranger getting scalped when his Indian friend found out what Tonto meant!” Brent started in teasing again.
“What does it mean?" Lynae demanded.
“It means fool, like Swato,” Brent translated all too eagerly.
“Mom, he calls me that too! Brent, I feel angry. . .” Lynae attempted an “I message response” like her counselor-Mom had been trying to teach her.
"O, como me molestan -- both of you. Can’t you just love each other?” Mom begged. Then added in an undertone they could barely hear; “Tonto got his own back by calling the Lone Ranger ‘Quein no sabe” which is ‘he who knows nothing.’”
“We love each other. We’re friends now." Brent remembered and stopped his teasing for a few minutes. “What else? What other Spanish did your family use?” He said emphasizing his very mature, interested face, by cupping his chin in his open hand.
“There was one she always says when she is cutting or dicing meat or vegetables with a knife. I don't know a real translation. If we tried to snitch a piece she would shake the knife almost threateningly and laugh, ‘mocha mochá’. I remember she explained the story once, about some girl nick-named Mocha, because she was so short, and the word for chopping or chopped off is something like that[2]. But I never thought she was just kidding.”
“Oooo, that’s what she said to me when she was making the turkey sandwiches and I tried to snitch a piece. I didn’t know the words, but I got the message -- clearly.” Brent confessed, pretending to count all his fingers to be sure none were missing.
“Lanza Lanza pica de la ponce, was just a little ditty, like “peek-a boo,” to make babies laugh and giggle.“ Mom continued, hoping to distract them from another quarrel. "When we got hurt or sick Mama would rub the hurt place and chant: Sana, Sana. . . ” The children chimed in, “colita de marana. Si no sanas, hoy sanarás mañana" -- just a loving little recitation reserved for our owies," she finished, looking over at them, surprised that they knew the words.
“You say that too, Mom,” they laughed.
“Do I really, hijita-mía?” Mom laughed with them.
At the Motel 6® in El Paso, after a more than satisfyingly delicious dinner across the street at Leo’s, the three settled down after showers for a TV movie.
Lynae came from the bathroom in her nightgown, with a towel wrapped around her head, and watched the TV for a minute.
“What’s happening? Who’s that? Why did she look that way? Are they going to get married? Will we get to see the wedding? Oh, I hope they show the wedding dress!” The questions shot out one after the other.
“Lynae, just listen!” Brent and Mom shushed her in unison. “Just listen, and let us listen, so we can find out what’s happening.”
The tour continued on to a quick visit in Safford with their big sister and the nieces. On the third day they hugged good-bye and headed back north through Arizona into Utah -- with a quick detour to visit Uncle Glenn’s family in Round Valley and a little back track through Gallup, New Mexico, to visit Auntie Lola.
Two days later Mom and Jenny drove them to the airport in Salt Lake City, where they all put on happy faces for the public performance. Mom went directly to the women’s restroom and cried her heart out. Jenny, quite surprised, later told her, “I always thought you were glad when we went back to ‘boarding school’ with Dad after a summer or weekend. I never knew you cried.”
“I know. I always tried to look happy ‘til you drove away with them all the weekends you drove them while you were in high school, but I would save the tears for after you left. It’s always a relief to get back to what ever normal is, but it is so hard to let them to back every time. It doesn’t seem to get any easier. They have to go back to a new apartment, new neighborhood, and start in a huge new school, so it was especially hard to let them go this time.”
“But they’ll be back next month.” Jenny just patted her Mom on the shoulder trying to comfort her and hold back her own tears, for the first time realizing what it was like from this side of the eight year long joint custody arrangement.


[1] Ed. Note: actually—be of value to me, God—or stand with me now, God.
[2] Ed. Note: Mocha is He cuts. Mochar is to cut