When we lived in San Antonio, Texas, we had Mexican food often. We seldom changed for variety. If you visit San Antonio, visit the River Walk and the Alamo, because that is what you do there. But please don’t rate the food by eating Mexican at the River Walk restaurants. I have tried them all and they all pass. While some are better than others (in my Tex-Mex opinion), there are much better places. Wherever you chose to dine, in South Texas you should eat all the Mexican food you can find.
What you might find in other states may also be good Mexican food. But it is not necessarily Tex-Mex. A lot of what is called Tex-Mex, simply isn’t. It may be good, but it ain’t Tex-Mex. Fish tacos are good, but they aren’t Tex-Mex. Ask locals, if you can.
On the northeast side of town, my personal favorite is La Pasadita Restaurante Mexicano, in Schertz. My family and friends agree. This guy makes his own tortilla chips (he tried the bagged ones and his customers rebelled) and salsa. Honestly, if no pizza is available, this place would do for my last meal. As with most of these places, Negra Modelo is the darkest beer they have (it’s a lager), but it works. So, what happens if you’re in Lincoln City, Oregon and you want Mexican food?
There are a few. The answer is that you pick one, which is what we did. Puerto Vallarta Mexican Restaurant is at 3001 NW U.S. 101, Lincoln City, OR 97367. Right up front, this place has two drawbacks. The parking is insufficient on a dirt lot. The building is too small for its popularity. But if you get past those minor items (as I did), you’re in for a treat.
The food is good. But for me, all Mexican food is good, as indeed all pizza is good, and all beer is good. It is only a question of how good it was. These folks had laid a claim to some interesting things I liked. The atmosphere is great – you know immediately what kind of place you’re in (the atmosphere of the place in Schertz can use help like this). The staff is friendly and laughed at this gringo’s humor. When we walked in, we were told it would be a ten-minute wait. It was more like two. We were seated at a table with a Mexican mural on the table top and a matching one behind me.
When the waiter came to take our drink orders, he and my wife struck-up an in-depth conversation about Tex-Mex food. It turned out he has a daughter living in Houston. But he agreed, the food in this place was not like that. Now, most menus in Mexican restaurants tend to be long. This is because (in most cases) it is a matter of packaging and presentation, as opposed to the details of varied ingredients. If you eat vegetarian, you should ask questions. A lot of animal products are used in Mexican cuisine.
I had a pork dish and my wife had enchiladas. No complaints. The portion sizes are large, but that is the norm these days. Prices are very reasonable and the total cost was less than half of the previous night’s dinner in the same city. One lady on Yelp commented that the food was not salty (as she believed most Mexican food is) and I agree. Yelp gives them 4.5 out of 5.
Two special touches included good chips that were not from a bag. I didn’t ask if Mamacita made them. The other was the inclusion of a small plate of refried beans in addition to the dipping salsa with the tortilla chips. That is a nice touch.
If you are on trek up (or down) the Oregon Pacific Coast, and you want a good place to eat in Lincoln City, give Puerto Vallarta Mexican Restaurant a try. I bet you enjoy it.
Three days of toil produced words born of emotion, but laying bare only thought and opinion. That challenge to produce expressive discourse full of feeling was riddled with notion and conviction of purpose, while lacking passion. Such analysis had merit and value, but I had so missed the deeper inside of myself that it might have been mere opinion drawn from a detached stranger. Those mindful barnacles of human grief remained anchored to my thoughts, thus hidden except from me.
Knowing my feelings was not enabling my telling about them. Had I created a self, unable or unwilling to express feeling? I wondered deeper if I had co-opted with a force to create an emotional Dorian Gray. Were my feelings doomed to be confined in the shadowy attic of my mind? Had I become so adept at emotional deception that I habitually prevented expression of feelings? Had I become factually superficial and emotionally shallow, thus apparently less than a human lacking outward feelings?
Twenty years hence, my awareness is of two worlds. An external world full of social interactions, judgements by and of others, and basic human needs. This is the world of people wearing masks, hiding feelings, and struggling silently with internal and external burdens. It is a world we need in order to sense the other world – a deep world that is hidden from others and often from our own self-awareness.
This blog is about a book. If you look at my ‘about’ tab, under Frat Friday, think of topics 1, 2, 3, 9, 11, 12, and 13. While I will not include my personal religious or political opinions today, the book I want to talk about is about religion and politics. It is a lot about hate, causes, and it’s certainly in the news. The religion is Islam. The book is Islam and the Future of Tolerance by 
So this week’s Taco Tuesday recognizes 
What impressed me about this man was his complexity, his courage, and what I see as his wisdom. His life journey and the decisions he made will likely prevent him from ever being canonized a saint by the Catholic Church. Yet those foibles are exactly what attracted me to him twenty years ago, and continue to influence my thinking. The man was a real person – a human being who behaved like one. If they did make him a saint, I think he would be among the most human of that group.
in Fall City, Washington. Fall City is about four miles north of I-90 from the Preston exit. The restaurant’s web page has directions. Fall City is about five miles down-river from 
The restaurant entrance is in front and opens directly into the dining area. This can be a nuisance on cold windy or rainy days for customers seated near the door. No reception area or waiting area is available. Hostess seating is unnecessary from my experience because you simply pick your table and sit. You can see all tables from the entrance. However, a few customer reviews have complained about this.
The atmosphere is friendly; so are the staff. The ambiance is county and laid back–so say the locals. Dress code is anything legal. Turning left upon entry and walking about 40 feet brings you to the bar area. There is a smallish stage area and a little space for dancing (but not enough, really), a u-shaped bar with no more than five stools per side, a few tall-boy bar tables, and a walkway to the pool table room. This is a large room with a pool table surrounded by a few tables. I walked in about 5:00 PM on a Wednesday and it was full of customers who might be called ‘biker-bar clientele.’ A few folks were playing pool and there was room for that. County-rock was the music genre.
While my server was not very experienced (or old), she impressed me. When she asked for my drink order, I asked about dark beer. She was able to tell me what she had and even referred to notes in her little order book to tell me. She offered up a draught from the 
So, I know when I made the change from young to old. It was about 40 years ago.
Have you resigned yourself to the “it’s just a number that’s too friggin’ big” mentality? I’m not complaining about being old. Old people do not intend to complain about age. It is, after all, a successful result. On the other hand, the various consequences of age can’t be overlooked.
If we live long enough, we share one important thing with many teenagers – we become bored easily. Old people can be annoying to some young people (15 years, remember). The thought that the feeling may be mutual seems to escape many. Most older folks that I know are working away at life. I know writers in their 80s and 90s who write every day, are working on writing books, and are making plans to publish.
I live in an over-55, “active” community. Some folks here are more active than others, but most are kind of amazing. I took a blogging class where I met a lady of 92. She’s smart, funny, and still learning. She taught art classes and one of her subjects was art by carving vegetables. She made a scrap-book of pictures and writings on veggie art. She is an expert. Based on her experience, maybe the only nonagenarian expert. She wants to publish this in a blog. I can look past the outer physical things that show up when one is 90+. This lady is a master at her craft and learning another so she can share the first. I think that’s cool. In heart and mind, she is young, enthusiastic, and capable.
I just returned from a “Personal Creative Writing” class. There are 15-to-20 of us taking the class. Most are interested in writing life stories or memoirs. These folks are talented writers; some are published authors; all are able to tell it like it was. They have the ability to make every life story funny, and even sadder memories are delivered with humor. They are good at their craft, but no one can accuse them of taking life too seriously.
My first restaurant review is of 
The receptionist area is where the cash register probably was back in the day. The two inside seating areas are separated by two steps (ADA?) with no visible ramp. Some tables are a little close for girthy customers, but it’s manageable. Ambiance is comfortable and ok, but should be a ready for a little rehab soon. Most tables seat four, but can be moved to accommodate larger parties. There are no booths. The acoustics are average and loud voices are easily heard.
The server explained some things regarding the pasta and we ordered a Greek salad and Spaghetti Alfredo (they did not have fettuccini). The wait staff was energetic and service was almost too fast. They are a little blunt and straight-up for some customers, but I think it fits the charm and atmosphere of the restaurant. While I’ve had better salads, it was ok. My wife thought the alfredo white sauce was subpar. The waiter boxed up her leftovers. I tried it the next day and found it on par with what comes in a jar from the store.
Overall
There are four brothers. They struggle to get along with each other, due to more than a little sibling rivalry. Three of them like to cause trouble. These three are selfish and annoying to humans and gods alike. They like to hide things from the sun, whose name is Sol. The three are very jealous of Sol. They think that they exist purely to keep Sol from comforting the earth and its inhabitants with his warming rays of light. Sol despises the three troublemakers, and openly favors the fourth brother. Sol knows how the earth, plants, animals, insects, and most people respond to his warm presence when the three annoying brothers are resting.
Boreas is the north wind. While he can be out causing problems at any time of the year, his favorite season is winter. He is cold, icy, and wild. Boreas has a reputation for causing trouble and making a mess. He is a bully known for pushing the other three brothers around, especially Notus.
He is sometimes careless. Boreas sneaks under him and freezes his rain, sometimes just as it falls, causing havoc on the earth. At other times the north wind pushes back, causing violent destructive storms. This embarrasses Notus, but Boreas thinks it is funny. To confuse his brothers, especially the irritating Boreas, Notus sometimes spreads fog over the land and sea.
Eurus, the east wind, is foolish and lazy. He seldom does anything, preferring the amusement of watching the conflicts arise between his brothers. When he is bored, he teams up with Boreas to create problems and confusion. Together they make a north and east wind, known as a Nor’easter. Eurus watches from the comfort of his room and laughs at the chaos he creates with his brother. He is the most evil of the three problem winds.
Zephyr enjoys seeing humans smile as he touches them, blowing into their faces, caressing their bodies, and messing up their hair. Often, after his brothers make a mess, Zephyr works to clean things up. He sweeps the sky clean of clouds so that Sol can warm the people, melt the frozen ice and snow, and dry the soil. Plants can grow, people can honor the sun, and animals can forage among the plants. Life goes on.
Ten years ago, I lost one of my best friends from my childhood. Today, I received a phone call telling me that I have now lost the other. A few weeks ago I was tasked with a writing assignment to provide an essay on what I long for. You can see it blogged under “Nostalgia and Longing.” Reading my blog, you can glimpse my view of humanity and the world. 
But today, I want to think about the past. Not in a regretful way, but in an “I remember” way that might allow my brain to be the tool of a child’s mind again.
I know that I cannot go back to that time, and I’m not sure that I would want to. But I want to have those memories until I have no memories. I would like to again feel the freedom, the special bond, and the unquestioned certainty that we would all live forever. I want to think about my future and talk about how much better it will all be. I want free and unlimited amounts of candy and ice cream. We didn’t have that, but when we took over, well, you know, right? I want to know that next year, I will be allowed to stay out after it gets dark, to drive a car (legally), to date girls (with everyone knowing).
Our Literary Journey 