For the past dozen years, the amount of the Trujillo family’s televiewing has dropped considerably. Whereas late last century we watched and at least kept track of dozens of programs — mostly half-hour sitcoms — today we watch things like Masterpiece Theater, a smattering of PBS offerings on Sunday, Keeping Up Appearances, 60 Minutes, and not much else.

The “not much else” doesn’t include occasional pro football games, especially when the Oakland Raiders are on, which is almost never. And I enjoy basketball playoffs, the World Series and the Super Bowl.

But in keeping with an effort to stay informed, we vow to watch a few of the new programs. Two Broke Girls comes to mind. Now even though astute readers will probably claim that TBG has been on the air for years, to us it’s a new offering. It’s about . . . well . . . two broke girls. It has a laugh track and a sophomoric plot. Remember, “sophomore,” from the Greek, combines “sophos” and “moros,” meaning wise and foolish, thus a wise moron. Continue reading →

Think of the many meanings of single words. One that comes to mind readily is “run,” which has a multitude of meanings.

“Run” can be a verb or a noun. As a verb, it can mean move quickly (as in run home), to travel (as in run a bus route), to flow (as in water or blood), to complete, as to run for office.

And as a noun, “run” can mean a difficulty at a bank, a baseball score, a snag in a nylon, a continued performance, as a run on Broadway, or a continuous spell, as in a run of bad luck, and dozens of other meanings.

I’ve been aware of the multiplicity of definitions for certain words, but had not really thought of one I’ve heard most of my life: “orale,” given the three-syllable Spanish pronunciation of “o-da-leh”, but not the anglicized sound of “oh-rail.” I must have heard it first when I was an Optic seller at age 11. I’d sold a 5-cent paper to a man leaving a downtown cantina, but all he had was a dime and I didn’t have any change. He turned down my suggestion that he buy two of that day’s papers for the dime. Continue reading →

Martha Johnsen sounded puzzled; her boss at KFUN radio, Joseph Baca, seemed perturbed; Las Vegas Ron Wooten-Green expressed it well. The three were quite vocal regarding our town’s being ignored in a publication of wide circulation.

So what’s the issue? The matter is that the Summer Guide, bundled with Sunday’s Albuquerque Journal, acted as if Las Vegas doesn’t even exist, despite two half-page ads touting the Meadow City. Does paid advertising guarantee some kind of mention in the Journal’s 64-page booklet?

Here’s the sequence:

Wooten-Green notified KFUN and others about the Journal’s egregious omission of our town. Martha Johnsen, the early-morning radio announcer, appeared to wonder why we were omitted. Soon, Baca devoted several minutes of air time attempting to contact the Summer Guide staff for an explanation of the omission. Meanwhile, others on Wooten-Green’s email list must have become involved. Continue reading →

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit,
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
—Omar Khayyam

Of all the words I’ve read during my 76 years on Earth, I find it difficult to imagine a bit of verse more profound. And as a writer, I’m obviously aware of how difficult it is — as the rhyme by the Persian poet indicates — to unsay it.

A handful of emails I’ve received — I’m sure many others in my Facebook circle also received them — have made me almost antagonistic toward the ease with which people can say things they later regret, or even worse, say and write things because of the cloak of anonymity.

Let me explain: Continue reading →

Each school day, years ago, as my Highlands classes broke for lunch. I would recite that day’s menu. But first, a concession: I never had the faintest notion what the place we all called the “Caff” was serving ­— ever — so my recipe-tation was pure fantasy.

Of course, it’s a given that no student has ever admitted liking campus food. So I’d try to entice them with my favorite: Velveeta cheese poured over Cocoa Puffs — and I’d add, “as much as you want!” Then I’d wait for the lip-smacking yummy sounds from the students. On days when I’d forget to announce the menu, or for evening classes — hours after the dining hall had closed, some students would remind me of the omission.

One student, a sophisticated freshman from Manhattan, improvised once, announcing the menu: boiled parsley flakes served on a bed of steamed menudo, with a side of mayonnaise. I wondered how Audrey Jackson had been able to come up with three items I detest the most.

Now before you get the impression that my classes consisted solely of menus and menudo, let me assure you that we had actual lectures, demonstrations, class participation and only a modicum of menu emphasis. It was around that time I realized that in their listings of items, the students competed for highest honors. Continue reading →

We thought we’d moved to a different world the first time my wife and I, with our 3-months-old son, drove in to Charlottesville, Va. I had received a fellowship to study English at the University of Virginia and was thrilled at the prospect.

It was a great experience, in the early ‘70s, meeting and studying under people like Fredsen Bowers, a Shakespeare scholar; Douglas Day, UVa’s “renaissance man”; and Ed Hirsch, who authored the “Cultural Literacy” series, an academic best-seller.

And we felt good exploring the haunts of Edgar Allan Poe, a one-time student there, and writer William Faulkner, who lectured there.

What surprised us the most was the wealth. My wife, Bonnie, 40 years later, still tells people about my reaction: “There’s so much luxury here.”

Lawns were manicured, cars gleamed, affluence abounded. On first driving through Rugby Road, the university’s fraternity-sorority row, we were amazed at the display of wealth. The parking lot of the frat houses there shone, looking like a new-car lot for the affluent. Continue reading →

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”
— Shakespeare, Romeo and Julie

• • •

Search for the Española-based institution of higher learning and you’ll likely find sites for Northern New Mexico COLLEGE and Northern New Mexico UNIVERSITY. It’s not a typo. Those who created the various web sites clearly knew what they were doing.

But having both “college” and “university” to identify the same institution is confusing, if not misleading. “University” denotes a place that offers coursework and degrees beyond the baccalaureate (or bachelor’s) level.

The place that now calls itself a university has no such offerings.

In late January the board of regents of Northern New Mexico COLLEGE voted to give the Española-area school a promotion. And with little fanfare, the institution became Northern New Mexico UNIVERSITY. Continue reading →

“You look tired. Maybe you’ve been working too hard.”

“I worked like a dog today,” my mother would respond. “Can’t you see how nice the house looks and how frazzled I look?”

‘If we were in the business of creating mixed metaphors, this would be a world-class effort. The dialogue isn’t made up. I heard it often during my childhood in the days when women stayed home cooking and cleaning and men sailed to the saline mines.

My recently deceased Aunt Manuelita Lucero, who owned a car long before we did, often visited our home while the older children were in school. Mom and Tía would lament about housework, and thereby found reasons to invoke the names of various animals with which to compare themselves.

Whereas I have always respected the work ethic of both my mother and my aunt — in fact the work ethic of most women — my concern here is not with the condition of houses but in their choice of words. Continue reading →

Now please don’t start calling welfare agencies inquiring about the Trujillo family — at least not without letting me explain.

You see, we raised three boys, and that translates to a lot of rough-housing. We made up games which we called “Pay-Dirt,” “Jump the Gun,” “Balance,” “100 Percent” and “Bone Crusher.”

Some of the titles are self-explanatory, except for jumping the gun; we’ve never owned firearms and used the “jumping” metaphor in the sense of a track meet, when a runner starts the race before the starting gun and gets disqualified.

One of the games consisted of my crouching on our king-size bed and having each of the three sons jump on the bed.

Using feet and arms, I’d try to prevent their climbing upon the bed — tough feat and feet, especially with three boys. Continue reading →

My friend, Bruce Wertz, often reminds me of the Frank Sinatra song (or movie), “A pocketful of miracles,” but in Bruce’s case it’s “A pocketful of trivia.”
Yes, after church, during treat time, he’ll hand me a soon-to-be raisin and ask why John Steinbeck would have anything to do with it. Before I attempt an answer, he blurts out, “It’s a Grape of Wrath.”

Two weeks ago, he wished me “a happy Ides of March . . and happy pie day.” The Ides of March is a no-brainer; we need to beware of the day Brutus and his gang of rabble-rousers assassinated Julius Caesar.

But pie day? Oh! He means pi, as in 3.147. Bruce wasn’t making it up: There is a pi day, observed in several big cities and universities. It’s ideally suited for nerdish mathematicians.

It’s simple. Let’s say you have a perfect circle one inch across. Without cutting it, can you tell how long (circumference) will be? The answer is 3.147 inches.
Now there are clearly many more applications for pi, and even leading mathematicians claim that the fraction (3-1/7) or the decimal (3.147) really doesn’t end. You could spend the day trying to find the final digit. Continue reading →