Altun Ha and Other Things Mayan

We were on a bus bouncing along the road on the way to the ruins. The big cruise ship had entered port earlier in the day, and we were quick down the gangway to get on the bus. Our guide dressed in o. d. Bermuda shorts and khaki shirt proclaimed how the new prime minister of Belize had improved the country’s roads. I nudged Claudette. “Not quite as bad as the road from Barahama to the batays,” I said, referring to our time in the Dominican Republic. “We take so much for granted in our country, “ she said, reminding me of our country’s infrastructure.  

It was warm on the bus even though the air conditioning was on. According to our short and somewhat rotund  Belizean guide, the air conditioning was either on or off, with no adjustments.  I was willing to sweat a bit for dependable transportation. The bus negotiated the narrow streets as our guide continued to talk about her country. She exclaimed that Belize was the only English speaking country in Central America. I asked why did the British Commonwealth country drive their motor vehicles on the right  side of the road. “I’m glad you asked that,” she responded. “The Pan-American Highway once came through Belize, and for that reason we changed to driving on the right side of the road. It would have been quite confusing for drivers to be required to change lanes when entering our borders. However, we had a huge hurricane and the Pan-American highway was relocated, but we did not change back to driving on the left.”  She was indeed a fountain of knowledge and pointed our why there seemed to be so many unfinished houses in the country. “In our country,” she said, “people do not borrow money to build a house. They save their money and begin building their house.  They may only build a few rooms before they give out of money.  They man have to save many more years to have enough money to finish the house.”

She continued to talk as the bus slowed and pulled over to the side of the road to allow a large truck to pass. We were now in rural Belize.  Colorful shacks and derelict automobiles were common among the dense tropical foliage. Some of the members of our tour group spied an iguana. These vicious appearing vegetarians always capture an audience.  The “Oohs and “Aahs” of the group prompted an explanation from our guide, Lee. “Iguanas, like other meat eaten by Belizeans, tastes like chicken, but not  this iguana!”

“And why not?” I wanted to know.

“‘Cause they’re scavengers. They’ll eat anything. Stuff like garbage!”

I turned to Claudette. “They’re like the catfish of the lizard family,” I said.

“You won’t find me cooking one anytime soon!” she said. Her response was no surprise to me.

We soon reached the archaeological site. The tour bus number 569 was parked in line with three others. Opposite the buses were a few low buildings which appeared to had been hastily constructed. Garish signs advertised beer, food, and of course, tee shirts.

We gathered around our guide and entered the site.

I was unprepared for what I saw.  One of the reasons we were here was because I had always wanted to see some pyramids. Claudette had expressed her opinion that Egypt was unsafe, and that she would not go there. It did not tax my limited amount of native wisdom to realize that I might be able to walk like an Egyption, but would never walk with one. However, I did persuade her to visit the four-sided conical structures of the western hemisphere. We were at Altun Ha.

Altun Ha is about an hour’s drive from Belize City and about seven miles from the Caribbean Sea. During Mayan occupation it was a trading center. The location was actually discovered in 1963 by a bush pilot. I think that perhaps he thought the green hills looked too perfect to be natural. One day local men were seeking to quarry some stone when they found the first pyramid.  The most prolific

archaeologist  was a Canadian, Dr. David Pemdergast. Later, while supervising the digging, one of the diggers fell through the roof of a 1300 year old tomb. Imagine his surprise when he found himself beside a reclining centuries old skeleton. Under the boney arm of an elderly man was an object most interesting: a green sphere scarcely six inches in diameter.  With crossed eyes and a mouth with fangs, it represented the head of the sun god, Kinich Ahu. (There are experts that disagree with this assessment  of the skull.) The head and other relics were stored in a safe place. A legend arose about the jade head suggesting that it had disappeared and moved as if spirited away to different locations.  In reality it is stored in a number of secure locations on an ever changing schedule. It is a national treasure. There is nothing else like it in Mesoamerica. The dig continues today.

“Smell this!” a uniformed guide told me as he pressed a small fragment of a leaf into my palm. I obeyed his command and immediately traveled back in time to my grandmother’s kitchen. She was baking a fruitcake and the room was filled with the odor of allspice. In my hand was a piece of a leaf of the allspice tree, or rather shrub. The guide brought me back to reality by explaining how the Mayans used the plant to hide the odor of the decomposing bodies of the dead. Also, it was as an anesthetic when chewed, which was no doubt useful during Mayan dental work. (There is archaeological evidence they performed dental procedures!) With a somewhat leery smile he suggested it also had the same effect as a certain blue pill taken by older men.

The site is comprised of over ten excavated structures with more obviously still covered by vegetation. I estimated the entire area excavated to be about ten acres or less, but the total area would have been about 25 square miles and had 10,000 inhabitants in its heyday.  The largest pyramid is the Temple of Masonry Altars, which is located on a central square. This particular structure is where the jade head was found. Unlike other pyramids in Mesoamerica, you are allowed to climb to the top of these pyramids.  Some of these structures reach heights of over sixty feet.

As we left the site we walked close to the base of one of the pyramids and the guide was telling us about how the structures were made of local limestone. With his left hand the muscular young man of obvious Mayan ancestry grabbed some crumbled pebbles of limestone. He held it in his hand telling us how soft yet durable it was. I asked him to crumble it in his hand and then blow on it before smelling it. He looked at me like I was crazy but complied with my wishes.  Once he sniffed the limestone dust a smile spread over his face.  The carbon dioxide in your breath reacts to the calcium carbonate in the limestone to create a unique odor. We exited Ahun Ha after hearing three different guides extol the features of the ancient city.

Near the entrance to the ruins were several open air cafes. We needed to relax a bit and get a bite to eat. Since we follow a vegan dietary plan, food is not always easy to find. The folks at the cafe were very accommodating in providing vegan burritos with fried plantains.  The local beer Belikin, with a picture of the Temple of the Masonry Altars on its label, was the perfect accompaniment.

I will probably never see the pyramids of Egypt, but I thoroughly enjoyed those of Belize.

I Think I'm A Vegan...

"We have to do something," she said.

"What?" I asked, lifting my head from watching a video on the ty2u channel on Youtube.

"Well, we have to change our eating habits." There was conviction in her voice. "Remember the military diet? The South Beach diet? And all those other things we've tried for weight loss?"

"I do," I said hesitantly, not knowing what was coming next.

"We're going on a plant-based diet.  Vegan," she said emphatically.

I was speechless. After a few minutes I managed to mouth the word, "Why?"

"Because we've tried all these other diets and nothing worked completely for weight loss.  But this change is about our health. I just watched this movie, What the Health, on Netflix about the health benefits of a plant-based diet. Not only did the people interviewed lose weight, but their health problems were solved. One lady's sleep apnea disappeared. We have to do it!" She was still standing looking down at me relaxing on the sofa.

I knew very little about vegans. Images of skinny old people in jeans and Birkenstocks picking berries or doing Tai Chi came to mind. I had heard once that vegetarians smelled different from omnivores, so I assumed vegans did also. And there was that image of Mr. Spock on the bridge of the Enterprise saying, " It looks like the Vegans, Captain!"  Maybe that was Vulcans? However, according to those unwritten words in the marriage contract I would comply with her wishes. 

On July 31, 2017, we began our dietary adventure. My dear wife entered the adventure with the assurance and zeal of a sixteenth century explorer.  I, on the other hand, took a more cautious approach. It became my job, or dare I say duty, to rid our refrigerator and pantry of all foodstuffs that were non-plant-based. Those were memorable days of ice cream, bacon, eggs, sausages, burgers and all the foods I now dream of.  But, the last of the animal and  dairy food products were properly disposed of by yours truly. 

Changing one's diet requires a lot of education on food and nutrition. Developing a keen eye for the tiny print on food labels is of paramount importance as well. My wife is a good shopper and cook when it comes to preparing tasty vegan meals. I believe scientists can create a reasonable facsimile of virtually any animal product from either soybeans or chick peas. I dare not ask what additives are used to produce the textures and flavors for this facade, but I am curious how soybeans can be processed to present a very good substitute for chicken in color, texture and taste. 

While finding the proper foods in the grocery store or market is not extremely difficult, eating out is another matter, because vegan menus are rather rare. Some vegetarian restaurants, such as the Laughing Seed in Asheville, NC, have great vegan options on their menus. Regular restaurants have very little vegan fare. Usually they have a salad, and that is about it. Sometimes after you have them hold the cheese, bacon, sour cream and such there is very little left. You also have to be aware that many baked goods have eggs in them.  That is a "no-no" in a vegan diet. 

I don't know why, but I find it difficult to confess that I am a vegan. After all, it is simply a matter of what I choose to eat. Why should I be apologizing for my choice of food? I've gotten used to being stared at when I order my meal.  I expect any time to hear someone say, "If you aren't going to eat that cheese, can I have it?"

I don't think we have received the full benefits of a plant-based diet yet. I do know that my digestion system no longer needs prodding medicinally to work properly, and that I have lost over fifteen pounds. I feel better.  But, my overall objective is to decrease the number of medications I take. And I am confident I will reach that goal.

Yes, I am a vegan!

Living with CHF

It was about fifteen years ago when I saw my doctor, a general practitioner, about my shortness of breath.  I was in my late fifties. I didn't think it was anything serious. After all, Mom and Dad had both lived to the ripe old age of ninety-three. Daddy's major medication when he passed away was a baby aspirin.  But after tests and hospitalization I was diagnosed.  I will always remember when my height challenged Italian doctor spoke in a calm almost undertaker voice and said, "Mr. Tony, many people that gave the same condition as you live long lives with proper medication." I was diagnosed with congestive heart failure.  All I knew about the disease was that I saw in the obituaries that people died from it.  Claudette, my wife was more upset than I was. She had consulted "Mr. Google".  According to this electronic fount of knowledge people with CHF only had a life expectancy of three years after diagnosis. She had lost one husband to a heart attack and did not fancy losing another to heart problems. By the way, she was not immediately forthcoming with the knowledge obtained from "Mr. Google." It was several years before I found this out.    How did I react? I thought about my situation while I was looking at the ceiling of a hospital room. (I was hospitalized a few days during my diagnosis.) I took a close look at my mortality. I had a "come to Jesus" moment much like I had once before when I awoke with a cockroach crawling across my face while lying flat of my back on the floor of a somewhat untidy apartment.  But that is another story. I evaluated my relationship with the Almighty and decided I could be a better follower. I decided that Christianity was not a spectator endeavor and became more involved. Secular wise I followed my doctors' instructions explicitly. I exercise daily and try to eliminate stress. Although my heart is very weak, I don't want to do anything to weaken it further. Managing my medications is one of my goals.  I don't like pills. Taking flaxseed and fish oil capsules have eliminated the need for cholesterol medication. Recently, we have converted to a plant-based diet which I believe will improve my health further. 

I think living with a deadly disease  is a combination of spiritual and physical care. About death,  I think the great general of the American Civil War, Thomas J. Jackson, put it best when he said:"My religious belief teaches me to feel as safe in battle as in bed. God has fixed the time for my death. I do not concern myself about that, but to be always ready, no matter when it may overtake me. That is the way all men should live, and then all would be equally brave."

art work by me, a computer mono print 

The Origin of the Snowshark Preservation Society

It was winter in Glens Falls, NY. The year was 1989, and snow was piled high outside Peter’s Pub on Maple Street. It was a sparse crowd. A couple of lumberjacks were playing pool, the click of the balls hitting each other accented by loud and boisterous cursing in French.  A few regulars at the bar were watching the hockey game on the television  being adjusted by the tattooed bartender. It was a house rule at Peter’s that only hockey and wrestling were to be viewed on the establishment's small television.  It was primarily a working class drinking establishment,but it became the pub of choice for me and my friends who were fellow members of management at Native Textiles, merely a few blocks away on Warren Street. Those of us who wore neckties immediately doffed them before entering the door.

We were on our third round of Gennies, or Genesee beer, as we recounted the day at the factory. As I had recently joined the company they were interested in my reaction to the snow.  It was not unusual for me to be treated as some kind of novelty. My Southern drawl would sometimes mesmerize them. Where I had come from in the south if one inch of snow stayed on the ground overnight it was a big deal, a true natural phenomena.  I told them I had a great deal of admiration for the folks that seemed to have no difficult driving in the deep snow.

It was then that I asked them if they had seen any snowsharks. John, the textile designer, said, "No, I have never heard of such an animal.” The others said nothing. I did not know if they were familiar with the cryptozoological  beasts or did not want to display their lack of knowledge. I gave a brief explanation of how they lived under the snow and only appeared when they were hungry. “Once, Watterson put a reference to a snowshark in his Calvin & Hobbs comic strip,” I said. No one expressed any interest in snowsharks, and the evening ended with everyone with their own beer induced buzz.

Later that week, I asked several people whether they had seen any of the beasts. Everyone showed great interest, but there were no sightings. However, about two weeks after I had first mentioned them to my friends, a factory employee reported having seen one in Fort Ann. Fort Ann was a small village near Glens Falls. Sometimes sightings come from some unusual sources. In this case a material allocator working for me told me his grandmother had seen a snowshark. When this happened, I wondered how many other people would see them if I let people know they existed.

I left Native the next spring and came back south but not before I had come up with the name Snowshark Preservation Society and a logo. My friends in the design shop were great help in the logo design. In the late nineties I was in the South Carolina Lowcountry and had bought a Gateway computer. I created my first website.  I built it from scratch, no templates or “drag and drop”.  The Snowshark Preservation Society was my first website. Although I was a true neophyte on the internet, I wanted the site to be interesting and informative, but my main objective was to get people searching for the cryptozoological creatures and reporting their results to me. I created the pages on the origin of the species and their initial discovery in the Adirondack  Mountains of New York state. I published

photos of a pottery shard emblazoned with the image of a snowshark. Soon I was getting emails detailing sightings. These were published and the location of the sighting posted on a map. Academic papers published by experts in the field of cryptozoology journals were posted on the SPS website. One day I received actual photographic evidence of a snowshark. The creatures rarely are visible but their dorsal fin kicks up a “roostertail” which could be clearly seen in the photograph. I gave away refrigerator magnets to people who responded, and I created snowshark chum. Snowshark chum would attract the wiley beasts for observation. There were t-shirts and thong underwear available emblazoned with the SPS logo also.

I continued the SPS website for about three years, during which time I received dozens of reports of sightings. When the company hosting the website decided to charge a fee for their services, I reluctantly shut the website down. And that is how I became an authority on snowsharks by creating the Society for the Preservation of Snowsharks.

Promo products and page 1 of the site.

It Was Hot

It was my first full time job, working in a woolen mill. As a new employee and only seventeen years old, I had to work the night shift. For some reason it was called the”graveyard shift”. As I remember, it was In the month of August. It gets pretty hot in South Carolina in the summer. I guess the temperature was about 100 degrees in midday. We lived in an old farm house without air conditioning. Course I didn't know anybody that had air conditioning then. ‘Bout the closest I had ever come to it was walking in front of Smith's Five & Dime on main street in McCormick when they had their doors open, and that cool air would come out.  A passerby would feel that cool air and go inside. It always got me to go in. But then my first true love, Charlene, worked there. She'd flash those big brown eyes at me, and I'd be useless the rest of the day. Five days a week I did not see her, but this was Friday and I would see her when she got off work today. But first I had to get some sleep.

I got home about a quarter 'til nine.  Mama had breakfast for me, and I was in bed by ten. About two o’clock I heard this terrible racket. It sounded like somebody was hammering on the house. I had every window open, of course, since the summer temperature was reaching 100 degrees. I was lying on the bed in my boxer shorts but still hot, sweating. I stuck my head under my pillow to cut out the noise. It didn’t work. I jumped out of bed.  I had to find out what was making that noise. I didn’t stop to put on my pants.  Hey, we lived in the country, the closest house was a mile away. The door to my room opened onto the back porch. I bounded out the door and down the back porch steps. Then I brought my body to a screeching halt!  

Coming around the corner of the house were two women! One was my mother (That was alright, Mamma had seen me in my underwear many times.), and the other was Mrs. Crosby, Charlene’s mama. I turned, made it to the top of the steps in two giant steps, and was back in my room in a fraction of a second.  I was starting to put my pants on when I realized the the hammering sound had stopped. I didn’t finish putting on my pants and instead dove back into bed. In minutes I was sound asleep again. But, it was for naught. The noise woke me

again. This time I put on my pants before investigating.  I went around the house to where my room was.  There, up above my window was a woodpecker. I don’t know why he decided to look for bugs there, and I didn’t care. I did know that he was keeping me awake. He saw me and quickly took refuge in a chinaberry tree close by.  I turned to go back into the house, but I had just gone around the corner of the house when he started hammering again. I had to find a way to stop this bird.  I turned around slowly, thinking. I felt something underfoot. Looking down, I saw a rock about the size of a baseball. If I could clobber that woodpecker with that rock I would no longer be sleep deprived. I crept along the side of the house getting closer to the bird. My granddaddy could drop a running rabbit at 100 feet, but I wasn’t granddaddy. I got as close as I could without spooking him. He stopped hammering for an instant, and I threw that rock with all I had. I didn’t hit him, but I did hit a window. The bird flew away. I’d tell Mama what happened and I would fix the window tomorrow, but now I needed sleep.

Back to bed I went and was soon sound asleep and dreaming of me and Charlene walking hand in hand down a country road.  I was about to say something to her when...Rat-tat-tat-tat.. Yep, the woodpecker again! I slowly got out of the bed and realized this would require some extreme action. From the corner of the room I pulled out my old Iver-Johnson 16 gauge single shot shotgun I had gotten for my eighth birthday.  From the top drawer of my chest of drawers I found a shotgun shell with #8 birdshot. I knew that would do the trick. I got back in my jeans and loaded the gun when I got into the backyard. (Never have a loaded gun in the house--Daddy’s rule.)  Once again I slowly crept around the corner of the house. I was fairly close and had a bead on him. As I squeezed the trigger the family cat, Whiskers, ran between my legs. The cat caused me to jump and that spoiled my perfect shot. It also saved Mr. Woodpecker’s life, but I winged him.  I was gonna finish him off when my little brother came at me screaming, “Don’t kill him! Don’t kill him!”

I finally did get four hours of sleep that day. But had to put the woodpecker in a cage for rehab, and that’s another story.