Birthday Twins

Birthday twins are people that share the same month and day but not necessarily the year.  I met one of my birthday twins, at work, when I was almost 40.  It was the first time I had met someone with exactly the same birthdate, if not the same age.  I was very excited; certain that this person was going to be a lifelong soul friend.

Our friendship started off very well and it seemed that we had much in common.  We liked the same books, movies and had a similar sense of humor. We even liked the same scents.  I am not a particularly religious or spiritual person but am totally hooked on astrology.  In my head, I know it’s nonsense but it is much more tantalizing than conventional beliefs.  My husband is a Taurus and I am Cancer, so astrologically it was good match. Perhaps, however, we are just compatible – about the same age and brought up in similar homes.

In retrospect, I wonder why I thought it would be a good idea to be friends with someone who was like me. I don’t like me very much! My Mum, Nana and I all had Cancer birthdays. Furthermore we all lived in the same house. Sometimes it was fun, especially when we were laughing together. Other times we could really irritate each other. It’s not easy for three women to live under the same roof.

Now it is 20 years since I first met my birthday twin and we are no longer in touch with each other.  Were we really compatible or so alike that it’s unpalatable?  I am not an easy person with many negative and positive traits.  It is probably not a good idea to be friends at work but that’s another topic…

It was my birthday in July and I received some genealogical hints from Ancestry.  To my surprise, I discovered that my most famous ancestor, Capt. Jose Francisco Ortega, was born on the same day as me in 1732.  If I hadn’t met my previous birthday twin, I might have been more excited.  Now I was apprehensive.  Captain Ortega led a scout troop from San Diego to the north and ‘discovered’ San Francisco. 

Some of the historical accounts suggest that he was ‘Castizo’ – three quarters European and one quarter indigenous Mexican.  His indigenous ancestry helped him communicate with Californian Native people and track effectively. He sounded like an intrepid adventurer – I can be, too.  Capt. Jose was made of stern stuff. On a separate mission to find Monterey, he and his party had to eat their mules to stave off starvation.  I could do that, if pushed. In Egypt I ate camel and it was tough going.  Why do you think we keep our squirrels fattened??  He and his wife, Maria Carrillo, had endless children and one of his sons, Juan de Capistrano etc., is my ancestor.  Unlike my fertile ancestors, I am the last Ortega in my particular genetic thread.

On a blackly humorous note, he got fat in old age and wasn’t good with money.  He died at age 65 after falling off a horse and walloping his head!  Maybe syncope runs in our family?

Captain Jose Francisco Maria Ortega 1732 – 1798

Juan de Capistrano Antonia Maria Ortega 1776 – 1818

Emigdio Miguel Ortega 1813 – 1873

Juan de Jesus Ortega 1843 – 1929

Charles Bartomeo Ortega 1870 – 1920

Juanita Matilda Ortega 1904 – 1967

Earl Houston Dellinger 1929 – 1989

ME aka Kerry Dellinger de Ortega 1960 – ???

I am Captain Ortega’s 5th great grand-daughter and perhaps I inherited his sense of humor. Hopefully, he is laughing while rolling around in his grave. As you can see, I have a Masters in Art… Below is an illustration of him (what a handsome dude!) with his grave marker beneath.

Baby Blue

There is a new Spring baby in Katniss’s old house. It’s a baby blue jay with a fluffy gray tummy. Mom and Dad have been eating at our garden of earthly delights for a couple of weeks. Last night there was a really strong thunderstorm and we think the baby may have come out of the nest a little sooner than usual.

Look at that precious wee face… So sorry about the quality of the images but it I had to take them quickly through the dirty window. I was worried that the baby might not be able to fly but after I came back from grocery shopping, she and the parents were gone.

What a relief it was to see Mom or Dad land on the house to check on their wee baby. Both blue jay parents take an equal part in raising the chick. Since then, the parents have been eating in our garden so I am certain that they have relocated with baby to the deep tree foliage close to the nest.

I have no idea why birdsong is thought to be relaxing. It’s a constant cacophony around us. The cardinal family chirp loudly in a staccato. The mourning dove is booming (aka cooing) from her nest. A mockingbird is sitting on the chimney so his song echoes through the house. Then there are the frogs at 3 am…

Fulton Mansion, Rockport

This is Fulton Mansion State Historic Site in the seaside town of Rockport, Texas, halfway between Louisiana and Mexico. It was wickedly hot the day we visited and it provided succor from the blazing sun. Inside was the most marvelous surprise – an incredibly interesting museum. When we approached it, I couldn’t help thinking it would make a fabulous Halloween House on a dark and stormy day. Wednesday Addams would feel so at home in my Photoscaped version below. I loved the Netflix series about Wednesday – I felt we bonded on a Greta Garbo level. We both had colonial ancestors named Addams/Adams. Mine was Nathanial Adams who was born in Ipswich, Massachusetts in 1647. Next post will be about beautiful Fulton Mansion and eventually one on my Adams family.

The Tour Bus

Vista in Costa Rica

When planning our recent trip to Costa Rica, I thought about booking a tour to coffee plantations or volcanoes.  Gasping at the prices of American based companies, I decided it would probably be less expensive to book in San Jose, the capital.  At our hotel they told us about a local company who would be able to take us on a small tour to Poás volcano and see coffee plantations on route.  Perfect!  The tour was leaving at 7.30 am sharp.  A small van was taking ourselves and two husbands, staying at our hotel, to join up with our respective tours.  When we arrived at the next destination, I inwardly chuckled that the tour guide assumed that the fit young men were going up volcanos and we were going to a spa (to ease our old bones).  Luckily, one of the husbands was fluent in Spanish.  I can’t think of anything more boring than going to a spa…

Coffee Plants

We ascended onto the ‘volcano’ bus and greeted out fellow passengers.  There was only 4 seats left on our Sprinter so we sat in the back row like naughty students.  After 45 minutes we stopped on the side of a busy interstate and were joined by our final two guests, lovely ladies from North Carolina.  The passengers were quite eclectic.  The couple in front of us were French and Italian.  The French lady kept twittering about l’oiseaux, so I guess she was a birder.  The couple next to us were from Minnesota, although the husband was originally from New Zealand.  I was curious about moving from New Zealand to Minnesota but I guess love is powerful.

One of the North Carolina ladies announced to the whole bus that she had moved from New York to North Carolina after her divorce and it was ‘the best thing she had ever done’.  We seemed a chattier group than usual but perhaps this is normal in this post pandemic world?  One Canadian man was talking about American politics but survived the trip intact…  Teddy was trying to curl himself into a ball in his window seat.  He is so used to just being around me and wolves that he was struggling to cope with all this sociality.

Water Buffalo and Cart

Then we spotted the first coffee sign for a plantation.  Inevitably it was Starbucks.  I think they start off with good coffee but then ruin it with burned milk (just my opinion).  We stopped at the next plantation and there was a little visitor center and café.  The coffee was nice but the view even better.  When we arrived there was a very old man posing with his water buffalo.  He berated me for giving him Costa Rica currency – he wanted dollars.  How did he know I was American?  He would have been less happy if I offered him Icelandic Krona.

Spike

The roads were narrow and interesting.  Thankfully I was too excited about a volcano to have a panic attack.  There were very deep ditches at the sides of roads to deal with tropical rainfall.  Generally, the roads were in good condition.  It was a very steep, winding drive up to Poás volcano but finally we arrived.  Our tour guide said, “Vamanos!”, and we strode up the road to the summit with varying degrees of ability.  I have been to Denver on various trips but this was the first time I noticed I had trouble breathing at high altitude.  Perhaps the steep hill contributed.

At the summit, the tour guide said that the rest of the passengers were going on to visit waterfalls.  Would we like to pay extra and join them?  I was keen but Teddy was over the tourists.  On the way back we stopped at a winery to meet up with our car to take us back to San Jose.  The guide explained to the bus group that we were leaving so we left with Au Revoir, Ciao and Goodbye Y’alls.  Our car wasn’t there so the guide suggested that the rest of the group wine taste since we were waiting.  It was quite delicious for tropical wine – sweet and red.

While we were waiting, I had a long chat with the driver who only spoke Spanish.  He must have enunciated very well because I understood everything and was able to respond.  His son is a student in Indiana and they have to travel through Houston to visit.  The slightly hassled tour guide interrupted us to say that our driver was at another location closer to San Jose.  So…we had to get on the bus, listen to all the jokes (did you have a nice time in San Jose?) and then say goodbye all over again, about 20 minutes later.  Another couple were waiting to take our places and go to the waterfalls.  As someone who has worked in public and private transportation for years, I was terribly impressed by their efficiency (apart from one little blip).  I hope the new couple that joined the group enjoyed a wee chat…

Our new driver was content to put the radio on and drive swiftly back to San Jose.  That allowed my wolfman to chill out and enjoy the scenery.  It made us both realize that we prefer being travelers than tourists.  We rarely saw tourists near our hotel or in San Jose but it didn’t take away from a fantastic trip.

The Critters were sad…

It was one dead animal too many and the time had come to deconstruct our deck. We loved that all the critters had a place to shelter but inevitably some crawled under and then passed over the rainbow bridge. I never thought I would have a use for all the terms I learned on the TV show CSI – Crime Scene Investigation, regarding decomposition. Three skunks, one squirrel and a raccoon leg – that’s almost a Christmas song…

When we moved into the shiny new house, 18 years ago, we were lucky enough to get one of the model homes. Granite countertops and fully landscaped back yard. It had grass that was utterly alien to me. In Scotland I had a yard the size of a field that I seeded and mowed. This Saint Augustine’s grass was as tough as old boots, killed the first lawnmower and had to go. We replaced the grass with little pebbles and bull rock and everything was wonderful. That is until, Toffee, our baby cat, decided that the little pebbles was ‘outside’ cat litter. She buried her poos, very carefully, but her toxic digestive system turned the rock green. We shared a parasite or two with the cats from Egypt.

What to do? We had a cat fence installed (think penitentiary boho chic) and then a deck within that area. The first deck was fantastic! The fence and cats prevented most visitors venturing under the deck. One special day, Mrs. Stripe touched noses with a Mama Raccoon – both were fascinated with each other. The deck lasted past the death of all three cats and the removal of the cat fence that was donated to an animal sanctuary. We lovingly maintained and painted it to match the house. Then the harsh Texas elements started to destroy the wood and the first critter died under it.

Our handyman deconstructed the much larger, original, deck and built a newer, smaller deck. It was nice but never quite as perfect as the first one. Every time the planks had to be removed (for locating dead bodies) and then replaced, it took a toll on the deck wood. When we were younger, it didn’t seem such a big deal; hilarious even. I managed to retrieve the squirrel corpse with yoga poses and a stick. Now there is not enough Celebrex in the world to make me bend like that.

We thought that the original concrete deck might be damaged but it was almost perfect. Manuel power-washed it and it looked amazing. Then our gardener came in and reset all the original boulders, graded the ground, replaced the little pebbles, added some rock and new cedar mulch. Teddy took me out for lunch and took a shot of me, below, in the perfect new yard. Teddy refers to my spotted Calvin Klein coat as my ‘Bet Lynch’ coat…only the Brits will get that but substitute any reality housewife. I have since painted the deck with stain called ‘Adobe’ and it looks exactly as it sounds.

But the critters were sad. Our beloved ‘Tail’ family of squirrels disappeared during the construction. They all had a genetic abnormality with their tails – we called them ‘Half’, ‘Three Quarters’ and the original girl, ‘Tail’. Naming animals is not our forte – we had one cat called Puss. We missed our little friends but then a new family moved in – the Floofs! They have full fluffy tails, glossy fur and bright white spots on their ears. Unlike our ‘Tails’, they run away when I open the door to give them peanuts but soon return. Then, one happy day last week, ‘Three Quarters’ returned! She sat and waited as I found a snack for her. We keep hoping that all the Tails return.

All three of our Egyptian cats are buried in our garden. I hope they approve of the new garden. RIP baby cats.

Toffee on our mantelpiece

Mrs. Stripe, the matriarch

Zhenny at 2 years old in Cairo

Knitted Pantaloons

I was all set, getting ready to leave the house to go to the Dentist. Then I saw a flicker of gray in the garden and crept to the window. It was a juvenile Cooper’s Hawk, resplendent in knitted pantaloons. If I was little, I would ask my Nana to knit me a stuffed Hawk just like this one.

The Juvenile was very skittish and as I went to get my camera out of the drawer, I noticed a squirrel staring intently at the hawk from the fence. Part of me wanted to warn the squirrel but I really wanted a photograph… We have plenty of squirrels and this one was curious, not scared! Baby Cooper posed so nicely for me, showing off her fabulous plumage. I need to get an outfit of taupe and steel gray now.

Eventually, I made a noise as I was trying to poke the camera through the Venetian blinds and the hawk flew off straight into the squirrel. My heart was in my mouth wondering what would happen next but the feisty squirrel fluffed up her fur like a cat and terrified Baby Cooper. They eat much smaller prey than squirrels. Our squirrel stood her ground, saying, “That is MY Nut Mom and MY garden.”

Please come visit us again, little hawk! I want to see those yellow feet…and those fluffy pantaloons.

EXCITING UPDATE

When I went out on the walking path yesterday, I met Baby Cooper! She sat in her tree while I have a one side conversation with her. There is an open invitation for her to visit my yard.

Painted Churches, St John the Baptist

This is one of the many beautiful painted churches in central Texas. The early settlers from Czechoslovakia and Germany hand-painted their new places of worship in the style of the places that they came from. The churches are off the beaten track, in rural areas, and a joy to behold. I like to call this one the ‘peach church’ but it is really St. John the Baptist, a Czech Catholic Church, in the hamlet of Ammannsville (closer to San Antonio than Austin but in the central area otherwise known as the hill country).

Not only did the beautiful stained glass windows have Czech names on them but the stages of the cross were also annotated in Czech. It struck me that the original settlers probably only spoke Czech for at least one generation, if not longer. Each community is separate, if only by a few miles. Perhaps they learned German before English to communicate with fellow settlers? It’s remarkable and heart warming that they are so well maintained. The original building dates from 1890, it was destroyed by a hurricane in 1909 and this current building is from 1917.

It was another cloudy but warm day in May. The dark clouds give the church an ominous look as did the thousands of tussock moth caterpillars that covered the church and surrounding area. You couldn’t help standing on them or them dropping on your head – eek! My dopey husband wanted to touch their furry bodies but I stopped him in time. Their cute little fur spikes are poisonous, causing a nasty rash, and no doubt he would have ended up in ER (he is highly allergic to bug bites).

Holy Caterpillars! Zoom in, if you dare….

Dolphins are jerks…

Before you report me to the CIA (Cetaceous Investigative Agency) for slandering precious dolphins, read my rational explanation. This is the best shot I got on a dolphin watching cruise in Galveston and it is typical of every other photo I have taken looking for the crafty cetaceans – at least you can’t miss a whale. Galveston Bay is teeming with more dolphins than usual because the water is soooo hot. The Captain told us that there are many sharks eating the dolphins too – didn’t see any of them either. They are bottle-nosed dolphins and curiously the most northerly group of bottle-noses lived on the coast close to where we lived in the Moray Firth in Scotland. That’s when they started to annoy me…

For years, I worked as Teddy’s unpaid assistant while he did his Masters by research on a piece of craggy coastline overlooking the Moray Firth. On rare occasions it was lovely and warm but mostly it was just ‘Baltic’ weather. My hands were frozen holding tape measures and other geological stuff. I gazed off into the Firth always looking for a dolphin but never saw one – in almost 20 years. This Scottish group of dolphins had followed the warm gulf stream from the Caribbean to the far north of Scotland. These Cetaceous skinheads also beat up porpoises. Not so cute, now, eh??

When I was scanning the water in Galveston Harbor, I wondered if the Scottish squad had come on a wee holiday to the Gulf of Mexico and they were laughing at me, nearly falling over the railing in my attempt to catch a shot. You know this is a tongue in cheek post – I love all critters even the skinheads! They really did beat up porpoises in the Moray Firth but it was probably overfishing by humans that caused the aggression.

We went for a two day trip to Galveston just to get a sea breeze. The temperature was about 10 degrees cooler than at home (101 F) but it was still overwhelmingly hot. The breeze felt more like a hairdryer. Our boat was filled with two very large extended families. One speaking Spanish and the other were from a south east state. It could have been English but so hard to tell; bless their hearts! The tiny kids could barely see the dolphins but the Captain let them all ‘drive’ the boat and finally see them. There were some reports of a badly behaved dolphin in the of the southern coast of Texas but it had just become too used to humans and lost it’s fear much like bears that have to be removed from the suburbs.

Of course, Teddy got a much better shot with his fancy camera but even he struggled. Do you notice the strange color of the water? Tourists are often disappointed that the water at Galveston is a muddy color but it is glorious in other parts of the Gulf of Mexico (turquoise in the Yucatan). Houston sits at the base of a delta system of rivers that cause the churning of sediment and Galveston is our barrier island. It’s full of really great tasting fish, though.

Dolphin bubbles…

Country Matters

This is the last post from the involuntary vacation series. Our final coffee stop was at a pretty little hill country town named La Grange, settled by Czech immigrants in 1850. We were so enamored with its charming town square that we made a second trip two months later. One this first visit, I nosed around the town square looking at the historical markers and town public notices. This notice, below, about intended treatment of Boll weevil insect in the cotton fields fascinated me. By chance, I had been reading about the recent Texas wines in the Panhandle region.  One of the wine growers’ major problems is that chemicals used to treat the cotton can drift and kill the vines.

I recently read this review, in red, by the Chalk Report of a winery in Loop, a remote area in north west Texas.  ‘Texas Wine wins Double Gold at San Francisco International Wine Competition’ Climate change is affecting wine growing here, as it is in the rest of the world.  There are some wineries just north of us but now the Panhandle area is producing some of the best medal winners.  Cool nights, hot days and low humidity create a good environment for growth.  Tempranillo and Bordeaux seem to suit this climate region. On a nostalgic segue, in Scotland we eagerly awaited the new Beaujolais Bordeaux every year – a bright, vibrant new pressing.  Bordeaux is called Claret.  I know you think that Scots just drink whisky and eat haggis but our wine drinking is an elegant legacy of the “Auld Alliance” between Scotland and France. 

Courtesy of Zeesstof on Flickr

My husband took this fabulous photo of a Red Brangus bull with egret friend in Port Aransas.  If you read the lost cattle notice beneath it, you can see someone has lost a Red Brangus bull.  How??  It’s not like losing your tabby cat.  They weigh up to 3000 lbs. and are worth between $7000 and $16,000.  When we lived on a farm in Scotland, the drunk neighbor did not adequately fence in his bullocks.  They all ran straight down our drive and galloped through the open door into the glass sunporch – talk about bulls in a China shop!  I know it’s not PC but I had to smack their bottoms with a broom to get them out of the house – I swear they laughed at me.  Then I chased them back home and woke up the sozzled farmer (perhaps he had found some Beaujolais Bordeaux?).  I had a few choice words for him…

Ah, I miss some aspects of living a truly rural life.

Mission Nuestra Señora del Espíritu Santo de Zúñiga

This is the third location of what was also called the Aranama Mission or Mission La Bahia, established in 1722 in Goliad, Texas.  Previous missions were at Matagorda and Lavaca Bay then named La Bahía del Espíritu Santo (The Bay of the Holy Spirit), on the south west coast of Texas on the Gulf.  On our involuntary vacation trip, we visited the town of Goliad first and then went to see the Mission itself, a short distance away on the banks of the San Antonio River.

The intention of the third location was to settle in a place that the native people, the Aranama, would be willing to stay and work, as well as establish territory to defeat the French, in particular. At its peak there were 40,000 head of cattle at the Mission making it the largest ranch in the area and run by the Franciscan order. I often wonder what the indigenous people thought – did Missions make their lives easier or was it just stolen land? They would have offered protection against some of the more warlike Tribes and a regular supply of food albeit with forced conversion to Catholicism.

One of my Irish cousins is a Missionary nun. For many years she worked in Africa. When she was older they moved her to a poverty stricken housing estate in Glasgow, Scotland. I was curious as to how she adapted but she loved it! Most people who meet me make assumptions based on my Scottish accent and seem to think I lived a fabulous life (in a castle?). Many people my age immigrated from Scotland to other countries to achieve a better life.

The building itself fell into disrepair over the years and was reconstructed as part of the New Deal in the 1930’s.  From visiting other Missions in Mexico and California, it seems authentic to me.  I was enchanted by the simplicity of the church and the pastoral lands surrounding it.

Mission Nuestra Senora del Espiritu Santo de Zuniga is a bit of a mouthful, as was my Spanish given name – Katherine Louise Dellinger de Ortega.  My ancestors settled in Spanish Missions from central Mexico up to San Francisco.  When I was in McAllen, the Mexican American receptionist commented on my Scottish accent and I said, “You won’t believe what my maiden name was!”  After the reveal she said, “Well, that is a brown name!”  I was so happy that she recognized my Mestizo heritage despite my Caucasian appearance – few people do.