By H. Haveman

Spring, the season of anticipation, is here and summer is fast approaching.  This time of year, it’s hard not to be filled with the expectancy of new life.  Everywhere you turn, there are new bursts of color and various melodies on the wind.  As the school year comes to an end, it is the time for celebration and presentation.  On Friday, June 1, Gallup’s En Croix Dance Studio is putting on its spring show, “Tickled Pink,” to help pave the way for summer and all its possibilities.

Hannah Daugherty's passion for dance and instruction has turned into a successful dance studio with about 60 students.

Hannah Stokes-Daugherty, En Croix founder and instructor, speaks excitedly about planning for the show, which she conceptualized and choreographed.  Inspiration came from The Muppets – but there won’t be any fuzzy puppets dancing on stage.  It’s the music, joy and imagination that The Muppets exude that captured Hannah’s curiosity.  The finale piece is set to “Life’s a Happy Song,” an original song from The Muppets movie (2011).  It’s hard not to smile when you hear it.  It expresses the idea that anything is possible.  It repeats the phrase, “I’ve got everything that I need right in front of me.  Nothing’s stopping me.  Nothing that I can’t be . . .”  Other familiar tunes provide the soundtrack for a creative story told through dance, with bright colors, polka dots and stripes, jump ropes, hula hoops, and hide and seek setting the stage.

Dancing herself, since she was three years old, Hannah studied at the University of New Mexico, aiming toward performance.  However, she found a love for choreography and teaching.  “As a teacher you get to give happiness,” she explains.  So, Hannah’s mantra changed from Broadway or bust to Bring Broadway here!  She’s determined to produce a top-notch show for Gallup from Gallup.  “Good things can come from [here], too.  They don’t have to come from other places,” she insists.

Hannah’s passion for dance and instruction has turned into a successful dance studio with about 60 students.  For now, she is concentrating on growing slowly and investing in her students, who range in age from 3 to 17.  She teaches a variety of dance styles, ranging from ballet to modern.  Ballet was the focus during the fall semester, which culminated in a holiday performance of “The Nutcracker.”  On an evening last December, the El Morro Theatre was filled to capacity, with nearly 500 seats occupied.  Hannah hopes to repeat “The Nutcracker” annually, adding something new to each year’s presentation.

During the spring, more dance styles have been included, which has made preparing for “Tickled Pink” a lot of fun for the students.  They will continue to work hard throughout this month to perfect the 17 dance numbers and transitions.  With the non-stop action of Cirque du Soleil in mind, Hannah envisions a seamless show, one-hour in length, where the audience is constantly entertained, hardly noticing the changes between pieces.  It will be a show for all ages, during which giggling, foot tapping, and head bobbing are encouraged!  When you attend, you’ll surely be tickled pink!

“Tickled Pink” will be performed on Friday, June 1 at Gallup High Auditorium at 6:30 pm.  Tickets are $5 per person or $20 for five.  Children 3 and under are Free, but must sit on a lap.  Tickets on sale at 5:30 pm, doors open at 6:00 pm.  No admittance after 6:35 pm.

Gallup is a railroad town, created in 1881 out of the necessity for a railway headquarters along the southern transcontinental route.  Named for David L. Gallup, paymaster for the railroad, ours is a city whose livelihood has been tied into the network of roads and rails, transporting people and goods to, from and throughout the Southwest.  The relationship was, perhaps, never so obvious as in the earlier decades of the 1900s when the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway (now BNSF) and Route 66 ran parallel through the heart of Gallup, pumping rail and automobile travelers in and out.  Between them stood El Navajo Hotel, built by the Fred Harvey Company in 1918, where travelers would fill their bellies and rest their heads, enjoying the stellar service for which Harvey Houses were known.

Mary is a sprightly 96-year-old and one of the last living Harvey Girls.

Mary Montoya was there in its heyday, and remembers the glamour of the building itself, the holiday parties, the prescribed uniform, and the rigid set of rules.  She’s a sprightly 96-year-old who has spent most of her life in Gallup, and is one of the last living Harvey Girls.

Fred Harvey was an entrepreneur who seized an opportunity to improve on the quality of food and service offered to train passengers in the 1870s.  His first restaurant in Topeka, Kansas proved so successful that he struck a deal with the Santa Fe Railway to manage eating houses in towns along their tracks, offering good food, good service, and good prices. Harvey Houses, with their staff of well-trained waitresses, called Harvey Girls, were regarded for their high standards for efficiency, cleanliness, and service, which drew rail travelers and made for a thriving business.  Harvey became known as the man who brought civility to the Wild West, as well as the creator of the first restaurant chain.

Mary “Toki” Montoya came to Gallup when she was about twelve years old; her Japanese father was a cook at the coal mining camp in Gamerco.  They arrived via El Paso, Texas, but joined many others who came to this area from Europe, Asia, and Mexico, to work on the railroad or to mine coal, creating a diverse Gallup community.  Mary’s family lived in the Japanese camp; she attended Catholic school and learned to waitress as a young girl in several local cafés.

She recalls her first job, at the OK Café, which was owned by Hershey Miyamura’s parents, Yaichi and Tori.  Tori called Mary by her Japanese name, Toki, and encouraged the shy girl to give a cup of coffee to a waiting customer.  Mary hesitantly brought the steaming cup to the counter and then stood, frozen, not knowing what to do next.  She laughs at the memory and about how much she learned in the years following, especially while working for the Fred Harvey Company.

Mary, as a Harvey Girl, was encouraged to wear Native attire during Ceremonial.

Working as a Harvey Girl offered many women the chance to travel to unseen places, meet lots of people, and earn respectable wages.  Harvey Girls were expected to wear their complete uniforms, cleaned and pressed, follow a strict set of serving rules, and abide by curfew if they were boarding employees.  Mary remembers working her way up the ladder as a waitress, beginning by serving employees at the counter, then customers at the counter, then serving in the lunchroom.  “Even if you thought you were the best waitress in Gallup, you had a lot to learn,” she recalls.  “You started at the bottom.”  Eventually, Mary became the head waitress at El Navajo, serving in the main dining room.  She worked as a Harvey Girl for a total of ten years, never forgetting the experience and the thorough training she received.

El Navajo closed its doors in 1957 and was partly torn down, due, in part, to the widening of Route 66.  Tourists no longer traveled the rails as frequently and Harvey Houses, literally, faced the wrong way – toward the tracks, rather than the road.  At its peak, the Harvey Company operated an eating house or hotel every 100 miles of track along the Santa Fe line.  Sadly, very few of the original Harvey Houses still exist today.  The remains of El Navajo have been preserved and renovated. Now, the Gallup Cultural Center is a well-used community gathering place.  It houses the Masters’ Gallery and Storyteller Museum, the Amtrak station, and Angela’s Café con Leche.

Mary in her Harvey Girl uniform.

As for Mary Montoya, her work as a Harvey Girl became the foundation for a life in food service.  After El Navajo closed, she began work at Gallup’s Ranch Kitchen.  Working directly under the owner, she oversaw hiring, training, the operation of the gift shop, and payroll.  Adopting some of Fred Harvey’s techniques, she was a stickler for shined shoes, combed hair, clean uniforms, and good customer service.  Mary enjoyed thirty-four years at Ranch Kitchen and has maintained friendships with some of her former employees and customers.  Often when she goes out, someone will recognize her from her days of service in local restaurants.  “It’s good to be remembered,” she says.

Smiling, Mary says, “I’ve had a good life.”  One with a family, two daughters, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and many memories.  Her husband Louis, a well-liked city employee for years, was called the “Disneyland Kid” by family members for the yearly trips they’d take with all the kids – though it seemed that he always had the most fun.  The walls of Mary’s home are adorned with photos of friends and family – more photos sit in albums and boxes on shelves at arm’s reach – representing years of blessing.

People no longer travel the rails, or even Route 66, like they used to.  And Harvey Houses no longer provide comfortable lodging and warm food to voyagers.  However, they are not forgotten.  The Southwest was largely shaped by the railroad and the Harvey Houses that were strung along it.  Similarly, though Mary’s time as a Harvey Girl didn’t last for long, it paved the way for a life of rewarding work.

Sources: Fred Harvey Houses of the Southwest by Richard Melzer, 2008
Wikipedia.org

Sammy and Marie Chioda realized a dream when they opened Sammy C’s Rock N’ Sports Pub and Grille four-and-a-half years ago.  It was the result of years of planning and the desire to give back to the community that they love.  Recently, all the preparation and hard work of running one of Gallup’s biggest eateries has been recognized – on a national level.

Sammy C’s has been named as one of CNN’s 101 Best Sports Bars in the U.S., and was the only listing for New Mexico.  Sammy’s made the list due to certain criteria, which are met and exceeded: “A truly great sports bar must be awash in TVs, offer an inordinate selection of beers and excel at frying chicken in some form or other.  It’s also got to make watching sports central to the experience” (cnngo.com).  According to Sammy, “It’s affirmation of what we’re trying to do.”  It’s all about Gallup and doing something that Gallup can take pride in.

The restaurant appeals to anyone and everyone; you don’t have to be a sports fan to enjoy the atmosphere created by the impressive collection of memorabilia that adorns the interior.  Sammy C’s provides entertainment through live music, karaoke, and pool tables, in addition to the variety of sporting events that they show.  The menu offers an assortment of snacks, meals, and drinks to satisfy any craving from breakfast to after-dinner dessert.  Families, couples, and large groups will all find something to love about Sammy C’s.

The City of Gallup proclamation honoring Sammy and Marie Chioda for their work with Sammy C's.

The community has embraced Sammy C’s, which the Chiodas deeply appreciate.  It’s a favorite of locals and tourists alike.  Sammy knows out-of-towners who make Sammy C’s a scheduled stop whenever they’re traveling through the area.  And the recognition has gotten a good response statewide; folks from Albuquerque and elsewhere in New Mexico are rallying in support of Sammy C’s.

The City of Gallup recently awarded the Chiodas with an official proclamation in honor of all they have done for the community through Sammy C’s.  It really says something special about the direction Gallup is moving, to have one of our bars make this national list.  “People don’t expect something like this in Gallup,” says Sammy.  Sammy C’s Rock N’ Sports Pub and Grille is classy and responsible and good for Gallup.  Congratulations!

Are you looking for an alternative education? American Martyrs Academy offers a unique opportunity for students to be educated in the classical traditions of Western civilization. The students have a strong academic, human and spiritual formation. The emphasis of education at American Martyrs Academy is to foster the love of learning in the students. “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a life.” The students utilize the different aspects of their minds and hearts to come to a deep appreciation for and love of truth.

At American Martyrs Academy students interact in a one-room-schoolhouse environment, all ages supporting and challenging each other.

The academic formation of the children begins, in the younger years, with a strong development of the imagination and memory through reading stories such as Aesop’s Fables and memorizing the poems of Robert Louis Stevenson.  By mid-elementary, the emphasis shifts from and expands upon the imagination to the ability to read and write more complex ideas by reading great literature and learning to write through dictation. At this point in their education, the students also begin to learn Latin, a language of great benefit in terms of understanding the infrastructure of how language works. The students then move into the dialectical stage, in which they begin to analyze their subjects more closely, learning to answer their own “why” questions. Finally, the students end in the rhetorical stage. Students at this point are ready to glean important information from what they read, analyze the content and synthesize it in order to come to a well-informed understanding of any topic at hand.

Throughout all of these stages, the students habitually memorize poems and great speeches. From Robert Louis Stevenson and Edward Lear to Shakespeare, the Bible and the Constitution, the students have the ability to call from memory great works of Western civilization.

While the main purpose of education is usually seen as the acquisition of knowledge, it is equally important for the students to be a part of a beautiful community of persons. American Martyrs Academy offers a truly unique opportunity to realize this community. The school is a one-room schoolhouse, and the older and younger students interact in a unique way. The older students often help the younger students with their poetry, as well as reading stories to them. Every Friday, the students recite their poems for one another. Art class is a time for the whole school to work together on projects. In music, the older grades learn theory while the younger grades learn the recorder and songs, usually about the history they are studying. The older students take joy in being looked up to and held responsible for the younger students, and the younger students bask in the attention and conversations of their older schoolmates. In these ways, the students learn to converse easily and participate confidently in a broader community.

The community for the students expands to outside the classroom with several community service related activities. At Christmas, the students perform the carols they have learned for the residents at the Little Sisters of the Poor. Presently, the students are the Hospitallers of St. Jeanne Jugan, and visit the residents on their birthdays. At the end of the year, the students put on a play or a few vignettes for parents and friends. They also volunteer occasionally to clean or prepare food at the Missionaries of Charity. All of the students participate in these events, and the spirit of camaraderie is bolstered by their genuine concern for one another.

On top of the academic and human formation, spiritual formation is just as important at American Martyrs Academy. The spiritual formation is founded on the Judeo-Christian principles: “Love God above all things and love your neighbor as yourself.” The best way to learn to love anyone is to get to know them first; therefore, each school day begins with Mass at 8 am, followed by a prayer to the Holy Spirit at the school. The formal education is founded on the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Students memorize the Baltimore Catechism, read Lives of the Saints, and study the Bible in different stages, to different depths. The spirit of joy and respect reigns in the school, and the students are deeply aware of one another in their sense of humor, their spirit of service and their prayers.

In a nutshell:
1) The children learn to read and comprehend concepts at an accelerated level.
2) The small classroom atmosphere provides specialized instruction and tutoring. This helps each student develop at the student’s capacity.
3) American Martyrs Academy provides a safe, clean learning environment for students.
4) Parents have regular, ongoing access to Ms. Brink and the progress of their child.

Here’s what parents are saying:

“Our experience with American Martyrs Academy has been wonderful. This is truly a unique school. The curriculum is a classical, top-drawer approach to education, based on the four stages of learning. These stages, the primary, grammatical, dialectic, and rhetorical, correspond to the children’s ages and learning development. The students are inspired by wonder, given the learning tools they need to acquire knowledge, and encouraged in the pursuit of wisdom.
“Our children are flourishing at AMA. Our sixth-grade son, especially, has seen a real improvement in his grades this year. The small school environment and individual attention he receives have been very beneficial to him. Our first-grade daughter is doing a great job with math, phonics, reading, and her other subjects. She can recite numerous classical poems from memory in a way that amazes and delights me!
“The students also have a lot of fun. They have made wonderful mosaics from glass and pottery, and have begun the art of painting beautiful Byzantine-styled colored eggs. They take field trips and are involved, through the school, with active community service. Learning to give of self is an important part of character development.
“Lastly, we love the pervading Catholic atmosphere in which our children are learning. From studying their catechism lessons, to being taught manners and charity to their peers and those in the larger community, they are developing an understanding of what it means to live as Christ intends them to.
“Overall, this has been a terrific school year for our family!”

-Ann Venegas

“As a parent of two, I would highly recommend the American Martyrs Academy. With small class sizes, each student gets ample quality time with the teacher, which helps him or her grow at their own rate. If a student is excelling, we can provide an opportunity for challenge. Or, if a child needs help, we can provide an opportunity to address his or her specific needs.
“My own experience with AMA has been fantastic. My 6-year-old son is currently attending kindergarten and he couldn’t be doing better. His reading has improved and grown amazingly since attending this school. Math, never his favorite, he now enjoys exploring. Also, his concentration has improved by learning several poems by heart, in English and some in Latin.
“The children really learn to care for each other. With fewer students these children are able to get to know each other better. There simply isn’t any opportunity for bullying when you know your fellows so well. Aside from learning how to socialize with their peers, the children also learn how to interact with students who may be older or younger than themselves. I find this great for building social skills, which is necessary for all walks of life, present and future.
“AMA uses a classical curriculum which emphasizes the basics of education. All children need a foundation to start from and this is exactly what is offered. They are given a beginning and are encouraged with lots of help to follow through with their education to aid them for college, work, or simply enjoying life to the fullest, after being given these tools to think for themselves.”

-Marianne Munozcano

At American Martyrs Academy, we are a community of faith and friendship, from kindergarten to grade 12. If you are interested in taking part in this unique opportunity and educational adventure, or would like to visit and see firsthand the facilities, please email Vanessa Brink at ama.vbrink@gmail.com, call or text (805) 421-8581, or visit the American Martyrs Academy Facebook page.  All are welcome!

As summer approaches, I’m reminded that green is the color of my heart, or New Jersey, or something . . . but not my yard.  The only green around me is the envy I have for people who have green thumbs.  Frankly, I never met a plant I couldn’t kill, whether it’s in the yard or house.
The decision about whether to have a house plant or not is not to be considered lightly.  As with all living things, there is a certain amount of RESPONSIBILITY involved.  One must take into consideration one’s ability to water and even feed when necessary.
In most cases, unless I really got carried away, the decision to have a house plant did not rest on my shoulders. Usually it was foisted upon me with utter disdain for my wishes by someone who thinks a house plant is the ultimate gift – or who wants to take the EASY WAY OUT and not have to consider that what I really want is a trip to Hawaii.  I remember the first house plant given to me . . .
“Uh, what’s this?” I ask, suspiciously.
“It’s a house plant,” Green Thumb says, scathingly.
“Is it alive?”
“Of course it’s alive!”
“But what do I do with it?”
“Just enjoy it.”
 Right away I’m in trouble.  I have visions of having to spend hours throwing a ball to it or having it crawl into my lap for some petting. Even worse would be playing midwife when it is having little plants.
“What does it do?” I ask with trepidation.
“It doesn’t do anything.  You just set it on a table or hang it from the ceiling,” (Ow! That hurts!), “somewhere and enjoy looking at it . . .”
Well, now, that doesn’t seem too hard.  This was beginning to sound like something I might be able to handle, although I think one would quickly tire of sitting and staring at a plant.  After all, once one has counted all the leaves and admired the different colors of green (and/or brown) involved, what else is there?
“. . . and water it about once a week,” continues Green Thumb.
Uh-oh.  I knew there must be a catch somewhere. But, still, that might not be beyond my mental capacities.  If I can remember to water it . . .
“Is that all?” I asked, feeling more confident.
“You should feed it occasionally,” Green Thumb advised.
Feed it?  Feed it what?  How about leftovers?  Or does it have expensive tastes – like caviar?  Do I have to cut up the food?  And how often is occasionally?  Once a month, a year, what?  I am beginning to fear I am in over my head.
“And, you ought to talk to it once in a while,” said Green Thumb.
That tears it!  Really, what in the world do I have in common with a plant? What would we talk about?  Besides, with three boys, and three animals as permanent/periodic residents, plus all the friends and animals coming and going, there is enough talking going on – to say nothing of the grandkids who talk incessantly when they’re around.  There are also televisions, radios, and stereos, and if the plant wants to eavesdrop, it’s okay with me, but I’m not talking to it.
In the first place, I’d feel like an idiot if anyone heard me.  I mean, really, I already suspect that the little men in white coats are lurking just around the corner, hoping to catch me doing something, so there’s no way I’ll take a chance by talking to a plant!
Besides, I just can’t picture myself saying things like, “Okay, pick up those leaves.  Don’t slouch!  Sit up straight.  Drink all your water!”
In the years since I was given my first plant, through no fault or choice of my own, I’ve received a lot of plants, usually during a stay in the hospital.  Now does that make sense?  Sure, give the sick person something else to take care of when she can’t even take care of herself.  Whereas, in my opinion, the greatest gift for a sick person would be for someone to come and pick up all the plants, take them away, and take care of them, in my case, forever.  That would really give me a rest, besides saving me from the trauma of killing yet another one.
I always thought the average life of a plant was about two weeks, based solely on empirical observations of plants I’ve had.  It wasn’t until I overheard some friends betting on how long a new one would last in my house, that I realized this wasn’t the case for other people.
I can’t help but believe that, for some strange reason, all the plants I’ve had are ones with suicidal tendencies.  Where are all those plants with a will to live?  Why don’t I ever get any of those?  There must be a “grapevine” between plants because I’m convinced that as soon as a plant hears it is coming to my house, it starts drooping and shedding leaves.  Why, by the time it arrives at my door it is already half dead!
You’d think someone in my family would have a green thumb, but unfortunately that isn’t the case.  Once, when my husband bought a plant for me in a flower shop (he’s a slow learner, too; it only took 50 years of marriage for him to stop giving me house plants as gifts), he asked the clerk if we should be giving the plants rain water instead of tap water.
“You have to be careful doing that.  It could shock the plant to change water,” the clerk said.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Mark answered confidently.  “We’ll explain to it before we do it.”
The worst thing is that we can no longer dispose of our dead plants in the garbage, due to the insensitive behavior of the garbage men.  It seems they were alerting the neighbors when they picked up a dead plant.  Soon after one was picked up, we began to receive condolence calls from the neighbors.  Then the neighborhood children started making regular visits to our garbage can.  I tell you, it was unbearable when some of these delinquents would ring our doorbell.  With trepidation, I would go to the door.
“Hi, Mrs. Gartner,” said one of these little twerps.
“Yes?  May I help you?” I would ask with dignity.
“Is this yours?” asked the twerp, while with a sweeping flourish he would present the dead plant, gripping its dead stems in his grimy hand.
“Where did you get that?” I would stammer, thinking I had rid myself forever of the incriminating evidence.
“Oh, I just saw it in your garbage can.  I just wanted to check our figures with you.  According to our list, this one is the 14th this year.  Is that correct?” he would ask, all sweetness and innocence.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” I would answer while trying to close the door on his size 5 foot.
“We’ve come up with a plan. How about if you saved all of them, and then once a month, the neighborhood could have a mass burial and barbecue?” he had the nerve to suggest.
So we did the only logical thing.  We started sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to dig a grave and secretly bury the plant in the back yard.  At least we did that until one of the neighbors reported us to the police, who showed up with sirens blaring to dig up the “bodies” we were burying in the back yard.
Since we moved out to the “boonies,” we don’t have to worry about the neighbors’ tsktsking.  We just let the weeds grow at will and pretend we planted them on purpose.  As to house plants, now we do what we should have done to begin with.   When a flower shop truck shows up, whoever answers the door will say that the Gartners moved away and left no forwarding address.

Yes, coconut oil is good for you!

When I spoke to my dad on the phone the other night, I could hear from his sexy, deep voice that he had a chest cold.

I know what you’re thinking: “Big deal! It’s cold and flu season everywhere!” Except my dad is in his nineties and his lungs are not his strongest organs. In my heart, I knew I was listening to the harbinger of pneumonia.

Photo by Rimshot

I asked him immediately to stop ingesting those things that might have caused his immunity to weaken – the junk food he loves that’s filled with sugar, white flour, trans-fatty acids or rancid oils, etc. – and start taking the things that help rid his body of the congestive condition naturally.

I asked Rosie, a friend of his who was at the house, to get on the phone so I could give her some instructions. I should have known better; right away, she resisted what I tried to tell her. She simply wanted to get him over to the ER so he could get some antibiotics into his system. She didn’t want him messing around with “all that voodoo stuff.”

Resisting the urge to sigh (or scream), I explained as gently as possible that our family doesn’t operate that way. We seek the source or cause of a problem so we can truly eliminate the accompanying condition; we try to avoid the suppressive effects of synthetic medications and their harmful side effects.

Rosie is intelligent and sweet and cares very much about my father’s health, so she was willing to listen. I told her my dad doesn’t take any medications whatsoever to keep him going. She, in turn, listed all the meds she takes for allergies, blood pressure, cholesterol, arthritis, and other assorted conditions. I told her I had been advising my father on his health for years now, and he didn’t suffer from any of these conditions. She got my drift.

Then I asked her if dad was taking his coconut oil.

Exit My Drift, Enter Her Outrage

“Are you crazy?!” she stormed. “Don’t you know coconut oil is nothing but saturated fat? What are you trying to do, raise his cholesterol levels and give him a heart attack?” As for herself, she proudly announced, she uses only canola oil when she cooks and good olive oil for salads.

Okay, there was hope. I praised her for using olive oil on her salads, adding that I hoped it was from virgin olive oil that had been cold-pressed. I also mentioned, almost as an aside, that she might want to do some research into the truth about the man-made canola oil she uses for most of her cooking.

“I don’t think you realize all the beneficial qualities of pure, unadulterated coconut oil that hasn’t gone through any hydrogenation process,” I said.

“Oh, really?” she countered. “Like what?”

So this is what I told her.

Good Fat, Bad Fat

First, yes, coconut oil is saturated fat. But just like good and bad cholesterol, there’s good and bad saturated fat. The particular kind of fat in coconut oil is composed of medium-chain fatty acids, which are metabolized as soon as consumed. They’re never converted into cholesterol or body fat, unlike the bad kind of saturated fat, which is.

Your body doesn’t have to emulsify coconut oil with bile salts because it’s absorbed directly from the small intestine to the liver, where it is immediately converted into usable energy. In effect, coconut oil stimulates your metabolism. A stimulated metabolism can not only help lower cholesterol levels, it can help the body release weight, rather than gain it.

Yup. Oil that can help you lose weight. Good fat. Ain’t nature grand?

“But fatty foods can cause blood clots!” Rosie said, adroitly echoing hundreds of magazine articles and product-promoting (i.e., not information disseminating) commercials.

Very true. The kind of fat found in lard, butter, vegetable oils, and even some olive oils earns its bad reputation by promoting “sticky platelets,” which can, indeed, increase the chance of developing clots. But that’s not the kind of fat found in virgin coconut oil.

See, coconut oil’s medium-chain fatty acids have a similar effect to fish oil’s omega-3 fatty acids – and everybody knows about fish oil, right? Its fatty acids have the opposite effect of the other, icky saturated fats. Instead of creating clots, it helps break them up.

“Wow,” said Rosie.

“Wow is right,” I said. “But that’s not all. In fact, it’s just the beginning!”

Study the island cultures where coconuts grow and are consumed as a matter of course, and you’ll find those folks never seem to come down with the kind of ailments we sophisticated folks get out here in the city. Why?  ’Cause they’ve been using coconuts and coconut oil for centuries to ward off maladies for which we commonly run to get treated by modern drugs. No defense against the common cold? Ha! The immune-enhancing properties of coconut oil’s fatty acids are anti-microbial, anti-viral, anti-tumor, and anti-fungal. Let’s see a cold stand up against that!

“But how does it work?” Rosie wanted to know.

“Simple!” I said. “Well, not really simple . . . Okay, take a deep breath. Here we go.”

To Make a Long Story Short

The largest medium-chain fatty acid is lauric acid, a string of 12 carbon atoms. Lauric acid is well-known in naturopathic circles for its antiviral, anti-microbial, anti-fungal and anti-tumor benefits.

The richest natural source known of lauric acid is mother’s milk. Ingesting mother’s milk as an adult is not really all that convenient or easy to find. The second richest natural source, however, is coconut oil. Approximately 50% or more of a coconut’s fatty-acid content consists of lauric acid.

By the way, the only oils that contain lauric acid are coconut oil, palm kernel oil and butter – and butter’s lauric acid content is only about 3%, nowhere close to coconut oil’s content. Plus, coconuts also have other medium-chain fatty acids, such as caprylic acid (approx. 8%) and capric acid (approx. 7%). Both provide good health benefits.

In short, daily use of coconut oil helps kill viruses, bacteria, fungi and yeast. It helps infants and the elderly assimilate nutrients and improve digestion. Daily usage can help control diabetes, lower bad cholesterol, reduce sticky blood platelets, and repair free-radical injuries. People with low thyroid find it can increase their energy by taking stress off the thyroid gland. It softens the skin, it helps release excess weight . . .

“So I should use it every day,” Rosie said, cutting me off.

I guess I was getting carried away. I do that sometimes.

In the end, she agreed to make sure my dad took his coconut oil, and I told her there are numerous in-depth books out on the market providing extensive research done on the subject.  She agreed to go do some reading.  She was happy.  That made me happy.

I also slipped in a plug for an excellent article on the devastating effects of trans-fatty acids (such as canola oil) as weapons of mass destruction, “WMDs: Much Closer Than You Think,” Ellen Troyer, MT MA, the Chief Research Officer at Biosyntrx (2/20/04, http://www.biosyntrx.com). But I think I’m getting carried away again . . .

On a Personal Note

I have sampled every coconut oil available in my search for the perfect coconut oil.  Frankly, as long as it’s organic and virgin, it usually tastes delicious, so I won’t recommend any one brand to you here.  Well, actually, one: Jarrow Formulas – because I know they have two varieties – the organic, full-bodied, full-flavored virgin coconut oil and the expeller-pressed variety (also from organic coconuts) that has all the benefits but removes the heavy flavor of the coconut, making it ideal for those who need the oil’s benefits but dislike the rich flavor.  Many local grocery stores are carrying different brands now, and those in the Gallup area can visit La Montañita Co-op for a good variety.  Of course you can order any brand you like online.

How can I describe a really rich, delicious coconut oil to you? Let me count the . . . no, no, you’ve got to taste it for yourself. It’s like eating coconut cream. It goes down oh so nice. And the smell! I love to put it on head to toe after a shower.

Ever found an oil that absorbs completely into the skin without getting on your clothes and ruining them? Coconut oil. If I get it on my hands when I’m cooking, it comes right off with a little warm water – I don’t even have to use soap! It’s the cleanest oil I’ve ever worked with. Comes right off dishes, too, with or without dish soap.

We even feed it to our dogs.  We have a special-needs doggies rescue group.  (No cats, no birds, just dogs. Lots of dogs.) My husband and I adopt handicapped, often blind dogs from rescue shelters. Most have been abused and/or abandoned, and they come to us malnourished with dull coats. Of course, you’d never know it to see them today. No one who meets our furry children can believe they were once emaciated-looking with horrible breath and rotting teeth. Besides their excellent diet, I firmly believe coconut oil has contributed to their now thick, lustrous coats. Take my 19-year-old Maltese mix, for example. She was rescued from a dumpster, starving to death. We mixed coconut oil into her food, and she immediately started growing fur on her bare patches. Not to mention . . .

I’m getting carried away again, aren’t I? Okay, no more stories – except to say, one last time:

Try some coconut oil!

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Dr. Bera Dordoni, N.D., lovingly referred to as the Wellness Whisperer, is author of the highly acclaimed book “I Have a Choice?!”, nutritional counselor, organic gardener and a naturopathic doctor who has over two decades of experience counseling clients with ailments ranging from allergies to cancer to numerous life-threatening dis-eases.  She incorporates the laws of attraction to help her clients achieve vibrancy from the lifestyle changes that benefit them most.  She is now taking reservations for the June 2^nd wellness retreat session this summer in the Ramah area. To make a retreat reservation, request a consultation or learn more, visit www.bastis.org or call 505-783-9001.

Studebaker Champion

My parents migrated from Boston to Albuquerque in a ’47 Studebaker Champion but the first car I remember at 434 Rio Grande Boulevard was a ’48 Plymouth convertible, which, by the time I was 6 or so, I would fetch from the garage when asked. But then a ’50 Jaguar Mk VII, with walnut trim, red leather seats and ashtrays everywhere, appeared and was parked next to the ’55 Pontiac Star Chief Custom Safari Wagon with its chrome center stripes that went from license plate to license plate . . . Remember in those days the plates were red-on-yellow in the even years and yellow-on-red in the odd, but most of the cars in our neighborhood didn’t even have plates and Joe Sanchez drove a ’49 Ford with NO tires and 2 bullet holes in the trunk lid. Joe was just back from Korea . . . the holes came with the car!

Author's dad with his 1928 Touring Car.

Soon, the Jag was totaled and two Volkswagens, a ’51 and a ’53, were parked under the cottonwood . . . an attempt to open an Albuquerque VW  dealership had failed. My sisters Be and Su were learning to drive and the “split window” would be perfect. But the rear visibility was poor and Dad backed it into the cottonwood – pushed the motor into the backseat!

In 1956 Dad brought home a two-tone, light and medium blue, ’56 Ford Parklane Wagon, our first new car.  On day one I was sent to the garage. I started it up, put my arm over the seat, stretched out my foot and depressed the gas pedal . . . The car launched itself forward into the table saw and I learned what PRND was all about.  My grandmother (she lived in Scottsdale) had just bought herself a ’56 Ford Ranch Wagon. It was a standard “3 on the column” with 2 doors and with plastic cowboy seat covers (we didn’t need those in NM!). Anyway the clutch was too much for her, so she got the Parklane and we got the Ranch Wagon, which eventually moved us back to New York City. And in 1962 my dad drove it to Panama!

Lincoln Continental

Twice in the 50s we drove east in a ’48 Lincoln Continental, previously owned by Albert Simms (Creamland Dairy, Los Poblanos, New Mexico congressman and uncle of the governor at the time) – push-button doors, electric windows and a V12 that overheated its way across Texas, my 3 sisters and the dog in the back. I sat between my parents in the front; they called me “the little prince.”

Fast forward to 1961 . . . Be returns from California, art school, and gives me the yellow ’45 Ford Pick-up. Within a week I had ruined the transmission and had to learn to navigate a dreary ’61 Chevy Bel Air or my stepfather’s annual parade of Pontiac Catalinas. 1964, after working the summer in Jemez I drove back to NY on a ’62 Ducati Diana, 2500 miles on back roads!

Sunbeam Alpine

My first car, a ’61 Buick Skylark Convertible (known for its all aluminum block and short life), followed by a  ’60 Sunbeam Alpine Series II – English, noisy, electric overdrive. Would have been a chick magnet for a kid with even a bit of magnetism. Blew the engine on the Mass Pike. Switched to a ’64 Ford Falcon Wagon, which Dave Hall and I drove from Montreal to Miami to Mexico to LA and Vancouver and back to Montreal. And then I failed out of college and bought a ’62 VW and a ’63 Honda Super Hawk (later stolen), followed by my only new motorcycle, a  ’66 Triumph Bonneville T120, eventually joined by a ’54 Ariel FH (a piece of English medieval junk!) and the sweetest ’63 Suzuki 90, which turned 78 mph at the strip in Trois Rivieres (Quebec). Then I got married and picked up a ’68 VW at the factory in Wolfsburg and spent the summer picking up hitchhikers in Yugoslavia and Greece.

Author (right) in his racing sidecar at New Hampshire International Speedway.

Montreal snow and salt ruined the VW . . . My daughter Rose was born . . . “Stagflation” was the country’s mood and a ’75 Toyota Corolla (my automotive low point) sat in front of my Boston home, but it was soon replaced by an ’81 VW Dasher Diesel, which was impossible to start on cold mornings, but redeemed itself with 47 mpg of underpowered performance and then we became a two car family . . . My favorite driver, an ’86 Saab 900 – GM owned Saab but had yet to ruin it – was joined by an ’84 Chevy Suburban in which my kids practiced running into ambulances and school buses, followed by a gorgeous red ’92 Saab 9000 CS and a lowly ’93 Subaru Legacy Wagon – also red but super uncomfortable! So late one evening I went to the Ford dealer and bought a ’95 Ford Bronco. I was surprised the next morning to see that it was an unpleasant green but perfect for hauling a trailer full of motorcycles from track to track (I had taken up road racing in the late 80s and built a racing sidecar, ’60 BMW R60, in ’91).

Toyota Land Cruiser

Then I moved to Maine and needed a good commuter, like a ’95 Audi 100 CS Quattro (not the 1000 which had an accelerator with a mind of its own). A friend gave me an ’81Toyota Land Cruiser, which I restored and regretfully sold. And then my favorite mechanic loaned me an ’81 Mercedes 300D, which led to a collection that included an ’82 300CD (the best looking coupe I ever owned), and two more 300Ds and two 300TDs (the station wagon model) and 4 or 5 parts cars. These 5-cylinder diesels commonly go over 500,000 miles – the ’82 TD had 795,000 – get over 30 mpg and cruise all day at 80. Mercedes made 6.7 million of them between 1975 and 1986 . . . perhaps the best engineered car ever.

Before I left Maine I drove a ’99 A6 Audi Quattro and a ’98 Saab 900 (the car that proved that GM drove the quirky Swedish aircraft/auto maker into the ground). And then I headed back to New Mexico, my little white ’05 Ford Ranger (which I bought in Farmington, Maine, but which came from ALAMAGORDO!) pulling my ’69 Saab Sonett on a trailer . . . oh, and my ’72 Saab Sonett not far behind. The ’69 won “Best in Show” honors at the Amigo Car show in June 2010; Sammy C presented the trophy!

Hillman Husky

There are a few left out: the ’58 Hillman Husky with a HI NEIGHBOR, HAVE A GANSETT!  sticker on the rear window, that Nick Burrage sold me for 30 bucks; a ’69 Peugeot 304 (like most French cars of the time, only 3 lugs on each wheel!); a hideous ’82 Ford Econoline conversion van that I went racing in; an ’81 Dodge Ram 50; a ’67 and a ’68 BSA Starfire; a ’76 BMW R100S; a ’64 Triumph T100 and probably a few best forgotten others.

My favorites: Sunbeam Alpine, Saab 900 (the early one), my ’69 Saab Sonett, Toyota Land Cruiser.

 And cars I wish I had: Jaguar 3.8 Mk II, ’76 Cadillac Eldorado Convertible, Sunbeam Tiger (like my Alpine, but with a Ford 289 engine), and most especially a Citroën Maserati SM . . . if you Google one you will see why!

By N. Haveman

CRAZY IDEAS THAT JUST MIGHT WORK.  This is the title of a series of stories/ideas on what could be done in Gallup.  For several months (if we’re really creative), we are going to put forth some ideas we think would benefit our community.  The ideas we showcase will always be for the good of Gallup . . . at least what we think is good for Gallup.  Some of the ideas may be, as my grandpa says, “from way out in left field.”  And some ideas may be fairly easy to both conceptualize and complete.  We aren’t asking that all of these happen – just that we open a dialogue to continually move Gallup forward.

Let me say that I have many different locations in mind for a disc golf course.  I chose to present the Second Street Dam area because it has SO MUCH potential.  I envision all sorts of possibilities for the City Property to the east of 2nd Street.  Certainly some walking trails, benches and picnic tables, but I can also see a beautiful area for a disc golf course.  With a very small investment, we could put in a course that community members of all ages could use.

I love the idea of getting folks out into the natural areas within our community and a disc golf course would be one more way to do just that.  Here’s what you need for a course:  #1- Space (the more the better),  #2 -Targets (I’d like to use the Pole Hole® design, shown),  #3- Discs (either Frisbees or disc golf discs work).

It’s a very inexpensive form of exercise and fun.  Communities all over our great state and country have disc golf courses and I think it’s high time we got one of our own.  As I said earlier, folks of all ages play disc golf, but the major demographic of people that play disc golf are 12- to 20-year-olds (at least according to my lack of research).

And we always hear that there’s “nothing to do in Gallup.”  Well, that can change with this disc golf course.  It would give our community one more way to give our students, children, friends and families “something to do.”

To give you more of a technical idea of what disc golf is, I pulled the following from the Professional Disc Golf Association website (www.pdga.com) – and, yes there really is such a thing!

What is Disc Golf?

Disc golf is played much like traditional golf. Instead of a ball and clubs, however, players use a flying disc, or Frisbee®. The sport was formalized in the 1970s, and shares with “ball golf” the object of completing each hole in the fewest number of strokes (or, in the case of disc golf, fewest number of throws). A golf disc is thrown from a tee area to a target which is the “hole.” The hole can be one of a number of disc golf targets; the most common is called a Pole Hole® – an elevated metal basket. As a player progresses down the fairway, he or she must make each consecutive shot from the spot where the previous throw landed. The trees, shrubs, and terrain changes located in and around the fairways provide challenging obstacles for the golfer. Finally, the “putt” lands in the basket and the hole is completed. Disc golf shares the same joys and frustrations of traditional golf, whether it’s sinking a long putt or hitting a tree halfway down the fairway. There are few differences, though. Disc golf rarely requires a greens fee, you probably won’t need to rent a cart, and you never get stuck with a bad “tee time.” It is designed to be enjoyed by people of all ages, male and female, regardless of economic status.

By Be Sargent

My male models shall be nameless but the woman pipe worker is Donna Goodrich, top left corner of photo.

Even though the Navajo Gallup Water Supply Project (NGWSP) hasn’t come to town yet, I wanted to put it in the murals. (I also included High Speed Rail) I’m sure some would call jobs involved with water scarcity, environmental, if not green.

The Obama Administration has approved $900 million for the Navajo Gallup Water Supply Project. The Bureau of Reclamation will decide what percentage Gallup will have to pay. Meanwhile the City is trying to figure out how to raise those funds.

My original sketch.

I wanted to portray the laying of the NGSWP pipeline with muscular shirtless men like those in the WPA mural in the courthouse.  Those were the days! Now shirtless men are few and far between. And so like Paul Newman, not the actor, who painted the Great Gallup Mural on the East Wall of the City Hall Courtyard I eventually had to seek out a model.

I love this portrait, which I repainted at least twelve times.

I waited over the winter to put in the final pipe worker. I finally decided on Donna Goodrich, who was director of the jail during the five years that I was hanging around on six stories of scaffolding and was kind to me every day.  In fact we both have a lot in common, being passionate dog lovers.

I will take this opportunity as a muralist to thank god for scaffolding and those who put it up. Handsome Lupe Valles, owner of Southwest Yardwork, and his fabulous crew, picked up, put up, took down, and put back the Red Rock Park scaffolding, which the City so generously loaned me for five consecutive summers.

One’s scaffolding becomes a home away from home.

Afixing braces on Work of Strength

I worked from 7 to 1. Six hours were the longest I could stay engaged, but usually it was more like five. Afterwards there was always at least an hour of mixing paints.

Five summers at the jail followed nine summers painting murals in the Somerville/Cambridge area of Boston, including one on the Navajo Code Talker mural and two years organizing the Gallup Downtown Mural project. See more at besargent.com.

I enjoyed the life.
Now I just paint.