It rained and stormed the night of the 25th. In the mountains north of San Bernardino a mudslide swept through a campground and lodge where a large family had gathered. In the deserts of Iran, half a world away, 10,000 died in an earthquake. And Mike and I were ordered to spend the night in San Diego so the rain and wind wouldn't get us and trap us on the trolley coming home.

So we didn't get home until yesterday the day after.

It is almost over, the year

with all its usual thoughts of remembering back and looking forward

the old man year is dying long live the new baby

an outdoor stage is built a block and a half-block away from this internet cafe

there will be a new years eve party here downtown on the street of Revolution, under the giant metal arch at the corner of 1st and A

which should give you some idea of where the town began 114 years ago... here's how it looked a few years later coming up the little hill from the river

Max is selling his restaurant
and some of his art collection

if anyone out there is interested

I bought a box / cabinet / retablo with Guadalupe, Heaven and Hell

behind doors (except Hell is always open no door, broad and straight is the path which leads to destruction

my sister hear
my brother hear

the street preacher who was deported got to see his mother over Christmas... I ran into him last week and she was with him and very happy to see him

repent and believe the good news

that

yes, Virginia, we do exist, there is life after Santa Clause)

close the close parenthesis, open the far gate into tomorrow

except that to see the city as chilly winter sunset paints the last hills of Libertad and Otay

this word written in stone