Mayhem in Mexico!

During Spanish class Mike Svob, our teacher extraordinaire, mentioned that there was going to be a FIESTA in Nogales, Sonora, the weekend of my mother’s birthday.

Even Mexico was celebrating Mom’s 90^th!  How marvelous.  Man!  When life is good, it’s really really good.  Unlike Mae West.  When she was bad, she was even…ah, you know.

Their Winter Festival would be featuring live music, handicrafts, food, drink and a variety of expositions, including art, theater and photography centered in downtown areas such as The Plaza Pesqueira, Calle Campillo and Pasaje Morelos.

The only thing missing was the birthday girl!

So, the group of eleven of us caravanned our way down to the border.  Mike Svob, our quiet and unassuming sweetheart-of-a-teacher apologetically said, “You can all follow me, but I have been accused of driving a little pokey.”

Let’s just say that if Mike ever decides to move to Italy, he could easily make Mario Andretti or any other race car driver ashamed to even call themselves Italian.  And if you’ve ever driven on their autostrada at their normal 100 miles per hour, you’d think going down the Matterhorn with waxed skis was child’s play.  That Manhattan Cabbies were passive.  This guy hauled “AS*!” Know what I mean?  Talk about putting the pedal to the metal!

It’s always those gentle, quiet guys you need to watch out for!

Since we didn’t know the cars everyone was driving, I took quick notes of all the license plates in case someone, like maybe..us, got lost, while Mike made his getaway. 

We met at a designated spot, parked the car and ventured into Mexico. 

We followed our Jefe (chief, head-honcho and beloved teacher), Mike Svob, like little ducklings as we meandered around the town. 

We stopped off at the tourism office and was lead into a little square where vendors gave each of us a green tote bag and filled it to the brim with brochures, magazines and even a cute little hand-made ashtray. 

What a welcoming touch!

Heidi Goldman, Helene Goldman and our Jefe~ Mike Svob

I, of course, was ready to have some lunch.  Mike said reservations were for two o’clock. It was only eleven-thirty. I frowned. You try telling that to my stomach.  We ventured into pastry shops, book shops and a beautiful, old church and side streets with food vendors.

La Iglesia de la Virgen Purisima

Erika, Helene Goldman and Heidi Goldman behind troubadours

Finally, and I mean finally, our beloved Jefe lead us to a bridge that had at least as many stairs as the Eiffel Tower, or so it seemed. It zigged and zagged up to the clouds, taking us above the bustling traffic so we could cross over that busy street safely to get us to La Roca for lunch.

My mother looked at all of those steep stairs and said, “Are you crazy?  Let’s make a run for it between the cars.”

Now this sounds dangerous.  Gutsy, right?

There was a long, California-like traffic delay…so, we moseyed through the vehicles confident no one would run us over since they were just about parked anyway.

Good thinking Mom!

One of the nicest restaurants in Nogales is called La Roca, The Rock.  It is built onto the side of a rock-hill. 

You enter into a large dining room with long tables for big parties, like ours. Charming, intimate rooms are off this main room decorated in bright colors and authentic Mexican décor.

Heidi Goldman, Helene Goldman, Erika and Mike Svob's Spanish Class
Celebrating Mom in Mexico at La Roca
Missing: Bobby Fabulous Photographer

After we ordered, Mike made a lovely toast to my mother.  And she in turn toasted him. He’s quite a guy and everyone loves him.  Even a mute wouldn’t have difficulty finding a few kind words to say.  He’s just that sweet.

After lunch, we walked back into town and stumbled across a group of troubadours.  

We took photos, enjoyed the music and people-watching.  We continued, following them and listened to more groups singing and watching dance groups.

My brother Bobby and niece Erika shopped until the very last minute.  The negotiations were typical.

Bob showed the store owner some things he wanted to buy. The owner asked for a king's ransom.

Mom and I were sitting on a bench in front of the store watching the wheeling-dealing taking place.  Finally my mother suggested I go in and speak Spanish with them to help my brother get a better deal since he could only habla ingles.

“How much?” I asked in Spanish.

Without blinking an eye, he said, “$65.00.”

“That’s too much.”

“I have bundled all the gifts together and came up with this great price.”

“That’s still too much.”

“Well…”

I pulled my brother aside.

“How much do you really want it?”

He looked at Erika, his daughter.  These gifts were for her husband and child.  He was stuck.

“Okay.  This is how it works down here.  Since the guy won’t budge, the price is either fantastic or we still have room to negotiate.  Let’s say thank you and walk out the door.  If he follows us, he’s ready to make you an offer.”

Bob looked worried. He knew Erika really wanted those items.  He trusted me and we walked out.

I looked over my shoulder and the salesman wasn’t there.  Darn!  That’s not exactly the word I said under my breathe, but you get the idea.

Bob and Erika went into other stores and within five minutes the guy came running out looking for the Americans.

“Okay, $60.00”

I gave him the stink-eye and so did Bob.  I think Bobby was beginning to enjoy the cat and mouse game, except when he glanced at his daughter. He worried they would go home without their Mexican treasures.  I could see it in his paternal eyes.

Bob and Erika continued shopping; Mom and I and the Spanish group continued listening to great music that surrounded us. 

It was getting late.  Erika looked down the street, looking for the store.  My heart melted.  She couldn’t go home empty handed. 

I pulled her aside. “Do you want the Mexican souvenirs?”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

Mike walked by and told us it was time to head back to Tucson.

“It’s either now or never, Red.”

“I’m indecisive.”

“I understand, but the group is leaving and we have to go through the check point together.”

“Well….”

And with that last well, the salesman came running all the way down the street holding the Mexican goods above his head.

“We're leaving. See?”  I pointed to our teacher and classmates walking away.  “If you want to sell those items, you must give us a good price now!

“Forty dollars.”

I looked at Bobby, who then looked at Erika, who then looked at my mother who merely nodded.

Whew!  That was a close one. The deal was made; everyone was happy and ready to celebrate Mom the Maven.  

Raising Hel(ene!) at Hacienda del Sol

We celebrated all day at Kartchner Caverns avec un pique-nique and now it was time to eat again:  

Dinner at Hacienda del Sol!

Hacienda del Sol  ~ Tucson, Arizona 

Hacienda del Sol is a stunning resort with dining room views to die-for. And for foodies with discriminating taste, the cuisine at their Four Diamond restaurant is first-rate and a perfect setting to celebrate Mom, Our Jewel of the Desert.

When we arrived, Jay walked us to our table saying, “Wow!  You have the best waiter here at Hacienda!” and then he winked at me.

I usually get the newly trained waiter who lacks experience and charm, but on Mom’s special evening, we’ve got the best! How cool is that?

We followed him and followed him and followed him some more until we were seated in the back dining room, the best room in the house.

It’s one thing to eat dinner.  It’s another thing to dine.  Dining in Hacienda del Sol is a special experience, but to have the perfect table, with perfect views and a perfect evening with family is just so…Perfect!

As it turned out, the best waiter was none other than Jay himself.  We got lucky!  A waiter with great personality, sense of humor and dimples.  Life doesn’t get better!

Once he brought the drinks, the clowning around the table began as though Bobby (Noogieman, Barbie Decapitator and CEO of Troublemaker International), Rich (former Mr. Goodie-Two-Shoes) and I (Tattle Tale Informant) suddenly became five, eleven and fifteen years old.  The magic of Hacienda del Sol transformed three adults into the Three Stooges.

The Family Behaving for a moment! Erika, Heidi Goldman, Mom, Rich and Bobby

This was the first time that my niece, Erika, saw what her dad and aunt and uncle must have been like so many years ago during our childhood. The closeness and playfulness of my family was so evident that Jay said he couldn’t wait for us to return.  He never had so much fun.  And neither did we.

We immortalized the moment in time with photographs.  I’m sorry to tell you that some things are personal and can’t be shared on the internet, but I will tell you that I was spared some Noogies. But Poor Bobby!  Richie (I promised I wouldn’t tell the specifics) Got Him Good! And I had hours of fun and laughter with my big brothers and watched my mother’s smiling face.  She hadn’t enjoyed herself this much in a long time.

Although some family members were sorely missing, being with the immediate family and one special redheaded niece ~all who traveled a long way to celebrate my mother’s 90^th is something I will always remember and cherish in my heart.  Seeing my mother's face, aglow, is gift that will keep on giving.

Rich, Bob, Erika, and I took turns toasting my mother who by the end of all the speeches should have been charred brown from the roasting of our lengthy accolades.

Happy Birthday Helene Goldman ~ 90 Years of Marvelous Mayhem!

Just a few photos and fun!

Heidi Goldman, Bobby, Mom and Richie

How on earth did I give birth to these long legs?

As always ~ The Girls: Heidi and Helene Goldman ~Gal Pals

The Boys~ Bobby and Richie with Mom

Fav. Redhead, Erika and Grandma

Mom, Rich and Heidi Goldman outside Hacienda del Sol

Girls Gone Wild! Heidi Goldman, Erika and Helene Goldman
Oh!  What a Night!

STAG PARTY!!!

Mom’s Birthday was finally here.  More plans and fun things to do on her BIG 9-0!

Kartchner Caverns State Park

The family took an excursion to Kartchner Caverns.  With a trunk full of food, enough to feed us if the car broke down and we were stranded for a week (or in the case of my family about an hour), we were adequately prepared to brave the adventure of the cave…and being away from the kitchen table for a few hours.

Rich made reservations for us to tour one of the caves.  What can be said about The Throne Room?  For starters, it was the perfect choice between the two caves for us to visit in as much as my mother is the Queen Bee and Queen of all Things that Sparkle and Glitter.

My only hope was that there wouldn’t be any bats flying around inside the cave.  Not a big fan of bats, having had an incident while living in Spain, reminiscent of Hitchcock’s, The Birds. Even in Tucson, during the summer at twilight when the weather is finally cooling down and the backyard is calling my name to sit and enjoy living in a resort community, I last about a blink outside on the patio when a multitude of bats enter my space, driving me into the house at cougar speed.

Bats arrive late April, give birth in June and leave by September

Too bad I didn’t bring a schmattah for my head, I thought. At least if the bats dove, they wouldn’t get stuck in my wavy hair.  So much for protective covering or lack thereof.

Anyway we were early, purchased the tickets and had just enough time to watch a movie that explained the discovery of the cave.  It was pretty impressive, I must say.  I imagined myself coming across an opening in the ground, barely large enough for an adult to squeeze into and couldn’t help but wonder:  Would I crawl into a black abyss?

True, I staked out the Alcazar Castle in Segovia, Spain one evening planning and plotting how I would get myself locked into the renowned castle to do a little exploring on my own, seeing rooms and hopefully walls that would turn, leading me down a long passage to many secret rooms off base to tourists.  But, who knew I would actually end up getting locked into the castle that very night and would spontaneously accept the invitation of the Spanish Militia to “show me around” the dungeon.

So, would I explore unknown territory?  Being lipstick, stiletto and haute couture girl, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would. 

The answer:  probably, with a little bit of coaxing.  I’m pretty adventurous, even though I hate getting dirty.  

But I do have my moments and if I had sufficient gear, and food, or course, I think I might.

Fortunately two other men, Randy Tufts and Gary Tenen, made the decision easy for me since they discovered the cave back in 1974.

After the movie, we met our guide, John, who was a hoot and he explained all the do’s and don’ts of being in a live cave and how fragile the environment is.  We walked through a mist of vapor which takes off  lint, debris and dust from our clothing to protect the cave.

The humidity in the cave was overwhelming, even in the winter. I was overdressed and schvitzing in my sweaters, so the spray of water actually felt good and gave my hair an extra curl here and there.  The partial vapor facial wasn’t too bad, either, except if you were my mother whose hair becomes instant cotton candy at just a hint of humidity.  I couldn’t wait to see if she’d look like Albert Einstein by the end of the adventure.

The good thing about being ninety is you can get away with anything.  Off-color comments to looking like Albert Einstein.  With just a shrug of her shoulder, who would dare have a confrontation or cross word?  The woman is ninety after all.  Have some respect.  Ha!  They should only know.  She could outwit most Mensa members and most Nitwits, to boot.

Ninety is the New Sixty!

I thought the cave would be dark and imagined John handing us those metal hats with the attached flashlight miners wear when they are digging for coal.  Talk about a bad hair day. Fortunately the inside of the cave had been slightly excavated for tourists with a walkway, handrail and hidden lights illuminating parts of the cave.  It was magical inside.

John explained the differences between stalagmites---the formations that grow up from the floor of a cave by the constant dripping of calcareous water and stalactites, which are shaped like an icicle hanging from the roof of the cave also formed by calcareous water.  

He pointed to each with a flashlight and then showed us thin delicate formations that looked like extra long soda straws, also hanging from the top of the cave. These straws are brittle and with one wrong move they could disintegrate.

At one point during the tour, a man and his child needed to leave the cave.  Bathroom break.  So, while John traversed back to the opening of the cave which was hermetically sealed with a metal strong door to lock out any contaminants, the group of fifteen of us waited, looking over the rail into the darkness at the extraordinary formations illuminated by a few lights. 

On the bottom of this particular area in the cave was a mud floor.  John had mentioned before his departure that when the cave was originally discovered, the men walked in up to their waist.  Mind you there were no lights except for their flashlights which only lit up to fifty feet in front of them…too late to turn back once they were waist deep in the mud.

See, now that wouldn’t work for me.   It probably would for my mother.  She has no problem getting her hands dirty.  I didn’t get that gene.  I eat pizza with a fork and knife.  Get the picture?

So, perhaps spelunking isn’t in my near future, but anyway, while I looked around the cavernous room, I imagined it filled with pipe organs.  Of course the feasibility is impossible, but, hey!  It’s my fantasy.  A little Phantom of the Opera meets Desert Cave Dwellers.

And with that crazy thought, I found my feet had a mind of their own and I scurried to each group of people, whispering that it was my mother’s birthday and would they mind singing Happy Birthday to her?

The acoustics would be amazing, pipe organ or no.  They loved the idea, asked her name and on the count of 1-2-3, like Lawrence Welk (a one-ah-A-two-ah-A-three-ah) we began.

My mother was stunned and delighted.  How many people get sung to in a cave with the acoustics of a cathedral?  And besides, we were heading to the Throne Room to celebrate the Queen of Cool.  Pretty apropos if you ask me.

At the end of the tour, it was time to eat.  Naturally.  We went back to the car to collect our feast and sat at a picnic area surround by the beauty of the desert and backdrop of our magnificent mountains 

as well as a table fit for the Queen of Nosh: potato chips, sandwiches, drinks, and a mound of black and white cookies...ALL GONE!  It's a family thing.

Rich, Mom, Heidi Goldman, Erika (Bobby~The NoogieMan, Photographer)
Food Gone! Smiles a-plenty!

Now, this is the stuff that memories are made of!

Mom, Bobby, Heidi Goldman, Erika and Rich

PS

Photographs are prohibited inside the caves.  The photographs included in this story were taken by The Arizona State Park and Steve Holland. They were scanned from postcards purchased inside The Discovery Center to give you a bird's-eye view of the extraordinary Kartchner Caverns.

Park Information:

AZStateParks.com/Parks/KACA

Information Line: 520.586.4100

Reservations:      520.586.2283

PSS

After visiting Kartchner Caverns, rumor has it that our singing is now prohibited inside the cave, too! 

What A Gas!

When we finished gambling at Casino del Sol, my family returned to my mother’s house, probably for more snacks, while I dashed off to teach.  I wondered how I would be able to make it on time to The Gaslight Theatre for the seven o’clock show because I wasn’t finished with work until six thirty and was more than thirty minutes away from the theatre.

See, this is the reason why I need a Porsche 911 Turbo. It’s not because the car is drop-dead gorgeous, mind you, but for emergencies like getting from point A to point B on time.  Not buying that line of goods are you?  Okay, well, I’d settle for a Ferrari because of my love of all things Italian, but do or die, I would get to Part 2 of the festivities on time to celebrate Mom’s birthday at Gaslight without the aid of a race car.

I had been running on fumes all day as I raced from the casino, to home, to work and then flying directly to the theatre. I was Mario Andretti on steroids.

In my head, I heard the Theme to Barber of Seville, which made my heart pump faster and made me drive like I was in the Indy 500 to get a ticket at the Will Call window.  If traffic wasn’t too bad, I’d have about 1.2 minutes to spare before lights down-and on with the show.

Eureka! I made it on time and was ushered up to the balcony where I greeted my family~ the party animals.  I felt like I had been shot up with adrenaline.  Celebrating Mom’s 90^th birthday was like a Polish wedding;  it began with her Surprise Party and the family arrival on day one then more surprises with my giggling niece’s surprise visit, food in abundance including: Richie bringing 40 lbs. of Danish from L.A., to Bob bringing homemade cookies and zucchini bread, gambling at the Casino and the icing on the cake ~ The Gaslight Theatre: a musical melodrama where every character is Over-the-Top; the villain gets booed by the audience and the good guys and gals always get cheered.  Full audience participation is not only welcomed, but expected.  And with the cast of characters in my family-not exactly the shy and quiet type, we would be raising our voices to a feverish pitch.

All of this by day two.  Not too bad for a family that isn’t Polish.

Seating is really tight at the Gaslight Theatre.  Even an anorexic would find it difficult to squeeze between little round tables big enough for only a Barbie sans Ken.  The only thing missing was space in the darling theatre. But, cozy and charming it definitely is.

Somehow as I was maneuvering between the table and two seats, I had to squish my ever-so-girlie hips to get half a thigh on my chair and nearly flopped onto the guy to my left.  I seriously doubt Houdini could have contorted his body with as much <ahem> grace as I did.

Taking pity on me he said, “Can I help you?”

“Only if you’re a psychiatrist,” I joked, giddy from all the excitement that lead up to the evening.

The stranger was caught off guard for a minute and then roared with laughter.

When I was finally seated, he whispered to me.  “One time I asked a friend, “How are you?”  And he said…”What do you mean by that!”

I giggled non-stop.  “How funny!  I’ll have to use that line with my friends some time.”

“I was being serious.”

Oops!  Here I thought we were doing a George and Gracie routine.

“My friend has been in therapy for twenty years and is suspicious of every question, even, “How are you?”

I howled again.  It just tickled my funny bone.  You know when you’re slap-happy, everything sets you off, cracks you up and you just can’t stop laughing? That was me all night long.

“How are you?”

“What’s it to you?!”

So much for politeness.

We ordered a large pizza, sipped cold beer, nibbled on the endless baskets of popcorn on the tiny table and then the show began.  It was: Scrooge, their Holiday Show and hilariously funny. 

My brother Bobby is an easy laugh.  I laugh just hearing him laugh.  And laugh he did all night long, making my mother, Rich, Erika and I giddy with laughter for the entire show until tears ran down our cheeks.

If Bobby ever comes out of retirement, he could be hired as a shill for any show that needs authentic sounding belly laughs that are robust and infectious.  He cracks up easily and I love to hear him go from a giggle to a big burst of laughter.  He’d make a killing if he had an agent.  If Hollywood only knew!

The show was a rootin', tootin', hootin', riot! The set designers out-did themselves, and so did the cast members who sneakily improvised off the script to throw his fellow actor off balance with the goal of messing him up, by cracking him up, if possible. The band set off to the side was fantastic.  Linda Ackerman played stride piano mixed with honky tonk and suspenseful music throughout the melodrama, revving up both the actors and the audience.  Oh!  What a Night!

At the end of the evening, the announcer called out the names of the birthday celebrants who were supposed to raise their hand so that a waiter could bring them a complimentary ice cream cone.

“Mary Jones from Phoenix…where’s Mary?  She’s seven years old today!”

Cheers.

“Matt Thompson from Chicago. Matt’s thirty-five.”

More cheers.

This went on for awhile.

“Betty Green from Iowa! Where’s Betty?  Give a round of applause. Betty is eighty years old!”

She stood up and waved, sporting a proud smile.  Everyone clapped.

Eighty, I thought.  Big deal, Betty, my mother’s got you beat by ten years!  Sit down!

And then

the Kasha Queen,

Queen of Razzle Dazzle,

The Jazzy Lady who is Naughty But Oh-So Nice

was called:

“Helene Goldman from Tucson, AZ.   Tonight is Helene’s 90^th birthday, Folks!  Give it up for Helene!”

People in the audience gave her a standing “O” and I wolf-whistled in my girlie outfit like I was a truck driver from the Bronx.  Even the guy next to me was stunned to hear a whistle loud enough to summons all the dogs in the US to come running. I must admit it was deafening.  A killer whistle that was taught to me by Rich, to execute at football games or momentous occasions like Mom’s 90^th…although I don’t think when he taught me the piercing whistle he had this in mind…but Loud and Proud I was as I watched Mom glow from happiness and probably the ice cream cone, too!

The Star of the Show:  Helene Goldman and her cast of characters:
Rich, Heidi Goldman, Bobby and Erika