The Name Game

Here in Chicago where the expensive new voting machines don't work nearly as well as the old ones and where two weeks after having a stroke the probably not ever to fully recover President of the Cook County Board is re-elected anyway and where after spending many millions of dollars on the trial of former governor George Ryan who until proven guilty remains only indicted for official corruption the Chicago Tribune finds out that two of the jurors lied about their past - had to be excused and replaced, surely setting up grounds for appeal if Mr. Ryan is judged to be a crook, here in this ever the same, always amusing city of Chicago, I received a phone call from my friend M- who sits snug up in the mountains north of Santa Fe to tell me his wife recently delivered their third daughter.

He left a message and said her name was T -, although I couldn't quite make it out. When I called him back he said they changed the name to H - because the T - thing just didn't feel right. And names should feel right both to the giver and the bearer. I'm confident they made the right choice. The name choices for their first two daughters were right on - and the little piece of land they found for themselves and the life they've built for themselves (a life I'm more than a little jealous of) have been on the mark as well.

Back here, maybe we'll get our old voting machines back, and we won't elect officials who clearly won't be able to serve or ones who will end up costing us millions of dollars to put them in prison for lining their pockets and their friend's pockets with every last dime they can grab.

But probably not.

Enough with the bars, already

And the smoking. And nostalgia. All that sordid business. Let's talk about churches. I like them and I'm not sure why. I'm not a Sunday church-goer or a Saturday church-goer, or any kind or regular attendee but there are certain churches I like to visit. Maybe it's the art or the architecture or the particular history of the place or maybe it's the way they seem to stop time like so few places do. Well, bars do that too - but this is not about bars.

If you're driving into Milwaukee from the south, just before you get downtown, you will see on your left the Basilica of St. Josaphat. It's in a neighborhood that used to be southside-Polish but now is mostly southside-Mexican, but the church remains in all its glory. The last time I was there, and the time before that, was Christmas Eve and the church was packed and the beautiful organ played and all the people sang.

My favorite church in New Mexico is in the small mostly-Spanish town of Chimayo which is on the high road to Taos. It's called the Santuario de Chimayo where people come (especially during Holy Week when the roads leading north are lined with folks making their pilgrimage) in hope of healing their ills. The dirt there is thought to be blessed with curative powers and it's in the room off to the left of the altar. The room is small and is lined with crutches and candles and pictures and prayer cards and in the middle is el pozito (the little well) where visitors get on their knees and scoop out a bag of the healing dirt. I keep a small pot of it at home. I'm not certain I believe in its power but it makes me feel better having it close by.