Sad news this week, the kind of news which, on the surface, seems inconsequential, but which in fact matters more than one knows in subtle and hard to define ways. My news is that the small diner located near me, not far from the Tomé Post Office on HWY 47, has closed, the last day of business Friday, June 26.

Don Mario’s opened about the time Charlotte and I moved from Albuquerque to Tomé. I know Mario Chavez personally, a genial young man with remarkable culinary skills when it comes to authentic New Mexican food. I liked the food. I always enjoyed the staff. I enjoyed the view of Tomé Hill in the distance from the outdoor cafe tables in front of the roadside diner.

I wrote a number of blog posts from my favorite table under the shaded portal in front of Don Mario’s. Often read books I needed to peruse for Great Scots Magazine or made outline notes for feature articles while enjoying a big bowl of green chili stew with delectible sliced beef steak pieces added.

Don Mario’s was my Paris Cafe as a dog writer tethered to place and animals at Las Golondrinas in Valencia County, New Mexico. I could take my laptop, plug into Mario’s WiFi connection, or take my pen and a good book, and write, compose, and research on the Internet, while enjoying New Mexico outdoors and vistas and unique Mexican food at the same time.

Endings. I know we cannot do without limits and endings. They bring definition to our endeavors. But I’m especially sensitive to endings in my little world since Charlotte’s death. More than ever before I wish for things that shape and give structure to my life to be there. No disappearance. No death. Period. I want, of course, what I cannot have, viz., security from endings.

But as death feeds life, so endings feed new beginnings. The cycle of life turns as one dream dies, another dreamer’s dream of launching the perfect eatery is born. I will call good things, remembering Charlotte’s practice, and call a new ‘Mario’s’ to my favorite roadside location on HWY 47–in much the same way as I now daily call good things for my own future, as I step forward out of my own endings to new beginnings.

Joseph Harvill, publisher Great Scots Magazine

Almost done and approaching the deadline for the July/August issue of Great Scots Magazine (Monday 21st June), I’m pausing to post this blog and bring readers up to date on projects and progress at Las Golondrinas.

Things reached breaking-point near the end of last week. The weight of my magazine deadlines was crushing me knowing that the din of noise and construction, the fumes from floor sealer, the non-stop in-and-out of workman, the heat inside from doors and windows left open for ventilation, were smothering my productivity–all of it added up to writer’s block and deadline panic. The crisis came Thursday night June 10 when the crew laying the new wide-plank pine floor were in the house applying floor sealer and serious fumes after 9 PM.

I intervened on my own behalf. I told my contractor he could not hijack my writer’s haven both day and night; I HAD to have my home back to get my work accomplished. Result: the contractor graciously suggested he pull his crew off a week away from my project to allow me peace and solitude to create GSM pages. Win-win! “Ask and it shall be given unto you ….”

For the new issue of GSM I’ve been digging into several of my old books on Scotland enjoying re-connecting with the romance of its history and culture and the character of its people. In a terrific old book by Ronald Macdonald Douglas, The Scots Book: A Miscellany of Poems, Folklore, Prose & Letters with Many Facts–Some Well-Known and Others Less-Known–About Scotland and Her People (London: Alexander Maclehose & Co: 1935), I came across this poem from The Book of Orm that resonated deeply in this adopted son’s heart:

Read these faint runes of mystery,
O Celt, at home and o’er the sea;
The bond is loosed–the poor are free–
The world’s great future rests with thee!

Till the soil–bid cities rise–
Be strong, O Celt–be rich, be wise–
But still, with those divine grey eyes,
Respect the realm of Mysteries.

The Book of Orm: Robert Buchanan

A rediscovered joy in my readings of anecdotes depicting the Scots’ humor and character has been laughing out loud at their wit. Here’s an example:

A farmer in the vicinity of Dunkeld, returning home rather late one night, discovered a farm servant with a lantern under his kitchen window. When asked his business there, the servant said he only came a-courting. “Come a what?” asked the farmer. “A-courting, sir. I’m courting Mary.” “But what do you want with a lantern?” asked the farmer. “I never used one when I was courting.” “No, sir,” was the reply, “I dinna think ye did, judging by the looks of the mistress!”

At Las Golondrinas, little Molly, my donkey foal, is now almost eight weeks old and she’s living up to her feisty namesake. I named her after Molly Ivans, the Texas writer/humorist/journalist who died a year or so ago. Ivans was always full of piss and vinegar, especially when puncturing politicos’ self-importance and I’m glad to report that little Molly the donkey is following suit! I watched at evening feeding recently as Spanky, the largest of my pygmy goats, self-importantly bullied his way into everybody else’s feed bowls. When he pushed his head into Molly’s bowl and tried to push her out, she wheeled like a skateboarder and drop-kicked Spanky in the ribs with both rear hooves. Spanky was appropriately ’spanked’ and withdrew! Go, Molly!

Must get back to finishing the magazine. I’m sending grateful thanks to all of you readers who read, send thoughtful and encouraging feedback, and in general root for my health and success as I move through my grieving the loss of Charlotte and building a new and different life. Thank you one and all for being in my corner!

Joseph Harvill, publisher Great Scots Magazine