Dear World, dear Earth, dear Mother Ixchel... (Karma)

Mother Ixchel,
bring the children
home,
Mother Ixchel,


bring the children
home, the little
ones, the trusting
ones, who knew


only tender touch
from mother, father,
grandmother, grandfather,
sisters, brothers,


shot, slaughtered, cut
down, still tender-
Mother Ixchel,
bring the children


home that we
may feed them in
the morning, little 
birds, undying song.


May the men who
slaughtered carry this
karma, dreaming
life times, tender souls,


Mother Ixchel, you are
tender, ruthless, loving,
pitiless, wise beyond
human 


understanding, when
will they learn,
Mother Ixchel, bring
the children


home.
Singing.
Undying.
Little birds.


What I do
to you
I do
to my
self.




To the children in Syria, their families, May 2012...
fifty tender children under the age of ten slaughtered.




Alma Luz Villanueva
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

Turtle Island, our Earth

QUERIDO POPOCATEPTL...

The villagers call you
father, brother, uncle, son-
I call you lover, my
ancient lover- flying in


to Mexico City I saw
your snowy peak, you
didn't fool me, I felt
the heat of your body,


your lava, your core,
your longing for my
touch, ancient lover,
the Earth danced beneath


my feet, our Mother, la
Madre, she knew nothing
could keep me from you,
your body, your lava,


your core, the ancient 
memory of our union.
I dream your body, gift
from Earth, Sun, Moon,


every Star, I see
your molten eyes,
your molten mouth,
your molten hands,


your molten sex, lava
bright, meteor bright, first
eruption, genesis of
our longing. I am coming,


wait for me, I am dreaming,
wait for me, I am singing,
wait for me. I am dying
to receive your burning


body. Lava. 




**Flying in to Mexico City, March 20, 2012, Popocateptl's snowy peak-
then, la Madre danced beneath my feet, no turning back, that memory of 
surrender. As the planets line up, May 20, 2012, that gift of FIRE, memory,
ancestors. Two weeks after la Madre's dance, Popocateptl began to sing 
to his lover with fire and ash. Into the Sixth World...

Alma Luz Villanueva, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

FURY MEMORY BIRTH (BEAUTY)

Guanajuato, Mexico...Costa Rica

Saying goodbye to mi

casita, shuttle drive

through cobble streets,

La Virgen murals, altars,

everywhere, the beauty

of goodbye- can

I ever live without La

Virgen, her presence, beauty;

on the highway, Sunday

markets, the small towns,

families gathered outside

church, cradling babies, a

fresh maize stand, kids

waiting, slathered in butter

(real butter), mayonaise, chilie

sprinkled, some lime, Madre

Maiz devoured with joy,

aguas frescas, strawberry,

pineapple, watermelon for

thirst; I say goodbye

with my eyes, my heart,

my taste buds, memories

of my children when they

were home, barbeques on

the beach, enormous

appetites, healthy children,

their friends; I remember

full moon walk on the

beach, north coast Sonoma

County, our farm, the

quiet, the stillness, gentle

high tide full of light, the

light leapt into darkness,

glittering with furious

life, a salmon remembering

her way home, full of

fury, memory, birth. This

is how we live, I think,

waiting for my plane in Mexico,

if we are fully awake,

darkness into light. (I glance

down from the shuttle, small

ribbon of light, pure white

crane sipping light, a man

sitting, dark earth,

awake, witnessing

the fury of

beauty.)

Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica

White face monkeys outside

my room, I offer water

melon, one bears her

sharp little teeth, following

me, she wants my

plate, all of it, I

laugh, "No way, little

monkey dude," she

feels like my mother's hungry

ghost, not properly mourned,

hard to love, though I

mourned her, remember the

best in her, but can't

give her my plate; no one

gets the plate, no one, we

can share, take less than

half, but no one gets the

whole plate; I remember you,

mother, little greedy monkey,

such lonely needs, and

offer you watermelon, banana,

and laugh at your

daring, your best, where

I inherited my playful monkey

dance.

Sacred crescent beach,

womb waters, salty,

warm; surfers, swimmers

being born by the

minute, deadly rip tide

holding Shakti's balance,

watchful dark brown skin life

guard blowing his whistle, waving

us back, Don't die today,

don't fight the tide,

don't fight the womb

waters, come back, come

back, don't die today,

be born, be born, this

second, beauty.

* * *

What makes us want to

live, I ask the little

monkey...Shakti, watchful

life guard...is it

fury, memory, beauty,

birth, or is it Shakti,

ever present...live live live

now, oh beauty,

oh killing

beauty,

oh furious

beauty,

oh birthing

dying endless

sexy terrifying

Shakti Beauty.

The Healer

She comes soft, strong,

always the signal of

the healer, her massage

table close to the tide,

she feels like my daughter

at this age, her twenties,

this soft strength power,

the healer- she has her

small daughters with

her, each one beautiful,

future healers, soft light

power in their eyes, not

encouraged in my country,

small daughters dressing like

small sad sexy women,

the center of their eyes, light,

gone hard, false power;

soft healing power not

honored, not encouraged,

not recognized by their

mothers with eyes, light

gone hard, gone bitter,

gone lost, what chance

for the daughters to know

their own soft light

power, the healing.

I lay under her hands,

she feels my life, I feel

hers, she finds my sorrow,

my pain, my joy, fierce

memory of my body, years,

and, yes, beauty gathered;

her healer meets

my healer, her

memory, my

memory, soft

light power,

furious beauty,

this moment,

now,

why I

was born,

face to salt

sea womb,

oh Shakti,

oh fierce

memory, beauty,

oh healer,

soft light power,

born in

me,

born in

you,

the healer

my healer,

Beauty.

The Waterfall, Sacred Rainforest

Riding Sargento to the

waterfall, I think they

gave me el caballo,

the horse with a mind of

his own- the others

drink from the creek,

I wait, he doesn't, the

horses shouldn't eat, the

others don't, Sargento stops

to pull leaves from branches, I

try to stop him, he laughs, I

pat his stubborn brown

hide, tell him (in Spanish,

Costa Rica), he's a good

caballito, gracias for the

ride through heat, sacred

rainforest, he begins to allow me

to ride him, guide him, stop,

go, he reminds me every

being has their dignity,

their yes, their no, as

Che the tour leader bellows

information, knowledge, like a

professor in his classroom,

stories to and from the

waterfall, the pool so

cold from a hidden source,

cold in this heat, this

cold beautiful yes/no, I

swim because Sargento

brought me here, guided by

Che's stories, his

knowledge of sacred

healing plants. I tell

him he's a teacher, "No, I'm

always learning," he smiles.

"That's why you're a teacher,

we teach, we're taught, otherwise

we become dead," I smile with

him. "OR STUPID!" Che booms,

laughing loudly, his

eyes softly furious, his

eyes holding memory, birth;

Sargento quivers, tosses his

head with laughter, wild

caballito, I have not tamed

him, or him me. We simply

gather yes no Beauty.

Manuel Antonio, La Mar

"La mar viene...the Goddess comes,"

the teen picks up my lounger,

slides up the sand, my

favorite restaurant; I order

tacitos, cerveza, the troubadour

sings for us, for me, songs of

love, we all join in, "Besame, besame

mucho..." as the Goddess

finds my

feet, warm

salt, one

more swim,

back to eat,

to sing, songs

of love, 2 for 1 margaritas,

la mar viene, Beauty.

The young woman has

wings on her back, I have

wings on my back, she

looks sad and alone, I'm

happy and alone, final

day, Shakti's warm salty

womb, home, I give her

my second margarita, she

laughs, lights up, gifting me

a daughter's smile, we toast

my final day, la mar, we toast

her first day, la mar; and

we laugh, this moment

of surprise, this lovely

young woman with wings,

we toast. This Beauty.

La Madre Volcano, Alive

Her hair swirls with heat

and ash, visible to all

eyes- "Usually misty this

time of day, we're lucky,"

I'm told- I feel her

mountain fiery womb

creating earth, creating

planet, creating furious

memory birth beauty,

she holds my heart, my

womb, as I walk down

fiery flowered trail to her

hot springs, her gift,

womb to womb. Silence.

No one else. Blue Morpho

Butterfly flutters. No one

else. La Madre

Volcano, alive.

Silence. Birth waters.

Blue Morpho wings.

Womb to womb.

Memory. Fury.

Heat and ash.

Our beauty.

Madre Volcano, alive.

Our beauty. Furious.

Womb to womb.

Birth. Beauty.

San Jose, PURA VIDA

Barb wire everywhere, every

house, every business, late

night drive to hotel, a teen

face down on cement, I

want to stop, driver

smiles, "He'll wake up,

senora." I return two weeks

later, rainforest, la mar, to

barb wire, packed streets,

foot in hole, I fall,

people stop to pick me

up, pointing out the holes all

the way down the street,

I laugh, "Okay," walk into

the main immense plaza, policia

on scaffolds, watching, angels

on theatre roof top, watching,

bird sculptures, pages on

wings, books, pages turning

in the afternoon wind-

peace bird with golden

children reaching for wings,

small children with butterflies,

stars, sun and moon, painted

by clown, parents laughing,

bride and groom, so young,

smiling at the camera, ragged

poet shouts his poetry, sees

me listening, gains courage-

"You need me to shout these

words, you need me to shout these

words to you, and so I do

until you listen, listen..." (in Spanish)

I fall in love, right there,

this barb wire city, drug

induced teens, balanced by

PURA VIDA, the poet who

shouts his words, his frightened

audience, yet they listen,

lost ancestors

in his loud

desperate courageous

insistent jagged poetry

barb wire. Beauty.

Mexico City Airport, March 20, 2012, 12:30pm

I love the power of the

Mother, as she begins to

dance, arms raised, her feet

stamping swaying swimming

"You are my guests,

don't forget," she sings

full-throated, "I am

the Mother that makes

your life possible," she

stamps her feet, laughing,

arms raised, "I am the

one holding your heart."

The waiter pouring my wine

stops, I say, "Feels like

an earthquake," he leaves

me the bottle, I pour a full

glass of cabernet to go with

my Greek salad, people

running out the door, children

in hand, I don't feel

the deep stamp of her foot

so I stay sipping, eating-

a woman who walked in with

black plastic garbage bag

continues to sit, her and I, we

seem to be holding the moment,

La Madre's dance, we smile,

people return, people weep,

we smile, this woman

and I, holding the

moment, terrifying

wonder. Beauty.

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

An ancient woman climbs

the hill to the central

plaza, bunches of pure

white lilies strapped to

her back; I chase her,

I chase mi Mamacita, now

dead, spirit transformed,

55 years ago, but I

chase her, her pure white

lilies strapped to her

back...she turns her face to

meet mine, an eye patch over

her left eye, her right

eye meets mine directly...

she takes the pure white lilies

into her hands, showing me,

telling me (in Spanish), "I picked

these this morning, how many,

hija?" I think I chased her

for this word, this simple word,

hija...I pick two bunches,

pay her 100 pesos, she never

smiles, her right eye meeting

mine. Only once have I seen

this direct, wild gaze, this

burning eye; in the mountains

I picked up a dazed Merlin

Hawk, crashed into my cabin

window, woke up, talons

perched on my open palms, I

held her weight close to my

womb, slowly slowly to tree

trunk, I saw my palms

ripped open to bone, slowly

slowly, she hopped, perched,

rested, spread her three foot

wings, flew. Terror.

Wonder. Burning eye.

I am the daughter of

lilies. Beauty.

Alma Luz Villanueva

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

March 2012

(All work/writing copyright.)

NEXT INITIATION

"The important thing is to be able at any

moment to sacrifice what we are for what

we could become." French critic Charles Du Boc

Every seven years, our

cells become entirely

new, our body, familiar

flesh, a stranger waiting

to become the next

phase of becoming-

at seven I gave dancing

shows for visitors, my

grandmother, others were

offended, my strange dance,

she knew I had to dance my

memory, let it go-

when I visited Bali, I

recognized my dance 57

years later- my words at

12 lost to me, stark grief,

dead planet, Mamacita pure

light at the end of the couch (bed),

her funeral day, all night she

comforted me, taught me, one

more time. Pregnant at fourteen,

daughter, son, son, I modeled in

San Francisco, terrified of los

gringos, almost twenty-one, but

more terrified of hand I stabbed

coming through my window, a woman

raped nightly, violent projects

we left, my earned model money-

found my words, volcano

poetry, at twenty-eight,

first husband monster shed,

poetry on my farm, growing

all things, Madre Maiz, lettuce,

tomatoes, potatoes, grapes, plums,

apples, chickens (fryers, layers),

dancing steer (beef), the pigs (ham),

all the growing children,

all the growing poetry,

all the lost words found,

tears/laughter/shooting/stars-

the final son at thirty-five,

sacred snow, sacred fire,

treasured child, ancient child,

wolf dog, sacred lakes-

first novel at forty-two,

second husband, friend and

lover, jealous man, after

twenty years I chose my

Self alone all one, I

journeyed the world all

one, often lonely, often

whole, often abandoned,

often cherished- I journeyed

to Mamacita's Mexico lindo

y querido, the essence of

la vida, my Toyota sedan,

giving every thing away, Give

Away Eagle Feather, blessing

me, driving down from Santa

Fe to San Miguel de Allende,

tiny whirl wind warriors,

guiding, guarding me, sacred

healer's face to the Sun,

silent desert, ancient home,

wandering Yaquis, this Yaqui

in a 55 mile per hour metal

dream, taking Mamacita's spirit

home, the white dove at sunset,

the roof, church bells on

the hour, she stayed glowing

white in darkness, four

sunsets, gone- from the

girl dancing at seven, womb

mother of four treasured ones,

women who found her words,

books of poetry, novels, stories,

teaching, warrior students, as

I approach my new body

I wonder what I'll be

come, she laughs

high in the trees, calling

me to climb as high as I

can, that vision, the

next initiation, the

next phase, what I

must sacrifice to meet

the beloved

stranger,

my true Self

who waits for

me to climb, Eagle

Feather. Blessing me.

Alma Luz Villanueva

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

January 2, 2012

*Photo of me, birth day pinata, Santa Cruz, Califas...

COPAL CLOUDS, BURNING MEMORY

"Those who have a memory are able to live in

the fragile present. Those with no memory

don't live anywhere." From the Chilean film,

'Longing For The Light.'

By chance, Sunday, the
plaza, dancers with rattles
on their ankles, rattles
in their hands, from

five to eighty years, dancing
in the wind, dancing
in the wind, the wind
loves them, the Sun

loves them, the Earth
loves them, the stones
beneath their praying feet
loves them, they stand in

a circle, two young men
climb the Christian cross,
making it their own,
making it beautiful,

making it ancient, these

Turtle Islands remember

them, these Turtle Islands

love them, sing to them,

to us, of Beauty,

of Beauty that never

ever dies, She will

survive us, the rattles

sing this, pray this,

sing, this ancient song

to Beauty- two young

women burn sweet copal,

circle the altar, the ancient

cross of Beauty, dancing,

swirling copal, dancing, swirling

the Sacred, and the Sacred

loves them, the Sacred

loves us, the Sacred

will survive us, the copal

burns, creating clouds of

memory, the two young women

dance this for us, to

remember, for us, to

remember- they stop,

still, conch shells to

their lips, call the

Spirit to the center of

the altar, to the center of

Beauty, to the center of

the Sacred, to the center of

our selves, to the center of

each other- I see they've

left a place for me

in the circle, a small

space, I fit, we

turn North, rattles,

the East, rattles,

the South, rattles,

the West, rattles,

singing praying singing,

and the wind loves us,

the Sun loves us,

the Earth loves us,

the Sacred loves us,

Beauty loves us,

conch shells to their

lips, Spirit loves us,

Spirit lives in us, oh

memory, this will survive

us, this will survive

us, this will survive

us, the rattles sing

to us, today, sudden

rainbows we are, oh

rattles, by chance.

And memory.

*To the Native dancers in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico,

this Turtle Island, all the Pueblos, who keep our Sacred

Earth spinning, dancing, so beautifully, on her axis, in this

time of shifting change. ONE PEOPLE, ONE PLANET...

OCCUPY our planet, the Sixth Sun begins to warm us all.

Alma Luz Villanueva

Enchiladas, 13 Thank-yous

When I went to Oaxaca's marvelous Guelaguetza a couple of years ago, I ate with JOY the many moles...a sweet, spicy sauce that tantalizes the tongue, usually the red mole, to the deep black mole that takes the top of your head off. I was in the Oaxaca main market and came upon a bucket of black stuff that looked like tar and I asked the woman selling it what it was. She laughed, took a spoon and handed it to me...it took the top of my head off. RICH, que rico, in chilies, chocolate, and so many spices I couldn't separate them on my tongue. After following the dancers in the street all day, dancers from villages/towns all over Oaxaca filling the streets with music, burning copal, laughter, their stunning costumes, beautiful women, handsome men...I went to have some dark mole at Como Agua 'Pa Chocolate...Like Water For Chocolate. Named after the novel and with recipes from the novel...I was in HEAVEN. The chicken mole was home made, the flesh melting in my mouth with the dark chocolate, chilie mix making love to my mouth, and my stomach too. I felt like the woman in the novel who had to take a cold shower as the place caught fire, via her tongue, her heart, okay her body. DAMN...and I had a mezcal margarita, okay, I had two, as I looked out over the Zocalo. Immense bunches of balloons below, vendors gathering themselves to walk and sell...stalls with fresh food being cooked, juices being squeezed from just peeled pineapple, oranges, mangoes. I understood the need for a cold shower and it was definitely a hot day as well, those brave dancers hardly sweating in the Fifth Sun. Their presence, dancing, "We are here, we survived, we survived the burning of our sacred books, our ancestors enslaved, our ancient cultures razed, our women raped, we have survived, we kept the best of you in our blood, discarded the violence, kept the songs to our Sun, we are HERE, we have survived, and we have come to dance..."

I was in Califas in July to teach, then to visit mi familia, old friends, later...my (wonderful) daughter and I went to see, hear Pete Escovedo's band, and one of the very talented musicians invited us to dance in the aisles...no dance floor, que pinche...this guy played a flute that made me want to weep and laugh at the same time, a sax that was purely sexy, and marimbas that made me, yes, want to dance...the entire band magicians of moving the feet, Escovedo and two of his sons on drums. I sat through two songs, then they started in on a drum winging salsa, so I jumped to my feet, started dancing in the pinche aisle, and the guy who played the flute, sax, marimbas, put out his hand for me to join him on the stage. So I did, a tiny spot teetering at the edge of the stage in front of his marimbas, but he held onto me and I didn't fall off, and we danced...We are here, we survived, and we have come to dance into the Sixth Sun.

The Kokopelli comes from my walks in Venice Beach...when I cross the MEXICO/USA border, I always hear him playing his flute (his sax, his marimbas), and even when I'm x-rayed at the border they will never (ever) see my true heart, mi alma, which reveals herself only in my dance...we are here, we are here, dancing into the Sixth Sun.
**For Pete Escovedo's music, go to Youtube...
For Chicken Mole enchiladas, see below...to be eaten with mezcal margaritas, then take a cold shower or you'll start your house on fire...

Chocolate Mole... I live in San Miguel de Allende, so I find this beautiful, dark mole at the market, but this is delicious.

10 dried ancho or poblano chilies (or 5 each, or canned if you can't find fresh)
3/4 cup dark raisins
5 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped
1 1/4 cups chicken stock
1 tbsp canola oil
1 large onion, peeled, chopped
3 garlic cloves, peeled, chopped, or more to taste
3 tbsps sesame seed (save some to sprinkle over dish)
3/4 cup slice almonds, toasted
3 tomatoes chopped, or 1 1/2 cups canned tomatoes and their juice
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon, cloves, oregano, cumin, ground coriander seeds, ground anise seeds
1 tsp coarse salt, freshly ground pepper
1 tsp chile powder, to taste

1. Remove the stems from chiles, slice them in half lengthwise, scrape out most of the seeds. Place in pot, cover with water, place a plate on top of chiles to keep sumberged, simmer for 10 mins or till tender. Allow to stand until cool.
2. Place raisins, chocolate in a blender, heat the chicken stock, pour into blender mixture, let stand for a few minutes to melt the chocolate.
3. Heat the oil, saute the onion until limp, then add garlic cooking for a few mins, stir frequently.
4. Drain the chilies, add them to the blender along with the onion, garlic, sesame seeds, almonds, tomatoes, all the spices, salt, pepper. Blend until smooth, taste, and add more chile powder if you need more spice, yum...
**Mole can be refrigerated for up to 5 days, and frozen up to 3 months in a freezer bag.

Pollo/chicken- (The rooster on the roof next door...)
1. Boil one chicken until tender, then piece it all up into a bowl, let cool.
2. A dozen, or more, large CORN TORTILLAS.
3. Add cooked sauteed, garlic, sprinkle of chile powder, sliced BLACK OLIVES (I like them, up to you), and some of those black raisins, to the bowl of chicken, mix well.
4. Warm the chocolate mole, almost hot....line a baking dish with two inches of the mole, some extra chicken broth to thin it out.
5. Quickly dip a corn torilla, one at a time, into the chocolate mole- and fill it with el pollito mix.
6. Continue to dip the tortillas, filling them until the chicken is gone, placing the tortillas side by side in the baking dish.
7. Heat the oven to 350 degrees.
8. Spoon the chocolate mole over all the filled corn tortillas, add more chicken broth to thin out if necessary. Bake for 30 to 40 minutes, checking the mole to see if it needs more chicken broth to make it all moist, just keep adding, and spooning a bit more mole over the enchiladas...QUE RICO Y SABROSITO, HOW RICH AND DELICIOUS...don't forget the mezcal margaritas, the cold shower, or a hot bath sprinkled with red roses, candles, someone you like/love, the 2nd mezcal margarita...

I just read a wonderful, very wise book... "Long Life, Honey In The Heart,' by Martin Prechtel, who grew up on a Pueblo in New Mexico, then journeyed down to a Mayan village in the 1980s, Lake Atitlan, Guatemala, before the missionaries and government troops moved in and disrupted, tried to destroy, a beautiful, sacred way of life. We are here, we have survived, all human beings with Honey in the Heart who continue to sing and dance into the Sixth World. One of their prayers/poems ends...

"Long Life, Honey in the Heart,
White roads paved in the eyebrows of the Moon,
Which is sea foam,
Yellow roads paved with yellow, fat, and abundance,
From the tail of the Morning Star,
No Evil, Thirteen Thank-yous,
Earth Fruit Face, Thanks."

Return Home and Recipes...

After 14 hours of travel from California to San Miguel de Allende, my pinche front door lock would NOT open, damn. My sweetie shuttle driver drove me around San Miguel trying to find a locksmith who was home as it was Sunday and no one was answering the phone...I ended up seeing parts of San Miguel I'd never seen. Sheep penned in lots next to casitas and roosters running down the streets, that was fun...not like the more formalized Centro. When I left to travel my neighbor had a CHICKEN FARM WITH ROOSTERS on his roof; I dreamed of tossing a bob cat over there. But upon return, after almost two months, only ONE ROOSTER remains which is okay, that I can endure, not the Chicken Farm where the hens make a racket after laying every egg and the roosters do not crow only at dawn, but ALL DAY LONG into the night. Yayyy they're gone, except for the one rooster...I was about to move if they were still here. And so, finally found a locksmith and he couldn't budge the lock, so he had to crowbar the door open...he was persistent and got me in, kisses to the locksmith.

Then I went to the car lot down the street to check on my car the next day and I could barely see it as it was pretty much smothered in (beautiful) wild flowers...but it started right up and had to crush many of them to drive out of the lot in order to buy food or starve to death in the very dusty casita. That mountain dust at 7,000 ft in San Miguel covers everything eventually, so a good weekly cleaning at the very least, and I was gone for two months. Bird feathers all over from the huge sky light in the entry way...I felt like returning to California, my family, friends coming to see me, our many fiestas. So went out for comida/food, bottles of wine, tequila, and an immense bunch of mixed flowers...daisies, purple mums, birds of paradise, lilies for their sheer intoxicating scent, which made me want to clean la casita. And so, while sipping a cup of green tea, some recipes, simple ones-

FLAN, 6 to 8 servings...
3/4 cup sugar (for caramel), 1 quart milk, 1 cup sugar, 1 vanilla bean split lengthwise, 4 egg yolks, 6 eggs lightly beaten.
Cook the 3/4 cup sugar to carmelize it, then pour it into a baking dish carefully, covering all of the bottom of the dish with caramel. Heat the milk with the cup of sugar and the vanilla for about 10 minutes. Let cool slightly, then add the egg yolks and the beaten eggs. Mix thoroughly, Remove and discard the vanilla bean. Pour the egg mixture into the caramel line baking dish. Bake in a pre-heated 350F/175C oven for about 1 and a half hours OR until set...plunge a knife into the center to see if it comes out wet or dry. Cool completely, even refrigerate to serve...YUMMY You can also place fresh berries on top of the flan, a bit of Kahlua (Mexican drink with strong coffee taste), or a lot if you like, so delicious.

Here's my own SANGRIA recipe, which I made quite a few times for our California fiestas...
In a large pitcher...a bottle of good cabernet, not expensive but good. A third of the pitcher with orange juice, or a mix of juices like orange juice/pomegranate is great. A cup of white TEQUILA...stir this all up with a wooden spoon. Add fresh berries, like blackberries, raspberries, to the pitcher, and when you serve the Sangria make sure everyone also gets some berries. So you can drunk while knowing it's all a bit healthy haha/jaja... I made many pitchers of this wonderful stuff, so when the pitcher's getting low just add more of the above in this order, and keep adding the berries to share with everyone, remember your health. This recipe, Sangria, goes deliciously with enchiladas, tacitos, and every Mexican dish...I'll post an enchilada recipe later on. My Mamacita's (grandmother from Sonora, Mexico) enchiladas were always pretty hot and spicy, which I love, so I won't give you that one as most folks run for the water.

And so, I'm back in San Miguel with ONE rooster next door...I used to live and work on a farm in Sonoma, California....we had lots of chickens, some roosters, but they were in the barn over the creek, far from the house. So to say that I LOVE chickens, their marvelous eggs, just not right next to my bedroom patio, yes that's where they were. Can we say BOB CAT...and now my door opens with its key, the wildflowers continue to grow over my car, the car lot owner must come with a machete. But for now I let it all go and imagine you all making FLAN, SANGRIA...enjoy la vida, JOY in spite of the obvious challenges facing our planet, all of us humans, as we ALL journey into the Sixth World. One Planet, One People...

*My granddaughter, la Ashley, gave me a Bob Cat Charm and I think it did the trick...