Happy Thanksgiving

Be thankful my friends.

Be good my friends.

Be compassionate my friends.

Be loving my friends.

Play my friends.

Be you, my friends.

Because you are good my friends.

Inside you lives the best you.

Fight the demons my friends.

Don’t let hate win.

Be kind.

To everybody.

Love one another.

Are we not all children of God?

Sparks of God?

Don’t lie my friends.

Lies are the devil’s honey.

Let no one convince you otherwise.

Live in the moment my friends.

You are blessed to live in this moment.

In this moment, treat others as you would have them treat you.

Be thankful for this moment.

Do something nice for someone.

It feels so good.

Don’t be mean.

Being mean only demeans you.

Be good my friends.

I love you.

Contact: David Madrid

© 2022 FabulousFables.com

Zombies Suck

Zombies suck.

I hate them.

If zombie were a race, I would be a racist.

Call me a Zombist.

My introduction to zombies was the movie “Night of the Living Dead.”

That is George Romero’s 1968 masterpiece, considered the first modern zombie movie.

As I watched, I realized the undead suck.

Unless you are talking about vampires. I like vampires; they are cool, which is ironic, because they are also undead and they literally suck.

I guess I am a hypocrite, when it comes to zombies.

“Night of the Living Dead” is a black-and-white movie. I watched it at a drive-in.

A drive-in is an outdoor movie theater. You watch the movie from you car, big screen jutting up to the sky,

There aren’t many drive-ins left.

”Night of the Living Dead” — a young zombie (Kyra Schon) and her victim (Karl Hardman).

Don’t think black-and-white movies aren’t cool; that grainy texture lends itself to the story of the undead.

Arguably, George Romero’s movie is better without color.

The Walking Dead

The zombie genre has improved substantially with the television series “The Walking Dead,” which began in 2010.

No. I haven’t watched the series, but it is widely watched, and people, whose opinion I respect, praise the drama.

I must admit to watching another zombie movie.

It was “World War Z,” an action horror flick released in 2013 about a world overrun with zombies.

I admit I found the movie entertaining, but it doesn’t change my opinion of zombies.

Zombies are dirty, rotting, brainless corpses who are cannibals.

They have rotting skin hanging off their bones, blood splattered inside and out and around their mouths where they ate people.

They are ugly.

I assume they stink of death, the worst smell ever.

Good thing we can’t smell them through the big or little screen.

Where do zombies come from?

Legend says a zombie can create more zombies by biting humans.

Modern stories blame the undead on military experiments gone horror show. Or humans can be transformed by an alien attack.

As with many a horror story, zombies are based on fact, in Hattian voodoo, birthed by West African magic.

A sorcerer or witch called a bokor concocts a potion that includes tetrodotoxin, a deadly neurotoxin found in the pufferfish.

Administered in the correct dose, the pufferfish poison causes a coma so deep it mimics death.

There are credible reports of dead Hattians, said to be victims of voodoo, found alive.

My disgust  for zombies began with that first movie “Night of the Living Dead.”

A zombie chowed down on some human intestines, and I was revolted.

Really? Intestines? Nasty.

Zombie popularity

Who could unnasty the zombie?

Music superstar Michael Jackson; that’s who.

Jackson deserves credit for an explosion of zombie popularity; never underestimate a great work of art.

His 1982 groundbreaking 13-minute music video “Thriller” featured the undead coming out of their graves to join the superstar in a funky graveyard dance.

To this day, large crowds dress as zombies and dance to “Thriller.”

The Guiness World Record for People Dancing “Thriller” was set in Mexico City in 2009, by more than 11,000 temporary zombies shown below.

I must admit, I don’t have a problem with Michael Jackson’s zombies; such is the power of music and art.

You can see “Thriller” below. It is worth a watch.

Did I just talk myself out of the premise of my blog, that zombies suck?

Not really.

Most zombies suck.

‘The Guiness World Record for People Dancing “Thriller” was set in Mexico City in 2009, by more than 11,000 temporary zombies.

Contact: David Madrid

© 2022 FabulousFables.com

Thank you to Wikipedia for the photo of the little zombie girl and for providing clarifying information for this blog. Read all about zombies at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zombie.

La Llorona

Photo by Raúl Arturo Fernández Vega.

La Llorona, (pronounced “la yoh doh nah”), the Crying Woman, the Weeping Woman, is a supernatural entity who hunts the waters, the rivers, the ditches, the canals, and sometimes even the dry washes of the foothills.

What does she hunt?

The better question is who does she hunt?

La Lorona hunts her children, and if you happen to encounter her as she hunts, your destruction is assured.

First you hear her unearthly keen.

Is she calling for her children?

Then comes terror.

Then you see her, a horrid hag in a white wedding dress whose anger ends in death, your death.

This miserable wandering spirit’s punishment for her unprecedented crime is that she may not leave the earth plane until she finds the children she drowned.

Yes. She drowned her own children.

Legend says La Llorona, said to have been named Maria, was a beautiful woman whose one wish in life was to marry a rich and handsome man with whom she could live in comfort and start a family.

There are as many versions of the story as there are groups who tell it, with the tale spanning the Southwestern United States to Mexico, and some say as far as Venenzuela.

I first heard the story in New Mexico.

Central

Central, N. M., now called Santa Clara, is a tiny village near Silver City where I lived while in the fourth grade.

More than one adolescent told me basically the traditional La Llorona story but with a twist.

Near my home was a ramshackle deserted house that was known to be La Llorona’s lair.

It was a small house, a shack really, maybe one room.

The battered and rotted walls emanated a sinister vibe, especially at dusk, when the house appeared blacker than black, if that is possible.

The neighborhood kids told me that if I watched at night, I might catch a glimpse of La Llorona.

They dared me to enter the house.

I would not survive the visit, they assured me, and my death would be horrible.

Nobody in my family believed in La Llorona, yet, that house haunted me.

I wouldn’t walk down that street at night.

It doesn’t matter whose version you believe, the core of the La Llorona story is the same.

It’s the details that change.

Carlsbad

For example, my hometown, Carlsbad, N.M., in Southeastern New Mexico, has several variants of the horror story.

Through Carlsbad flows the deep green Pecos River making its way to the ocean.

The area is prime hunting grounds for a vengeful spirit who haunts waterways, and the terrain provides fodder for tales of La Llorona sightings and encounters.

Among about 10 teenage boys who camped a night near the river were La Llorona believers so nervous the scream of a wounded rabbit sent them scrambling for the safety of the vehicles.

Their fear extended to the farm fields ringed in irrigation ditches and to the foothills where dry riverbeds could become raging flash floods with no warning.

As years pass, fewer people believe the story of La Llorona, or have heard it, especially the city folks who have lost touch with the supernatural.

Aztec Beginnings

Yet the story has survived since the 1570s, dating back to the Aztecs, Mexico’s pyramid culture of fierce poet warriors, unmatched artisans, mathematicians, astronomers and human sacrifice.

The Aztec La Llorona story features Cihuacoatl , who walked the streets weeping and calling out for her children.

The excellent photo above by Raúl Arturo Fernández Vega is how I picture the Aztec La Llorona, who one story claims stole a small boy from his cradle and ate him.

While her appearance has changed over the ages, from Aztec finery to the white wedding dress, how does such a story survive?

Magic

Perhaps it is magic that trapped La Llorona in the spirit world, and at least once a generation, her haunting cycle begins again.

Maybe La Llorona lives forever.

Someday, ages from now, a shaman of some distant culture will relate to frightened children a story of a menacing crying woman heard in the night.

The La Llorona story has been successfully used for many years to frighten children against straying too far and into behaving.

Do your chores or La Llorona will get you, parents throughout the years have told their children.

Maybe the power of that threat is the magic that explains the story’s longevity.

Coming soon: The La Llorona story as told to me.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

Photo above: Each year in the Xochimilco borough of Mexico City, people celebrate La Llorona with performances. Photo by Raúl Arturo Fernández Vega. Shared to Wikimedia Commons with a Creative Commons License.

Also a special thank you to  Stephen Winick, whose article “La Llorona: Roots, Branches, and the Missing Link from Spain” provided detailed research of the Aztec La Llorona.

Happy New Year 2022

It’s a new year, and we all hope it will be a happy New Year.

We can do our part to make it so.

It really is quite simple.

We just need to love one another.

Here in the U.S. we have a right to the pursuit of happiness.

I believe that right extends to the whole world.

It is our birthright to be happy, all of us.

But happiness takes work.

We cannot be happy when we have malice in our hearts toward our neighbor our brothers and sisters.

Why, when we attend sporting events, are we all one tribe with those who share our colors?

We love one another as if family.

When we play sports, the teams reflect the great melting pot that is the promise of America.

The players’ families and fans enjoy the game together, joined by the brotherhood of athletics.

So what happens when we leave these sports’ venues that changes our hearts?

We leave the contest and we go back to judging and harboring preconceived notions about how those different than us live and their motivations in life.

It is easy to deceive ourselves that they are different, whoever they may be.

We are not different where it matters.

We all want to pursue happiness.

That means each of us must work to rid our hearts of bile and fill them with love for one another.

I know it is hard work, but the reward is happiness.

Inside, your soul yearns for camaraderie and love.

Your soul is the soul of a fan.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2022 FabulousFables.com

Rastas Boodrow’s christmas Plan

The story must be told

Of the mischief of Rastas Boodrow.

A mathematical-minded boy,

 Rastas wanted one Christmas toy.

Not just any plain old thing;

Santa knew what to bring.

But would St. Nick come through?

It was then Rastas knew.

Santa must be convinced

To overlook Rastas’ sins.

So here is the tale

Of a plan bound to fail.

Read all about it here: Rastas Boodrow: A Christmas Story

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2021 FabulousFables.com

Christmas: memory and unsung heroes

The Christmas season, also known as the Holidays, is upon us.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Some of my favorite memories are anticipating Christmas morning to see what Santa brought.

One Christmas Eve, when I was about 5, I tried to stay awake.

I wanted to see Santa, so I listened for the sound of reindeer on the roof, but the next thing I knew I woke up.

It was early Christmas morning, about 4 a.m.

My room glowed.

I looked out my window, and everything was white.

Big silent snowflakes fell.

The light was like a full moon’s, but different.

The ground was the light.

It was my only white Christmas and the first time I remember seeing snow.

I ran to the Christmas tree.

There, waiting for me, was a red bicycle.

It was the most beautiful thing I had seen, and riding it in the snow was a pleasure I will never forget.

Throughout my childhood years, I received gifts from the jolly old elf, but no Christmas topped the snowy night of the red bike.

Unsung Heroes

We assume Santa will always come, but we don’t consider the effort of those who toil in the North Pole to make children everywhere happy.

Santa Claus, of course, gets most the credit, but there are reindeer, elves, and at times, other creatures of the North Pole, who pitch in to make Christmas successful.

And who looks after everybody?

Why Mrs. Claus, that’s who.

She is an unsung hero, but she doesn’t mind, because Mrs. Claus is a humble and loving spirit who shuns attention from the outside world.

Her first name is in dispute; it is either Jessica, Gertrude, Margaret or Carol, depending on who you believe.

Mrs. Claus herself will tell you her name is Mary Christmas.

What a sense of humor.

While her dear husband St. Nick pulls off magic one December night, year after year, Mrs Claus plans all year, and then coordinates Santa’s long Christmas ride.

There are other unsung heroes that you never hear about.

Which brings me to my story: Rufus the Snot-Nosed Reindeer.

I wrote this Christmas story in 2009.

I wrote it for you.

In 2010, I wrote a follow-up story: Rufus the Snot-Nosed Reindeer: The Reckoning.

These stories show how Christmas can be a challenge for those who work behind the scenes to deliver an annual miracle.

Enjoy the stories.

Contact: David Madrid

© 2021 FabulousFables.com

Happy Thanksgiving 2021

Today is a day of thankfulness and family.

Thanksgiving is designed for gratitude.

It was a time to be with your family.

Unless you work for a retail company that forces you to work on Thanksgiving.

That has ruined the holiday for so many workers.

Thanksgiving was not designed for shopping.

Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, was created for people to compete to see who can blow the most money.

I call it chaos shopping.

Anyway, I digress.

I thank everyone who reads my stories.

I am a storyteller who uses this website to feed my creative appetite, to stretch my imagination, and to share my stories.

It is as if infinite stories within me are vying to come out.

About the drawings with no names attached to them.

You may say they are juvenile-level art, and you would be correct.

You see, when I was 11 years old, I stood outside my house and watched the full moon.

It was cold, but not that bitter cold that hurts.

It was a clean cold that clears your lungs with each breath.

That beautiful moonlit night, I said to myself: “Always remember this night when you were 11. Mark it well.”

So to mark the night, I stood there in my driveway and basked in the moonlight for about an hour.

What does that have to do with the drawings?

The drawings are created by the 11-year-old boy who lives within me.

That night, when I was 11, was magic.

I felt truly thankful for my life, the Earth, the Moon and even the cold.

When I need a drawing, I go back to that night, and become the 11-year-old me.

The more the 11-year-old draws, the better he gets.

I am thankful for the magic in my life.

There is magic in the night under the moon.

Find your inner child, and you will find your own magic.

The End

© 2021 FabulousFables.com

Contact: David Madrid

To read a Thanksgiving story, go to: Gilbert the Dancing Hummingbird 

Street Fighter

For my first story of 2021, I present Nano: The Pure Warrior.

It is a story about a street fighter.

This story is part of my local history in the 1960s and ’70s.

I did not write this story to glorify violence; I often post stories and blog about the days of my youth.

I write to entertain, but also to document how things were when I was growing up.

It is important to know history, and I want young people to understand how we, the Baby Boomers, were shaped.

My generation spent a lot of time outside, and while outside, you met a lot of people, and you were in the grapevine; you heard the gossip.

So you knew some kids purely by reputation.

By far the most compelling reputations were those of the street fighters.

Kids were interested in who fought who, and who beat who.

The toughest fighters reached local-legend status.

These guys liked to fight, and they were good at it, and when the toughest guys met in combat, the grapevine buzzed.

This story is about one of those legends: Nano: The Pure Warrior.

Some fighters were mean and liked to inflict pain; those were the bullies you avoided.

Some were cocky and walked around with chips on their shoulders.

They wanted to fight, unless someone tougher came along, then the chips were tucked away.

The dangerous fighters were the regular guys.

Nice guys who got along just fine not fighting, until the fight came to them, and then suddenly they were honey badgers on the attack.

Nano was one of those legends who welcomed a competitive rumble.

There were plenty opponents; a fighter’s reputation was enough to elicit challenges from testosterone-soaked toughs.

Nano was my friend.

Read Nano: The Pure Warrior, a poem dedicated to my friend.

The End

By David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2021 FabulousFables.com