CHAPTER ONE


"300 ORPHANS, A PRIEST, AN EYELASH

CURLER & ME!"

by Judy Joy Jones



Tossing my eyelash curler into my

backpack along with some watercolors,

paintbrushes, swim suit and goggles,

I'm on the road once more! (You never

know when you might find a lap pool)


Thank goodness I won't have to put up

a tent after hiking 20 miles like I did

while writing articles for The Coronado

Journal when I was on The Great Peace

March for Nuclear Disarmament.


In blizzards, rain, hail and heatwaves,

up went the tent. Amazing since my

biggest adventure so far had been

curling my lashes and going to

shopping malls! My motto became,

"Forget Peace, just help this woman

get this tent up so she can sleep!"


Even with the 300 orphans,

Father Antonio Norman, the founder

of Santa Maria Orphanage, always has an

extra bed. After flying to Mexico

City, jumping on the metro and

taking two buses, 10 hours later I

was on his doorstep and ever so

grateful for his spare bed!


After several massive heart attacks,

he is still taking care of 300 children,

housing over 30 homeless

elders, starting a soup kitchen that

feeds 1000 villagers weekly, plus

is in the process of founding

an aids home for orphans under eight

years of age.


Father Norman didn't know I was

coming, hadn't seen me for

over 11 years and gave me a huge warm

hug anyway and I knew the struggles to

get there hadn't been in vain!


Feeling selfish because I would be

getting much more than I would ever

give on this trip, I wanted to express

myself thru painting.


After telling Father my hearts desires

were to paint, he got me a canvas

and a model, all within one hour of my

arriving. "Walking the Talk" is his

motto.


Santa Maria is located in a beautiful

area of Mexico surrounded

by hills and sparsely populated and it

is hard to believe that Mexico has over

twenty million homeless children.

As I snuggled into my nice warm

bed that night, I thought about

all the little ones sleeping on the

streets. With people like this special

priest, soon there will be no homeless

children!


Laughter and singing ring through

Santa Maria's hallways. Great

suffering brings great joy and

these kids have an abundance of both!


What they don't have are adults

to hug, touch and nurture them and

many don't know their names.

They hop freight trains to Santa Maria

often too escape violent families.


How many frightened

children have found refuge in

Fathers loving arms will never be known.

Tomorrow I will attend mass with

all the children, tonight I will paint.




CHAPTER TWO


"HUGS, HUGS, & MORE HUGS!"

by Judy Joy Jones


Curling my lashes, (will this vanity

ever stop??) I glance out the window

as the thirty homeless elders living

in Father Norman's house move slowly

towards the dining room.


Their intense joy overwhelms me!

Many are blind, wheelchair bound

while some have walkers, yet they

stop along the way greeting each

other with hugs, handshakes and

huge grins. I'm the 'old' one here,

complaining if my Starbucks

coffee is cold!


Santa Maria's chapel is mystically

austere. I am seated in the middle

on the front row with the other

volunteers. The boys are on one

side, the girls on the other.


Father Norman takes each child

into his arms, gazing tenderly into

their faces. For five seconds, that

child has a parent like all the

children on earth.


After mass the small children run

up to us for hugs and kisses. Its

the teenage boys pretending they

don't need touching that tear me

apart. The 'Silent Tears' in their

eyes tell the truth. Their hearts

turned inside out would be black and

blue.


I bump into Clyde while leaving

the chapel. "Uniquely Blended" is

the way I can describe Clyde! He

is a diamond in the rough with the

biggest heart on earth. He teaches

English to the children.


Clyde has traveled around the

world volunteering in orphanages

for years. He might be cooking one

minute and the missing parent the

next, handing a child a birthday gift.

(Many children have never had parents

like we did for our birthdays).


If you go to Santa Maria, ask Clyde

to tell you about his head injuries

he got during the war. (Get a cup

of coffee and a comfortable chair

first. His stories are hilarious,

heart breaking and long!)


Leaving the chapel, Father

Norman looks tired. He gives

100% to these children every

second. What a nice way to die,

huh. Loving too much!


"Judy", he says, "I would have

been a saint if I had stayed in the

monastery praying." "Recently,"

Father continues, "the local village

newspaper wrote an article trying

to keep me from starting the aids

home for children under eight

years of age who are orphaned.

They said it would be dangerous

for the community. (germs, etc.)"

"The opposition I contend with rules

out sainthood for me! Dealing with

the darkest sides of life forces us to

look deeply into our own souls and

puts us on our knees!"


Father Norman Antonio is the

most unconditionally loving

person I have ever met. Just

ask any of the thousands of

children he has sheltered

from the storms.



CHAPTER THREE


"MEXICO CITY, HOME & ME!"

by Judy Joy Jones



Whoa! Night, a woman alone

with a heavy backpack taking the subway

in Mexico City, could be dangerous. My

thoughts as the bus from Santa Maria

Orphanage pulls in the station.


"I made it!" I say aloud. Startled, the

front desk clerk at the hostel I made

reservations at stutters "Eh, Er this is

a 'youth' hostel'.


"Yes, I am a tad older than 'youth' but

I'm leaving at five in the morning to

catch a plane and I can take a few

hours with noisy college kids, so

don't worry about me!"


"We only have one bed, its a top

bunk in a dorm with eight guys",

he answers still trying to

discourage me.


"For eight dollars a night,

I'll sleep on the roof. I'll take it."


The room is a disaster and exactly how

it should be with eight college guys.

Climbing up to the top bunk, suddenly

I stop in midair! No-way, I'm afraid of

heights. "Take mine" beckons a sweet

voice from below. "Oh thanks!" I reply

scurrying down.


Curling up for a much needed nap

before going to eat, accents from

around the world filter in my ears.

Peering out thru the iron bars at

the foot of my lower bunk I see

long moving legs! The bars remind

me of a prison movie.


There is exhilarating energy in this

youth hostel with everyone passing on

information, making dates for the

evening. Lots of laughter makes up for

all the dirt.


Smoke, I smell smoke! (not so

exhilarating) I didn't know they allowed

smoking. Well, it is only eight bucks I

remind myself.


Mexico City is bustling at nine at

night. Its a great city. I take a cab

to the Zona Rosa tourist area to find a

restaurant.


The cab drivers have been wonderful

and inexpensive. All the propaganda

that keeps us afraid (like I read about

Mexico City cab drivers) is a killer to

life. I would rather die living than

live dead being fearful of everything.


After I eat I search for an internet

cafe and there are many to choose from.

Going in one I quickly flee. Everyone

is smoking.


I find one two doors down. For twenty

pecos an hour I am connected to the

whole planet. I'm one of the few

artists that welcomes the rapid

technological evolution our planet

is going thru. We are planetary beings,

soon to be living on other planets!


Popping in a cozy looking bookstore

on my way to finding a cab, the armed

guard at the door saddens me. Would

he really shoot someone for stealing

a book? The huge gun he is wearing

says 'yes'. I decide not to stay and

head for the hostel.


Its 4:30am and the cab the front desk

clerk was supposed to order for me

last night hasn't arrived. Panic

stricken I finally see one from the

window, run outside and jump in. The

driver nodded yes to taking me to the

airport.


Five minutes later he pulls up in front

of a hotel in the Zona Rosa district.

I hadn't brought a Spanish dictionary

so I draw a picture of a plane for him.

Nodding he drives to another hotel!

(I had considered myself an artist)


I flap my arms, no recognition from

the driver. Rolling down my window

I shout to a passerby who explains

to the driver who immediately whisks

me to the airport just in time

to catch my plane.


Watching the ground turn into tiny

dots as the plane takes off, I realize

I am only half alive until I become

all I was ever meant to be,

"ON THE ROAD WITH JUDY!"


c jj 2023


"On the Road With Judy!" Website at link below.