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Órale, the Caló word of the week is cácaro. It means a person with a pockmarked face. It comes from the Spanish word, cacarizo, an adjective that means pitted or pockmarked. The term, cácaro, has been in Caló since at least the time of smallpox epidemics, which left survivors with lasting pockmarks all over their body. Cácaro is mostly a pejorative that reduces a person to their bad fortune of having an unattractive face. There’s a bitter-sweet tragedy about El Cácaro passed down from generation to generation throughout La Junta that should help the curious know how this term is used in Caló.

Órale, the word for this episode is maestro. It’s an honorific, a title of recognition of an individual’s mastery of a certain subject matter. It’s conferred informally but universally by the community. It evolved in a setting where, in the absence of degrees or journeyman certificates of any kind, and people earned their bona fides through demonstrated skill and acumen. There were maestros in every field, music, teaching and coaching, auto mechanics, carpentry, and of course, matanzas.

Órale, we’re going to continue with the matanza theme and feature the Caló word, stufas. It’s a contraction of the expressions “ya estuvo,” which is Spanish for “that’s enough” or “it’s done.” In Caló, it’s what you say when you’ve reached a breaking point with something that’s irritating you or when you want to report that you’ve completed an assigned task.

Órale, we continue this month with the matanza theme we started last month. The word of this episode is chinelas. It means shoes and comes from the 1900s shoe product brand, Chinola. It also serves as a polite surrogate for the terrible curse word that has many surrogates, like Chihuahua and changada (pack of apes). As both an old brand name and a surrogate for a curse word, chinelas is an amorphous, highly-flexible term and, because of that, a magical word in Caló. You can use it to mean simply shoes, but with the added meaning of nice shoes, high status or airs of high status. You can also use it to communicate disdain for those who presume high status, as in “hay chinelas,” indicating that their chinelas are not the appointment they may think it is.

Órale, the Caló word of the week is trastes. It’s a normally plural noun that means the general set of eating ware, that is, the plates and bowls as well as the forks, spoons and knives. The Spanish word for the same is platos (plates) and cubiertos (silverware). Because tortillas served as both plates and silverware in many households along the Rio Grande for a long time, trastes came to mean everything that went on the table except the tortillas. It was what you brought out of the cupboards for guests. For you only set out a stack of tortillas in a towel or waxcloth if you were feeding only your immediate family.

Órale, the featured word of this episode is despinchado. It means separated from its pinche, which means notorious in Romani or Caló. We’ve covered this word in a previous episode. Something that had the reputation of being pinche, but then lost it, is no longer useful or desirable. It’s despinchado, broken, undermined, or useless. People, machines, tools, relationships, and even situations can be despinchados.

Chirping frogs are typically less than an inch long, and you could mistake their whistling, trilling calls for an insect’s. But these little creatures have an epic story, one that distills the deep mysteries of biodiversity.

Órale, the featured word of this episode of Caló is contrato. It means contract in Spanish, but in Caló it’s a solemn promise or commitment. It’s an expression reserved for big moments in life that call for a heart-felt and consequential promise. The spiritual and reputational consequences of not fulfilling a contrato are high. Of course, the contrato itself may obligate you to an extraordinary end too.

Órale, the onda this week in Caló is the expression dejar caer la greña. Its literal translation is to let one’s hair down, but the image being conveyed is that of a bundle of long unkempt hair being let go—unbound, loosed to do what it was meant to do. Its figurative translation is that of someone letting their raw talent or instincts take over to produce something improbable, beautiful or impressive. The bartender put his notes aside and se dejó caer la greña. The result was a hot tea and cognac drink that became famous.

Cave scientist Riannon Colton is working to unlock one of the cavern’s mysteries: its “speleometeorology.” Because it turns out that big caves, like big mountains, create their own weather.