"I went to see the preacher, to teach me how to pray / He looked and me and smiled, then that preacher turned away / He said, "If you want to tell him something, you ain't gotta fold your hands / Say it with your heart, your soul and believe it / And I say 'Amen'."
Jon Bon Jovi, "Bang a Drum"
It is an unbelievably beautiful evening, and as I've said before, us Iowans never take good weather for granted. The sun is notably setting before eight now, signaling summer's wind down, but what a glorious one it's been. The thermometer never got close to a hundred and I can count on my fingers how many times it broached ninety. The air conditioner's been off more than off these first thirteen days of August, a miracle in and of itself.
Right now, I sit on my back deck, in a reclining lawn chair my wife and children bought for me a couple of Father's Days ago. I had to plug in my computer because I've been out here now for several hours, listening to my "Relaxation/Spirituality" playlist, drinking coffee and water, perusing Facebook to see how many people care that it's my birthday, reading magazines and the newspaper, and watching apples fall.
A crabapple tree rises out of our backyard, just in front of the hedge that separates us from the private school behind us. The apples it sheds are the bane of my existence. In late July they start to fall and they do so unceasingly until the middle of September; right now they are in their prime and I would guess there is one falling, literally, every two minutes since I've been out here. They are too small for anything except making juice but too big for the lawnmower, and really, how much apple juice can a person drink?
When we first moved into this house, Niko was three months old and Orlando didn't yet exist. I picked up every single apple by myself and made the mistake of putting them all into a couple of yard waste bags. The city wouldn't take them because the bags weighed far more than their fifty pounds per bag limit. Before I was able to buy more yard waste bags, it rained. I spent an entire afternoon in 2006 simply moving wet apples from one bag to another, then weighing them on a bathroom scale to make sure they came in under fifty pounds, and scrawling that weight with a black Sharpie on the bag so there would be no confusion with the city. "47 pounds". "45 pounds". "49 pounds". I think there were eight before I finished.
A few years later, as Niko and Orlando were getting older and we needed that backyard space for our frequent games of catch and soccer, I spent a day trimming limbs from our lovely apple tree so that the leaves wouldn't hang in our face, then realized I had no way to dispose of them. I ended up dragging them to the curb and some guy I found in the yellow pages came by with his truck and a chainsaw and took them off of me for fifty bucks.
"How much," I asked him, "would you charge me just to cut the damn thing down and haul it away?"
He looked it over and said, "Well, I'm not working too much these days. Two hundred bucks."
I told him I'd think about it and call him if I decided to go for it. It was May and the apples weren't falling yet, and as always, there were lots of things in our life calling for a couple hundred dollars. I never called the guy back. By August, on my knees on hot mornings, it was clear that that had been one of the worst non-decisions of my life.
*****
Time passes, though, of course, and now my kids are now eight and six--perfect ages to crouch down and pick up apples. I keep them supplied in yard waste bags, check the yard on Saturday mornings before I mow, and give them three bucks a week to keep us apple free. I tell myself I'm teaching them responsibility and the value of hard work. I suspect my motives are more self-serving than that, but I don't feel like self-analysis right now. For now, my apple tree and I live under the auspices of an uneasy truce.
*****
One just hit the ground. For all my awful experience with them, I don't know if before today, I've actually seen one fall down to the ground. It's a feast for the senses. You watch the tree, and when you feel a breeze, you unfocus. You hear it first, the snap of the stem that was connecting the apple to the tree. You zone in on that snap, and if you're lucky, you find it, you trace it's fall, probably bumping into a couple of limbs on the way down, then clearing the limbs and free falling the remaining fifteen feet. Gravity is an unstoppable force. It hits the ground, which is inclined, and rolls down the hill, finding someplace to rest, what with friction also being an unstoppable force. There it will rest for anywhere between 24 and 72 hours, when Niko or Orlando pick it up and throw it into a yard waste bag, which the city will then carry off to compost. In a year it will be rich black soil, ready for a flower or vegetable garden, and I will be busy with something else, and I will have no recollection whatsoever of our brief time together.
*****
Every fucking year goes faster than the last one, you know? Every fucking one. Since I've been old enough to think about it, that's been the case. And tonight, I'm gonna sit here and tell myself that "No, not this time, this year I'm really gonna pay attention, I'm really gonna treasure it, and it'll go by, sure, but not so quickly."
But honestly it ain't gonna be that way. And I don't think it's supposed to be. If we spend all our time reflecting, how much are we really living? And really, if something is good, it should go by fast. I mean, when we say we've had a long day, what are we saying? We're saying it fucking sucked and we're glad it's over. We may be even making excuses for some sort of poor behavior with ourselves and our fellows.
*****
Such is life. My wife just came out and lit some smelly candles so the mosquitoes don't bother me; it's almost completely dark now. The fireflies are coming out. The crickets are singing along with Garth Brooks' "What She's Doing Now." There's a pizza on the way. Birthday food. In a few minutes I'm gonna head back in and eat and watch some TV with Sonia. Parks and Rec, maybe. Or a Mexican soap opera.
Not yet, though. I'm gonna hang on to this moment, this year, just a bit longer, see who follows Garth, enjoy the cool water, listen to the crickets. Feel the breeze between my toes, hear a stem crack, and watch, with what little light remains, a few more apples fall to the ground and come to rest, before Niko and Orlando dispose of them, before they change and I do too, before everything and everyone are different from the way they are right now.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Friday, July 25, 2014
Recess Duty
De dar vueltas trata la cosa. Armarte entre capas y capas de ropa invernal,
tener tu pito y tu bolsita de curitas y guantes de goma, e ir afuera a dar
vueltas. Los niños a veces no quieren
salir, pero ni modo; si yo tengo que salir ellos también lo harán. Yo soy de Iowa y nosotros siempre salíamos a
recreo, aunque fuera enero y hacían unos cinco benditos grados y el cielo
estaba súper nublado como está ahora. Así que salimos y ellos se ponen a jugar
en la nieve o en grupo para chismear, y yo me doy mis vueltas, vuelta tras
vuelta, esperando a que suene la campana y nos metamos de nuevo, sonando el
pito cuando veo la necesidad, aunque en realidad no soy de esos que pita mucho,
como es la otra profesora; para ella cada cosa es una infracción de las reglas
y hay que hacerse la fuerte. Yo, en
cambio, doy mis vueltas y guardo el pito para cuando sea absolutamente
esencial.
Muchos días me acompaña
Briana. A Briana le gusta tenerme la mano y caminar conmigo. Briana no parece tener muchos amigos, pues
siempre me acompaña en vez de jugar a la roña o a chismear con sus
comadres. Es una niña bien linda, muy
bondadosa, muy bien portada; siempre habla de las cosas que hace para cuidar a
sus hermanitos y primitos. Me parece
mucho para una niña de siete años, pero hace tiempo ya que me doy cuenta que la
vida de Briana es muy distinta a la que tuve yo a los siete años.
--¿Usted va a trabajar
hoy, Mister Plum?—me pregunta. Me
sonrío; estos chiquillos muchas veces no se dan cuenta que el ser profesor es
mi trabajo.
--Sí, mi´ja— le contesto.
–Ya estoy trabajando. Mi trabajo es ser
tu profesor.
--Oh— responde ella. –Es
que mi mamá no pudo ir al trabajo hoy.
Mi mamá dice que está yendo mucho la gente pa´ chequear papeles, y ella no
los tiene. Y dice que si eso pasa se
tiene que ir pa´trás a México. Y dice que eso ya ha pasado en otros lados. Y así mejor no fue a trabajar. Y dice que tal vez no vaya por un tiempo.
Es verdad lo que dice la
niña. Ya en el último mes el ICE ha
redado a varias fabricas de carne en otros pueblos y a un montón de gente la
están deportando. Siento pena a esta
gente. No tienen otra opción para
trabajar, y ahora el mismo acto de ir a trabajar puede joderles la vida por
completo. Y aunque Briana lo diga, el no
ir al trabajo por más de unos días no es una opción, porque no tienen de qué
más vivir y tarde o temprano necesitarán volver al trabajo si es que quieren
tortillas en la mesa y techo sobre sus camas.
--Ojalá y pronto pueda
regresar tu mamá al trabajo—le digo a la niña, dándole un pequeño apretón a la
mano que se aferra a la mía.
Y seguimos dando
vueltas. A nuestro alrededor casi todos
los niños están corriendo y gritando, haciendo muñequitos de nieve y llamando a
sus amigos, el vapor saliendo de su boca cada vez más. Y como siempre, hay un pequeño grupo cerca de
la puerta, temblando por el frío, esperando nomás a que el recreo se acabe y se
pueda meter otra vez a la seguridad y calidez que las paredes de la escuela
ofrecen.
--Mister Plum—me dice
Briana--¿usted tiene papeles?
Me sorprende la
pregunta. Quedo sin hablar un momento
largo, y luego le contesto:
--Pues sí, mi´ja. Por
supuesto que tengo papeles.
--¿Y cómo usted agarró sus
papeles?
--Pues…cuando nací nomás
tuve mis papeles.
--¿Y por qué mi mamá no
tuvo sus papeles así nomás cuando nació?—me pregunta.
--Pues…es un poco
complicado, chiquilla. Es que tu mamá nació en México. Pero son diferentes los
papeles de México y de Iowa. Yo no tengo
papeles para México, por ejemplo, pero tu mamá sí. Y yo de Iowa, pero tu mamá
no.
Un minuto pasa. Tal vez dos.
--Sería mejor—dice
Briana—si todos tuviéramos papeles para todos los lados. Así mi mamá podría ir a trabajar igual que
usted, Mister Plum, y usted podría trabajar en México si quiere.
Le doy otro apretón a la
mano de la niña. «Es verdad, mi´ja. Es verdad».
Dejamos de caminar un
momentito. Arriba, muy arriba, el sol ha
aparecido desde detrás de unas nubes. Pero aun así, siento todavía más frío que
antes. Chequeo mi reloj. Quedan siete minutos de recreo.
--¿Damos otra vuelta,
mi´ja?—le digo a Briana. Me apreta la
mano y me dice «Sí, Mister Plum. Damos otra vuelta».
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
La canción más bonita del mundo (Or: Halfway through 2015.) (English and Spanish)
"Te voy a escribir la canción mas bonita del mundo...voy a capturar nuestra historia en tan sólo un segundo." La Oreja de Van Gogh
Es un día de aquellos, que cada canción que sale del radio parece que fuera la más bonita del mundo. Escucho a los maestros--no importa que no sean los que los que saben dicen que sean los maestros, sino para mí si los son. Ricardo Arjona, The Killers, Soraya, La Quinta Estación, Maná, Pearl Jam, y por supuesto los citados de arriba: cada canción me lleva a un lugar y un tiempo de mi vida que recuerdo con cariño, sea lo que sea el recuerdo. Dicen que el pasado es un lugar muy bonito para visitar pero no para vivir; pero hoy me siento a gusto allí, recordando a todas las experiencias que esta vida me ha regalado hasta ahora y la gente que me lo han hecho así.
Me gustaría escribirles la canción más bonita del mundo. Pero yo sólo soy bueno para escuchar la música, no para crearla, y por eso decidí escribir. Ojalá y les guste--es lo único que tengo.
*****
If one's job was based solely on those whom one worked with, I'd've had the greatest job in the world these past few months. Love you ladies!!
*****
Now that the World Cup is almost over, just a few comments for dealing with people who really don't follow soccer:
--Many will express disappointment in the offsides rule, and more still will not understand, and suggest that if they just did away with it, the sport would be much better. Do not try to convince them of the rule's importance. Just smile and agree.
--Many people will complain the players are always flopping. Just smile and agree.
--Many people will say the soccer players are not really athletes like football players are. Just smile and agree.
--Many people will ask why there are no timeouts or failing that, at least not a big clock everyone can see. Just smile and agree.
Many people will say that penalty kicks are a really, really stupid way to resolve a game after 120 minutes of insane exertion. These people are correct; penalty kicks are horseshit.
*****
Leaving Germany and, perhaps, the Netherlands, aside, you take the European countries out of Europe and they're not so...well, Europey.
*****
Si las buenas intenciones fueran buenos logros, yo sería como el Nelson Mandela. O al menos me levantaría antes de las once en las mañanas.
*****
It is always, without exception, to hear from old friends and be reminded who they were for you, and who you were for them.
*****
La plata no es todo, pero coño, sí ayuda de vez en cuando.
*****
It is absolutely incredible how many times in one day--hell, in one minute--two young boys can say the word "wiener". Come on over if you're interested in a concrete number.
*****
The guy who taught my coaching classes asked us, if you leave your wallet in your school, what are the chances you'll get it back? A: I'll get it back with all the money in it. B: I'll get it back, but all the money will be gone. C: I'll never see it again. Most of the class said A.
*****
El tiempo sigue pasando y cada vez más rápido. Y a veces el cabrón del calendario me lo recuerde; vi en el Face un wino que entrené en el teeball está planificando su reunion de diez años con su clase de la secundaria. Entre lo que es trabajar, cuidar a mis winos, cuidar la casa, y cumplir con los demás requisitos mínimos de ser adulto, apenas queda tiempo para respirar, menos reflejar en belleza que nos rodea cada día. Pero cuando lo hago, no sólo me siento mejor; soy mejor para los que me rodean, y juraría que estoy, aunque sea un poquito, más cerca de Dios.
*****
The teacher then asked us, what if we left our wallet in Times Square? Most of the class said C. He said "If your gonna think that way, you should probably stay out of coaching. See your kids as A's, and most of them will be. You'll get a few C's, sure, but the A's more than make up for it."
Amen.
Es un día de aquellos, que cada canción que sale del radio parece que fuera la más bonita del mundo. Escucho a los maestros--no importa que no sean los que los que saben dicen que sean los maestros, sino para mí si los son. Ricardo Arjona, The Killers, Soraya, La Quinta Estación, Maná, Pearl Jam, y por supuesto los citados de arriba: cada canción me lleva a un lugar y un tiempo de mi vida que recuerdo con cariño, sea lo que sea el recuerdo. Dicen que el pasado es un lugar muy bonito para visitar pero no para vivir; pero hoy me siento a gusto allí, recordando a todas las experiencias que esta vida me ha regalado hasta ahora y la gente que me lo han hecho así.
Me gustaría escribirles la canción más bonita del mundo. Pero yo sólo soy bueno para escuchar la música, no para crearla, y por eso decidí escribir. Ojalá y les guste--es lo único que tengo.
*****
If one's job was based solely on those whom one worked with, I'd've had the greatest job in the world these past few months. Love you ladies!!
*****
Now that the World Cup is almost over, just a few comments for dealing with people who really don't follow soccer:
--Many will express disappointment in the offsides rule, and more still will not understand, and suggest that if they just did away with it, the sport would be much better. Do not try to convince them of the rule's importance. Just smile and agree.
--Many people will complain the players are always flopping. Just smile and agree.
--Many people will say the soccer players are not really athletes like football players are. Just smile and agree.
--Many people will ask why there are no timeouts or failing that, at least not a big clock everyone can see. Just smile and agree.
Many people will say that penalty kicks are a really, really stupid way to resolve a game after 120 minutes of insane exertion. These people are correct; penalty kicks are horseshit.
*****
Leaving Germany and, perhaps, the Netherlands, aside, you take the European countries out of Europe and they're not so...well, Europey.
*****
Si las buenas intenciones fueran buenos logros, yo sería como el Nelson Mandela. O al menos me levantaría antes de las once en las mañanas.
*****
It is always, without exception, to hear from old friends and be reminded who they were for you, and who you were for them.
*****
La plata no es todo, pero coño, sí ayuda de vez en cuando.
*****
It is absolutely incredible how many times in one day--hell, in one minute--two young boys can say the word "wiener". Come on over if you're interested in a concrete number.
*****
The guy who taught my coaching classes asked us, if you leave your wallet in your school, what are the chances you'll get it back? A: I'll get it back with all the money in it. B: I'll get it back, but all the money will be gone. C: I'll never see it again. Most of the class said A.
*****
El tiempo sigue pasando y cada vez más rápido. Y a veces el cabrón del calendario me lo recuerde; vi en el Face un wino que entrené en el teeball está planificando su reunion de diez años con su clase de la secundaria. Entre lo que es trabajar, cuidar a mis winos, cuidar la casa, y cumplir con los demás requisitos mínimos de ser adulto, apenas queda tiempo para respirar, menos reflejar en belleza que nos rodea cada día. Pero cuando lo hago, no sólo me siento mejor; soy mejor para los que me rodean, y juraría que estoy, aunque sea un poquito, más cerca de Dios.
*****
The teacher then asked us, what if we left our wallet in Times Square? Most of the class said C. He said "If your gonna think that way, you should probably stay out of coaching. See your kids as A's, and most of them will be. You'll get a few C's, sure, but the A's more than make up for it."
Amen.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Fake Love, Coldplay, and Wedding Crashers: A (Unholy?) Trinity
"Si hemos de hacer pendejadas, hagámoslas--dijo--pero que sea como la gente grande."
("If we're going be foolish, let's do it," she said, "but let's do it like grown-ups")
--Fermina Daza in El amor en los tiempos de cólera, Gabriel Gárcia Marquez
IN HIS 2003 book Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, Chuck Klosterman focuses his opening essay on the evils of what he dubs "fake love". For Klosterman, fake love is the feeling that American society in general associates with "falling in love": the all night conversations, the passionate lovemaking, the feeling that you're with the absolutely one person that some higher power means for you be with. He contrasts this with real love, which only builds in the passage of time, overcoming obstacles together. He kind of even defines when fake love ends: when you're eating breakfast and one half of the couple is unhappy with the silence. Fake love, he tells us, dictates that silence should only occur when couples are so in tune with each other that conversation isn't necessary; but as he points out, "There's not a lot to say during breakfast. I mean, you just woke up, you know? Nothing has happened. If neither person had an especially weird dream and nobody burned the toast, breakfast is just the time for chewing Cocoa Puffs and/or wishing you were still asleep."
Now, Klosterman is hardly the first person to draw a distinction between "fake love" and "real love". And neither is he the first to be of the opinion that it's Hollywood and the mass media's fault that we want fake love and compare all of our normal, boring, real relationships to those we see in the movies and on TV. When push comes to shove, I agree with most everything he has to say (and highly encourage anyone between the ages of thirty and fifty to read this book--it has a killer chapter on the sociological meaning of Saved by the Bell). Being in a long term relationship is certainly not all about butterflies in your tummy and a heightened state of consciousness. There will certainly be things about your long term partner you will not like, and the success or lack thereof of the long term relationship will depend a lot on how you deal with those dislikes.
Klosterman holds special ire, however, for the music of the British band Coldplay, in particular the song and video "Yellow". It's important to remember that when Klosterman wrote this book, Coldplay only had a couple of albums under their belt; and Klosterman himself admits that he has a little skin in the game (apparently, he wanted some woman to spend a weekend with him in New York City, and she flew off to see a Coldplay concert instead). In his opinion, Coldplay's "success derives from their ability to write melodramatic alt-rock songs about fake love".
*****
I write all this because the other night I came home from a weekend class and watched a showing of Wedding Crashers on TBS. For any of you who may be unfamiliar, Wedding Crashers is a 2005 movie about two guys who crash weddings (who'da thunk it?) in order to sleep with women. However, John, Owen Wilson's character, finds more than he bargained for when he meets Claire, played by Rachel McAdams, at the last wedding of the season. Of course, he falls in love with her, and of course she is falling in love with him, but of course she already has a boyfriend, who of course is well liked by everyone but is of course in reality an asshole with a capital A.
Despite all these of courses, I really like this movie and a lot of other people do as well. Vince Vaughn is always good with the Wilson brothers and the movie is well written and acted. The John-Claire relationship is nuanced and I, for one, can't help but adore the Claire character. It also has some special meaning for me, as I saw it the day after I got married with my new wife.
Clearly, however, the movie falls into the broad category of what Klosterman considers to be Hollywood's unhealthy influence on our perceptions on what is and isn't love, and the expectations that this creates. All men should be as handsome, vibrant and witty as Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson; all women should be as pretty, adorable, and cool as Rachel McAdams; and if we can just get them in the room together, everything will work out in the end.
*****
We've been busy as shit lately. Sonia's been working Saturdays (without pay, of course), and I've been busy with professional development the last three weekends, and the boys have started playing baseball. I think we're through it now but man, had I not burned a mental health day last week, I think I would have had something like 23 straight days working, with Sonia only having Sundays off in that span. Laundry didn't get done. Bills didn't get paid. We ordered a lot of pizza and Chinese food and the kids were sick of being cared for by Grandpa and Grandpa.
When I finished with my classes Sunday afternoon, looking forward to two days of work and the next six days off (OFF!), I clicked on the TV and, for lack of better programming, started watching Wedding Crashers, already in progress. I laughed at John and Jeremys' lines and admired Claire's smile. Of course, I began to sympathize with John and Claire and of course totally believed they should be together, forever.
And then something happened. Something weird, for me at least. After all the characters go to bed, Coldplay's "Sparks" began to play. John gets up to go talk to Claire but chickens out. Claire gets up to go see John but she chickens out too, tapping lightly on his door and retreating to her bed. John sits by the window, staring off into the night, and Coldplay's singer says "I saw sparks...." and it just felt...so damn nice....
"Sparks" began to fade out, and the movie went on to another comedy scene, but I was good. I turned the TV off. Even though I mostly agree with Chuck Klosterman, and even though it was all just fake love, I liked that feeling. And there's just so much shit in our lives that, every once in a while, I don't think it's so bad to enjoy that.
May fake love live forever.
("If we're going be foolish, let's do it," she said, "but let's do it like grown-ups")
--Fermina Daza in El amor en los tiempos de cólera, Gabriel Gárcia Marquez
IN HIS 2003 book Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, Chuck Klosterman focuses his opening essay on the evils of what he dubs "fake love". For Klosterman, fake love is the feeling that American society in general associates with "falling in love": the all night conversations, the passionate lovemaking, the feeling that you're with the absolutely one person that some higher power means for you be with. He contrasts this with real love, which only builds in the passage of time, overcoming obstacles together. He kind of even defines when fake love ends: when you're eating breakfast and one half of the couple is unhappy with the silence. Fake love, he tells us, dictates that silence should only occur when couples are so in tune with each other that conversation isn't necessary; but as he points out, "There's not a lot to say during breakfast. I mean, you just woke up, you know? Nothing has happened. If neither person had an especially weird dream and nobody burned the toast, breakfast is just the time for chewing Cocoa Puffs and/or wishing you were still asleep."
Now, Klosterman is hardly the first person to draw a distinction between "fake love" and "real love". And neither is he the first to be of the opinion that it's Hollywood and the mass media's fault that we want fake love and compare all of our normal, boring, real relationships to those we see in the movies and on TV. When push comes to shove, I agree with most everything he has to say (and highly encourage anyone between the ages of thirty and fifty to read this book--it has a killer chapter on the sociological meaning of Saved by the Bell). Being in a long term relationship is certainly not all about butterflies in your tummy and a heightened state of consciousness. There will certainly be things about your long term partner you will not like, and the success or lack thereof of the long term relationship will depend a lot on how you deal with those dislikes.
Klosterman holds special ire, however, for the music of the British band Coldplay, in particular the song and video "Yellow". It's important to remember that when Klosterman wrote this book, Coldplay only had a couple of albums under their belt; and Klosterman himself admits that he has a little skin in the game (apparently, he wanted some woman to spend a weekend with him in New York City, and she flew off to see a Coldplay concert instead). In his opinion, Coldplay's "success derives from their ability to write melodramatic alt-rock songs about fake love".
*****
I write all this because the other night I came home from a weekend class and watched a showing of Wedding Crashers on TBS. For any of you who may be unfamiliar, Wedding Crashers is a 2005 movie about two guys who crash weddings (who'da thunk it?) in order to sleep with women. However, John, Owen Wilson's character, finds more than he bargained for when he meets Claire, played by Rachel McAdams, at the last wedding of the season. Of course, he falls in love with her, and of course she is falling in love with him, but of course she already has a boyfriend, who of course is well liked by everyone but is of course in reality an asshole with a capital A.
Despite all these of courses, I really like this movie and a lot of other people do as well. Vince Vaughn is always good with the Wilson brothers and the movie is well written and acted. The John-Claire relationship is nuanced and I, for one, can't help but adore the Claire character. It also has some special meaning for me, as I saw it the day after I got married with my new wife.
Clearly, however, the movie falls into the broad category of what Klosterman considers to be Hollywood's unhealthy influence on our perceptions on what is and isn't love, and the expectations that this creates. All men should be as handsome, vibrant and witty as Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson; all women should be as pretty, adorable, and cool as Rachel McAdams; and if we can just get them in the room together, everything will work out in the end.
*****
We've been busy as shit lately. Sonia's been working Saturdays (without pay, of course), and I've been busy with professional development the last three weekends, and the boys have started playing baseball. I think we're through it now but man, had I not burned a mental health day last week, I think I would have had something like 23 straight days working, with Sonia only having Sundays off in that span. Laundry didn't get done. Bills didn't get paid. We ordered a lot of pizza and Chinese food and the kids were sick of being cared for by Grandpa and Grandpa.
When I finished with my classes Sunday afternoon, looking forward to two days of work and the next six days off (OFF!), I clicked on the TV and, for lack of better programming, started watching Wedding Crashers, already in progress. I laughed at John and Jeremys' lines and admired Claire's smile. Of course, I began to sympathize with John and Claire and of course totally believed they should be together, forever.
And then something happened. Something weird, for me at least. After all the characters go to bed, Coldplay's "Sparks" began to play. John gets up to go talk to Claire but chickens out. Claire gets up to go see John but she chickens out too, tapping lightly on his door and retreating to her bed. John sits by the window, staring off into the night, and Coldplay's singer says "I saw sparks...." and it just felt...so damn nice....
"Sparks" began to fade out, and the movie went on to another comedy scene, but I was good. I turned the TV off. Even though I mostly agree with Chuck Klosterman, and even though it was all just fake love, I liked that feeling. And there's just so much shit in our lives that, every once in a while, I don't think it's so bad to enjoy that.
May fake love live forever.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Snowboots
My boy sits
beside me,
Orlando,five years old.
His book.
Writing his name in the quiet and echoing
Church.
Whispering.
He wants to spell March.
I and the grown-ups
around me
Pray.They're all grown-ups.
Orlando waits
and reads his book, feet still enveloped in
Snowboots,
thick, heavy, wet, Iowa
Snowboots.
We break the
bread and drink the
Wine.We have ashes on our forehead in a cross.
The church is nearly silent, but Orlando kneels, chews his bread, walks back, and his boots make
Noise.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
El poder del pero
Sentado.
Afuera hace demasiado frío,
pero estoy adentro.
Estoy cansado,
pero tengo para pararme y hablar.
Ha nevado,
pero tengo techo.
Me he equivocado,
pero buenas fueron mis intenciones.
Afuera la nieve recién caída yace en el suelo esperando a qué el sol la derrita.
No podrá hacer nada en aquel entonces,
pero no se ve molesta.
Es.
Tan sólo es.
Pero...
Dentro de mi pecho palpito.
Soy.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Hacia el vientre de Mamá
Almuerzo todos los días con mis compañeros de trabajo. Es un grupo absolutamente increíble, divertido pero a la vez dedicado, cínico y a la vez optimista, vápido y a la vez profundo. Hablamos de todo y de nada, de nuestros sueños y comida, del futuro de educación y el significado del bendito selfie. Sé, a través de mi esposa, que todos los trabajos no son así, y cada día agradezco a Dios que me haya rodeado con semejante gente.
El otro día una compañera hablaba de sus conversaciones con su hermana y le pregunté con cuánta frecuencia le hablaba. Me dijo que hablaban con textos varias veces al día, intercambiando fotos de sus hijos y cosas así. Luego me dijo que así no eran las cosas con su hermano, que le era raro porque de jóvenes eran súper cercanos pero ahora no tanto. Me reí y le aseguré que era cosa de hombres nomás, que yo tampoco hablaba mucho con mi familia aunque nos considero cercanos.
--Ya, entiendo--me dijo,--y para mí no es para tanto, pero a mi mamá le vuelve loca. Nos anda llamando todo el tiempo a mí y a mi hermana preguntándonos por él, que si está bien, que por qué no le devuelve la llamada. Pobre de ella.
ºººººººººººº
Mi mamá falleció el 20 de enero del 1996, un sábado soleado pero frío, ese frío del coño que nos ha estado haciendo en estos días. Había ido a jugar ráquetbol con una amiga y se cayó durante la jornada. Mi hermanita de trece años la vio caerse. Le hicieron el CPR y toda esa vaina pero nada, después de una hora estuvo muerta. Nos llamó mi hermana toda histérica y fuimos todos al hospital y aún recuerdo la reacción de mi papá cuando el doctor le dijo que no le podían hacer más nada. Mi papá se inundó con llanto, cosa que jamás había visto en mi vida; yo no lloraba en aquel momento, aunque me quedaban muchas lágrimas en espera.
Las primeras horas eran nublinosas, los días seguidos surreales, las noches inaguantables. Vino todo el mundo para ayudar: primos, tíos, amigos, conocidos, hasta desconocidos. Pero era ausente la que más quería que estuviera.
ºººººººººº
Mis hermanos son muy buenos en acordar la fecha y conmemorarlo. Yo, no tanto, por alguna razón. Y no es que no me doy cuenta de que es el veinte de enero. Puedo escribirlo cien veces en la fecha y no lo pienso dos veces. Este año era hasta que mi hermana puso algo en el Facebook que no me acordé de lo que había acontecido hace 18 años. A recordarlo me pasó una reacción más de curiosidad que tristeza, cosa que me hizo cuestionar mi humanidad. No sé si señale que haya recuperado del completo de ese golpe tremendo que nos dio, o que me quede aún toda la vida, quizá más, para poder hacerlo.
ººººººººººº
Mi madre era la mejor de todas. Yo sé que todos lo dicen, y es verdad cada vez que uno lo dice. Para cada uno su mamá es la única persona que la entienda de verdad, que sepa bien todas sus debilidades y fuerzas, que sepa bien cuando está mintiendo y cuando no, cuando uno esté feliz y cuando sólo se esté poniendo una máscara para que al mundo no se le vea el dolor. Con la mamá no hay secretos, o si hay, tú sólo piensas que es secreto; por algún lado tu mamá se lo sabe. Cada vez que yo me ponía esa máscara, mi mamá me la quitaba en un dos-por-tres. Desde que se me fue mi mami, no dejo que nadie, ni mis hermanos, ni mi papá, ni mi esposa, ni siquiera yo mismo, me la quite.
ºººººººººº
Varias veces me he preguntado como hubiera sido mi vida los últimos 18 años si ella siguiera con nosotros. Ella no quería que fuera a la Universidad de Iowa y fui. Cuando le dije a mi papá a los diecinueve años que quería vivir en Sudamérica, mi papá ni parpadeó: me dijo que fuera; seguro que Mamá no hubiera estado tan cómoda con tal idea. Pensando en la conversación con mi amiga en el almuerzo, me doy cuenta que hablo con mi papá una vez al mes, dos como máximo, y así está bien; no creo que supieramos de qué hablar si fuera más. Eso ha sido lo bueno de mi papá: nunca trató de ser nuestra mamá, ni siquiera cuando no estaba Mamá: se lo sabía imposible.
ºººººººººº
18 años con ella y 18 sin ella. Vaya simetría, ¿no? Me vio mi mami crecer más alto, ir a la escuela, aprender a leer, jugar al béisbol (siempre las mamás son las mejores fans, ¿no?), sacar buenas notas, empezar a pensar en las chicas, manejar, conseguir mi primera novia, emborracharme por primera vez, empezar una barba. No me vio graduarme ni de la secundaria ni de la Universidad, afeitarme, bailar salsa, hablar español, dar clase, crecer más ancho, comprar una casa, casarme, hacerme padre.
Pero lo más destacado es que mientras sigo sin ella, me voy dando cuenta que mientras disfrute mi vida y la viva de la mejor manera que pueda, no la vivo como podría si ella hubiera seguido con nosotros unos años, unos meses, unos días más. Porque la cosa es que tengo dieciocho años sin que me quite esta bendita máscara y no veo la manera que lo haga hasta que un día esté, de nuevo, a su lado, en sus brazos, en su vientre.
El otro día una compañera hablaba de sus conversaciones con su hermana y le pregunté con cuánta frecuencia le hablaba. Me dijo que hablaban con textos varias veces al día, intercambiando fotos de sus hijos y cosas así. Luego me dijo que así no eran las cosas con su hermano, que le era raro porque de jóvenes eran súper cercanos pero ahora no tanto. Me reí y le aseguré que era cosa de hombres nomás, que yo tampoco hablaba mucho con mi familia aunque nos considero cercanos.
--Ya, entiendo--me dijo,--y para mí no es para tanto, pero a mi mamá le vuelve loca. Nos anda llamando todo el tiempo a mí y a mi hermana preguntándonos por él, que si está bien, que por qué no le devuelve la llamada. Pobre de ella.
ºººººººººººº
Mi mamá falleció el 20 de enero del 1996, un sábado soleado pero frío, ese frío del coño que nos ha estado haciendo en estos días. Había ido a jugar ráquetbol con una amiga y se cayó durante la jornada. Mi hermanita de trece años la vio caerse. Le hicieron el CPR y toda esa vaina pero nada, después de una hora estuvo muerta. Nos llamó mi hermana toda histérica y fuimos todos al hospital y aún recuerdo la reacción de mi papá cuando el doctor le dijo que no le podían hacer más nada. Mi papá se inundó con llanto, cosa que jamás había visto en mi vida; yo no lloraba en aquel momento, aunque me quedaban muchas lágrimas en espera.
Las primeras horas eran nublinosas, los días seguidos surreales, las noches inaguantables. Vino todo el mundo para ayudar: primos, tíos, amigos, conocidos, hasta desconocidos. Pero era ausente la que más quería que estuviera.
ºººººººººº
Mis hermanos son muy buenos en acordar la fecha y conmemorarlo. Yo, no tanto, por alguna razón. Y no es que no me doy cuenta de que es el veinte de enero. Puedo escribirlo cien veces en la fecha y no lo pienso dos veces. Este año era hasta que mi hermana puso algo en el Facebook que no me acordé de lo que había acontecido hace 18 años. A recordarlo me pasó una reacción más de curiosidad que tristeza, cosa que me hizo cuestionar mi humanidad. No sé si señale que haya recuperado del completo de ese golpe tremendo que nos dio, o que me quede aún toda la vida, quizá más, para poder hacerlo.
ººººººººººº
Mi madre era la mejor de todas. Yo sé que todos lo dicen, y es verdad cada vez que uno lo dice. Para cada uno su mamá es la única persona que la entienda de verdad, que sepa bien todas sus debilidades y fuerzas, que sepa bien cuando está mintiendo y cuando no, cuando uno esté feliz y cuando sólo se esté poniendo una máscara para que al mundo no se le vea el dolor. Con la mamá no hay secretos, o si hay, tú sólo piensas que es secreto; por algún lado tu mamá se lo sabe. Cada vez que yo me ponía esa máscara, mi mamá me la quitaba en un dos-por-tres. Desde que se me fue mi mami, no dejo que nadie, ni mis hermanos, ni mi papá, ni mi esposa, ni siquiera yo mismo, me la quite.
ºººººººººº
Varias veces me he preguntado como hubiera sido mi vida los últimos 18 años si ella siguiera con nosotros. Ella no quería que fuera a la Universidad de Iowa y fui. Cuando le dije a mi papá a los diecinueve años que quería vivir en Sudamérica, mi papá ni parpadeó: me dijo que fuera; seguro que Mamá no hubiera estado tan cómoda con tal idea. Pensando en la conversación con mi amiga en el almuerzo, me doy cuenta que hablo con mi papá una vez al mes, dos como máximo, y así está bien; no creo que supieramos de qué hablar si fuera más. Eso ha sido lo bueno de mi papá: nunca trató de ser nuestra mamá, ni siquiera cuando no estaba Mamá: se lo sabía imposible.
ºººººººººº
18 años con ella y 18 sin ella. Vaya simetría, ¿no? Me vio mi mami crecer más alto, ir a la escuela, aprender a leer, jugar al béisbol (siempre las mamás son las mejores fans, ¿no?), sacar buenas notas, empezar a pensar en las chicas, manejar, conseguir mi primera novia, emborracharme por primera vez, empezar una barba. No me vio graduarme ni de la secundaria ni de la Universidad, afeitarme, bailar salsa, hablar español, dar clase, crecer más ancho, comprar una casa, casarme, hacerme padre.
Pero lo más destacado es que mientras sigo sin ella, me voy dando cuenta que mientras disfrute mi vida y la viva de la mejor manera que pueda, no la vivo como podría si ella hubiera seguido con nosotros unos años, unos meses, unos días más. Porque la cosa es que tengo dieciocho años sin que me quite esta bendita máscara y no veo la manera que lo haga hasta que un día esté, de nuevo, a su lado, en sus brazos, en su vientre.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! (With a twist of flowery red liquid)
For the last several years, New Years has been the biggest holiday of the year in our home, even eclipsing the absolute deluge of presents that Santa (i.e. Sonia) provides for us a week earlier on Christmas morning. The 838 Dover Party was originally born of selfish reasons: the first
year we had a child, Sonia and I still wanted to party on New Years Eve,
but knew it would be VERY difficult to find a babysitter. So, we
decided to invite some friends over, party, and also be able to watch
our child. Over the years, they have celebrated as much as us we do;
when Niko was three or four, we introduced a pinata into the routine and
it has been a staple over since.Part of this is due to the Peruvian way of celebrating this holiday; in Latin America (or at least Venezuela and Peru, where I have spent time), New Years is by far the most family oriented and sacred holiday of the year. You get very dressed up, prepare a banquet, and at twelve fireworks go off around the city. Over the years, myself and my gringo friends have contributed to make the party at 838 Dover Street a wonderful conglomeration of Latino and Gringo, a wonderful celebration of the year that was, and the year that will be.
Minus the fireworks, of course. It's WAY too fucking cold to stand around watching fireworks in January in Iowa.
*****
The last year, however, has been a little challenging for us. Now, I must emphasize that at no point none of our basic needs were ever in question: the house was paid for, we had health insurance, and food was on the table. For that, I am very grateful; Lord knows there are plenty who cannot count on these most basic needs. That being said, however, we had our downs: I was unemployed during the summer and Sonia during October and November. Our car was stolen (twice!). To top off the year, our Jeep decided it needed $1500 worth of repairs. Again, not anything life threatening, but we definitely had to be very careful (and creative) with our money during the year. Also, in October, Sonia had a much needed hip replacement done. The surgery was a blessing from God and I am SO thankful we were able to do it; but it certainly turned the house upside down for a few months.
All this being said, by the end of December, we. were. just. worn. out.
*****
In this context, Sonia and I lay in bed on the evening of December 25, very happy that our kids had a joyous Christmas (mostly due to Sonia) and that my sister, her husband, and daughter had been able to visit for a day on their way back to Atlanta. We then began to discuss the upcoming New Years.
"Do you want to do the party like we always do?" Sonia asked.
This question I had to answer carefully. I know how important New Years is to her.
"Whatever you want," I said. Can't go wrong there!
"Maybe we should take it easy," she said.
Yes! "Maybe we should," I agreed.
"No party?" she said.
"No party," I agreed. "How about we just get some pizza, sit around, and watch the ball drop?"
"Okay."
"Are you sure that's okay with you?" I asked. "I mean, really, just do nothing?"
"Just for this year," she said, "I think it's the best."
"Okay," I said, "we'll take it easy for this year. Nothing."
"Nothing," she agreed.
*****
I was to find out my wife and I have very different mental images of "Nothing".
*****
December 26. It started out innocently enough. "My sister and her family are coming over for New Years. Probably my dad, too."
"No problem."
"And maybe you should call Wiley. And Fernando. And Victoria. And Jialing. And your aunt [hereafter, "the people"]."
"Why?"
"For New Years."
"I thought we weren't doing anything."
"We're not. But in case they want to come over."
*****
December 28. "Mi amor, did you call the people yet?"
"No. I thought we weren't doing anything."
"Well, that doesn't mean we can't have people over."
That's exactly what it means, I think. "Well, I'll see."
"Well, you should call them. Otherwise they may make other plans."
Isn't that kind of the point?
*****
December 29. "Mi amor, did you call the people yet?"
"No."
"Well, you need to do that. Also, I need to go the mall."
"Why?"
"We all need new clothes. We don't want the start the New Years with old clothes."
"Seriously? I thought we weren't doing anything."
"Well, no. But we gotta have new clothes on. It's bad luck if you don't."
*****
December 30. "Mi amor, are you going to Hy-Vee?"
"Yes."
"Okay, we need white rice, a ham and cheese tray, a vegetable tray, shrimp, shrimp sauce, regular champagne, non-alcoholic champagne, juice boxes for kids. Maybe a couple frozen pizzas we can cut up."
That's a lot of shit. "Why?"
"For New Years."
"But I thought we weren't doing anything."
"We're not. But we need stuff for the guests."
"What guests?"
"Well, you know, my family. And the people you called. How many are coming over?"
"I haven't called anyone."
"WHAT! New Years is tomorrow!!"
"I know, but...you know...we said we weren't doing anything."
"We're not. But that doesn't mean we should just sit around by ourselves doing nothing."
*****
December 31. White rice has been thrown all the corners of the house. My pants pockets have been stuffed with money, so that the New Year may bring us financial prosperity. We have the suitcases upstairs: I have been told that at twelve we must run around with them so that we may travel in 2014. There are trays of food on the kitchen table, and several cups, each with 12 grapes, representing the twelve months of the New Year. I asked how, at midnight, we were supposed to simultaneously run with suitcases, stuff our mouths with grapes, drink champagne, and kiss our significant other (the American tradition)?
"You always worry about the minor stuff," I was told.
Right now I find myself naked in the bathtub, my wife with a pitcher of lukewarm red liquid. She has boiled water and then inserted several different flower petals; if we bathe ourselves in this mixture, it will bring us good fortune for the year to come. For a moment, I think back to 2000, the last time I had a New Years before I knew of the myriad of traditions found across the world for this special day (all of which, by some crazy twist of fate, the Peruvians seem to follow!!). Back then, all I knew of New Years was that you had a few drinks (some more than others), and then at midnight, you kissed someone (ideally, a significant other, or failing that, at least an acquaintance; but hey, in a pinch, a total stranger works as well). We Americans are so vapid!! What I wouldn't give right now to go back to that!!!
The red liquid crashes over me. Sonia hands me a towel.
"Okay, get dressed. The people will be here soon."
I dry off and begin dressing. Sonia calls in from the bathroom.
"Mi amor, isn't this nice? Just doing nothing for New Years?"
I wipe off some red liquid from my feet. "Yes, baby. Doing nothing is wonderful."
*****
Happy New Year to all of you!!! May 2014 bring you all your hopes and dreams!!!
Failing that, I'm sure Sonia can whip up some flowery red liquid for you....
Beijinhos, minha gente!!!
Minus the fireworks, of course. It's WAY too fucking cold to stand around watching fireworks in January in Iowa.
*****
The last year, however, has been a little challenging for us. Now, I must emphasize that at no point none of our basic needs were ever in question: the house was paid for, we had health insurance, and food was on the table. For that, I am very grateful; Lord knows there are plenty who cannot count on these most basic needs. That being said, however, we had our downs: I was unemployed during the summer and Sonia during October and November. Our car was stolen (twice!). To top off the year, our Jeep decided it needed $1500 worth of repairs. Again, not anything life threatening, but we definitely had to be very careful (and creative) with our money during the year. Also, in October, Sonia had a much needed hip replacement done. The surgery was a blessing from God and I am SO thankful we were able to do it; but it certainly turned the house upside down for a few months.
All this being said, by the end of December, we. were. just. worn. out.
*****
In this context, Sonia and I lay in bed on the evening of December 25, very happy that our kids had a joyous Christmas (mostly due to Sonia) and that my sister, her husband, and daughter had been able to visit for a day on their way back to Atlanta. We then began to discuss the upcoming New Years.
"Do you want to do the party like we always do?" Sonia asked.
This question I had to answer carefully. I know how important New Years is to her.
"Whatever you want," I said. Can't go wrong there!
"Maybe we should take it easy," she said.
Yes! "Maybe we should," I agreed.
"No party?" she said.
"No party," I agreed. "How about we just get some pizza, sit around, and watch the ball drop?"
"Okay."
"Are you sure that's okay with you?" I asked. "I mean, really, just do nothing?"
"Just for this year," she said, "I think it's the best."
"Okay," I said, "we'll take it easy for this year. Nothing."
"Nothing," she agreed.
*****
I was to find out my wife and I have very different mental images of "Nothing".
*****
December 26. It started out innocently enough. "My sister and her family are coming over for New Years. Probably my dad, too."
"No problem."
"And maybe you should call Wiley. And Fernando. And Victoria. And Jialing. And your aunt [hereafter, "the people"]."
"Why?"
"For New Years."
"I thought we weren't doing anything."
"We're not. But in case they want to come over."
*****
December 28. "Mi amor, did you call the people yet?"
"No. I thought we weren't doing anything."
"Well, that doesn't mean we can't have people over."
That's exactly what it means, I think. "Well, I'll see."
"Well, you should call them. Otherwise they may make other plans."
Isn't that kind of the point?
*****
December 29. "Mi amor, did you call the people yet?"
"No."
"Well, you need to do that. Also, I need to go the mall."
"Why?"
"We all need new clothes. We don't want the start the New Years with old clothes."
"Seriously? I thought we weren't doing anything."
"Well, no. But we gotta have new clothes on. It's bad luck if you don't."
*****
December 30. "Mi amor, are you going to Hy-Vee?"
"Yes."
"Okay, we need white rice, a ham and cheese tray, a vegetable tray, shrimp, shrimp sauce, regular champagne, non-alcoholic champagne, juice boxes for kids. Maybe a couple frozen pizzas we can cut up."
That's a lot of shit. "Why?"
"For New Years."
"But I thought we weren't doing anything."
"We're not. But we need stuff for the guests."
"What guests?"
"Well, you know, my family. And the people you called. How many are coming over?"
"I haven't called anyone."
"WHAT! New Years is tomorrow!!"
"I know, but...you know...we said we weren't doing anything."
"We're not. But that doesn't mean we should just sit around by ourselves doing nothing."
*****
December 31. White rice has been thrown all the corners of the house. My pants pockets have been stuffed with money, so that the New Year may bring us financial prosperity. We have the suitcases upstairs: I have been told that at twelve we must run around with them so that we may travel in 2014. There are trays of food on the kitchen table, and several cups, each with 12 grapes, representing the twelve months of the New Year. I asked how, at midnight, we were supposed to simultaneously run with suitcases, stuff our mouths with grapes, drink champagne, and kiss our significant other (the American tradition)?
"You always worry about the minor stuff," I was told.
Right now I find myself naked in the bathtub, my wife with a pitcher of lukewarm red liquid. She has boiled water and then inserted several different flower petals; if we bathe ourselves in this mixture, it will bring us good fortune for the year to come. For a moment, I think back to 2000, the last time I had a New Years before I knew of the myriad of traditions found across the world for this special day (all of which, by some crazy twist of fate, the Peruvians seem to follow!!). Back then, all I knew of New Years was that you had a few drinks (some more than others), and then at midnight, you kissed someone (ideally, a significant other, or failing that, at least an acquaintance; but hey, in a pinch, a total stranger works as well). We Americans are so vapid!! What I wouldn't give right now to go back to that!!!
The red liquid crashes over me. Sonia hands me a towel.
"Okay, get dressed. The people will be here soon."
I dry off and begin dressing. Sonia calls in from the bathroom.
"Mi amor, isn't this nice? Just doing nothing for New Years?"
I wipe off some red liquid from my feet. "Yes, baby. Doing nothing is wonderful."
*****
Happy New Year to all of you!!! May 2014 bring you all your hopes and dreams!!!
Failing that, I'm sure Sonia can whip up some flowery red liquid for you....
Beijinhos, minha gente!!!
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