i heard on a movie once that the pacific has no memory. i wonder if that's true. the last time i saw the face of that blue water, i was in another country, and two months out from losing my father. i saw his face in the sunset and the sailboats every night, and drank away his voice at the bar when the sun was gone from the sky. i hope the pacific i see this go around is a little more on the peaceful side.
spring is here. i can smell it in the air...the pregnant smell of freshly turned soil and the faint taste of salt from the sea that seems to be wafting up from the coast. i read a book about horses this week and i harkened back to my childhood...to the way fields would roll past the car window and i would day dream the whole way to where ever we were going...about who i would become...who i would marry...what i would be when i grew up.
if we went north, i knew i would see terraces, shallow and full of hay or wheat or cows at the snodgrass dairy just outside of town, my grandmother would point out shortcuts to the farms where she lived as a child. my grandfather would talk about the doodlebug train that ran from here to there and could be boarded at the depot, which i only ever knew as an art gallery. and the toilet factory and the smell of tape as we crested the hill into the metropolis seemed to promise new school clothes or a roller skating adventure or a movie and later, it meant i was on a date.
if we went west, i knew the land would flatten, flatten flatten and maize would give way to cotton would give way to maize would give way to cotton and in the middle of nowhere every 20 or 30 minutes out of the flat distance would spring the iron and rust of the oil pumper, going like some beast from the past or the future, making money out of light sweet crude or something. i kenw we were going to the doctor or shopping or that i was going to have to run some crazy distance to see if i could actually make it. i knew that road like the back of my hand, and soon the curves didn't mean anything in the road because they just tasted like tears. and they smelled like cigarettes and anger and that adrenaline smell you get in your nose when you fall down and aren't sure if you're ok or not. and the only good thing about that road was the rest stop 26 miles exactly outside of town, because i made out there with a boy i loved once. i still have a fond place in my heart for rest stops, just because of that. it was a catharsis...i hurt so badly that day, and was so angry and so so so sad that kisses seemed to be the only thing that could even come close to being any kind of a balm. that being said, i still hate it when he visits my sleep, which he did last week, and which i am still angry over. that town, those memories, most of them are just another word for hell. someplace i don't ever want to go again.
if we went south, the hills would roll roll roll and surely a thunderhead would loom just out of mason and i would watch the rain come on over the hills and be amazed that i could see so far and live in such a magical land. and sometimes, instead of reading about harriet tubman or anne frank or singing along to the beach boys, my mother would tell stories about jackalopes or indians and i would be right back in the 1840's. and we would drive by cherry springs, where the last comanche captive owned a dance hall and aunt sarah and uncle billy saw elvis and jerry lee lewis on a double bill one night. going that way meant camp, or the alamo, or the riverwalk, or friends or the beach or the lbj ranch or fredricksburg, which always meant that i woud hear stories.
we almost never went north, unless we were going someplace else entirely in a different state. the fields and trees and small towns gave way to rolling prairie and interstates and soon i could drive, but didn't much want to because i wanted to sleep and read my very important books and think my very important thougths and be so sure that no one understood me at all. the road to dallas feels 15 to me. like i want to cry and laugh and take over the world. and it means the mississippi river, too.
elton john is on my mind. i am a very small child, and i am hearing "rocket man". or james taylor or jim croce or jesus christ superstar, and i can hear the lines on the records and now i miss those noises when i listen to them on my cds. the snap and the crackle and the way a pipe smells and because it's spring, i'm a little happy and a little sad, and mostly i miss my daddy and my poppa. i still have so many questions. not the least of which are about the fields and the crackels and how to buy the right air filter and not get hosed buying tires and if this all makes sense one day. that's all. i hope the pacific has a merciful memory...deep, but not painful.
dona nobis pacem.
mil besos--rmg
18 March 2008
06 March 2008
the bar association and other musings
Oh, the bar, scene of so many happy evenings, interesting conversations, and even true love. A good bar is hard to find. My favorite bar in the whole world? That’s easy—Mean Eyed Cat, in Austin, Texas. It’s a Johnny Cash-themed bar, the beer is always cold (you can get Lone Star Light in a bottle, which is my litmus test for any good bar), and the music selection is unparalleled anywhere in the known universe. I truly do love that bar. What I love more about that bar are the people I go there with—it’s one of those places you only go with certain people, special people, because you want to savor the evening, and not worry about who’s staring you down, or how many beers you really ought to have.
Bars are funny places, and the feelings they bring out in me are many. I very rarely end up leaving a bar totally shit-canned. I also can say I’ve never left a bar with anyone I didn’t come in with. I have held friends’ hair while they vomited in bars. I have held friends’ hands’ while they cried in bars. I have hidden in the back of a bar to avoid talking to people who creep me out. I dug thrown up mushrooms out of a bar sink one night, to avoid my co-worker being arrested for an intoxication in public ticket. And one fateful night, at a bar called Blaine’s, I got up and danced on the tables when Sweet Home Alabama came over the speakers.
I remember when I thought bars were like Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders—full of delights and drama the likes of which I never could imagine. There’s a part of me that’s disappointed every time I rediscover that a bar is just a public living room, filled with people you don’t know.
Just like bars, most things in life are not the way I thought they would be. I thought by now that I would be married, or at least close to it, have a kid, maybe have a law degree, or be doing something fabulous in policy creation or in the non-profit sector. Instead, I quit a job I was good at, moved in with my mother (to whom I am terribly grateful), I had a very non-traditional, job taking care of my cousin with CP and his twin brother who is totally fine, except that he’s a 12 year old male, took a job for yet another church, bought a house, and set about to start my real-live adult life. There have been random crushes in the middle, one that showed some promise, but turned out to be nothing to get excited about. Reality is not what you imagine. Reality is what really IS, regardless of where my peers have ended up. This is my life—confusing, complex, never boring. It’s not where I imagined I would be, staring down the barrel of 30. But it all belongs to me.
See, most people have a pretty good idea of what they are supposed to do and be. I am supremely jealous of those people. For example: I changed majors five times in college. God bless my mother for never yelling at me like the rest of too many other mothers faced with vacillating and vexing offspring. Mom told me, “Babe, you know exactly how much money you have for college. You know exactly how many hours that will buy. Study what you want, and worry about making money later.” Good advice, to be sure, but now that I’m sitting on history degree, with a minor in political science, I’m wondering why I couldn’t have picked a major that was interesting AND lucrative.
I can tell you all about political theory and the rise of empires in Europe. I know the military history of Rome and the rise of the Republic. I think those things are important. I think those things are worth knowing. But I’d also like to know how in the world those things are supposed to get me to retirement, with something besides my big fat brain chock full of trivia to support me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not disappointed with my life at all. I’m very grateful to be alive, to be reasonably healthy, reasonably sane, and reasonably intelligent. I’m grateful for the opportunities of which I have been able to take advantage. I have lived a big life, up to this point. The question looming on my mind, and I’m sure it’s on the mind of my friends and family, is, “What in the hell comes next for Rachel?”
There have been many nights in my life when I have lain awake in bed, tempted by forces unseen to pack a bag, gas up my car, and just start driving. (My friend Dustin, who is a hero in my pantheon, suggested that I do just that as a remedy for my quarter life crisis. Instead, I went to the beach and worried about work the whole time I was gone. So much for advice…) But every time I sit up in bed and wonder which bag would hold the most stuff, or who I would call when I got to where ever I was going, all I can think about is the shit that would hit the fan once I was really gone. Where would my car payment come from? How would I pay Capital One the fee they are due this month? How would I explain to my family that I just had to bug out and find myself?
Find myself—God, but that sounds so freaking cliché. It’s a poor phrase, but so dead on the money. Where IS me? Is me what I own, or is me what owns me? Am I more than the sum of my credit card statements? Am I more than the degree that I still haven’t had framed, and have only actually looked at twice? Am I more than just my parents’ child? Am I more than all the jobs I’ve had, all the jobs I’ve not taken, all the jobs I’ve been turned down for? Am I more than the friend I have been, the sister I have tried to be? What in the fuck am I doing? Is there any end to the questions? More than that, is there even one sensible answer to even one of the questions? When do I stop asking the dumb questions, and start asking the smart ones? Is there a drug for this? Is there a premium on questions? Is there a surcharge if I ask the wrong ones? The answer, I think is always “Yes”. And the answer is always, “No”. This means that I’m right where I’m supposed to be: the most damnable place of all, if you ask me.
Do I imagine that I am going to find some state of inner peace by finding artful and artless pieces of graffiti scrawled on the bathrooms across this country? Do I think that one day, I will walk into some diner with my digital camera and find my soul mate? Do I think that anyone besides my family and friends will want to read any of what I have to say? Yes. Probably. Maybe not, but it’s worth the shot, right? I mean, going off to do “book research” sounds a hell of a lot more noble than “finding myself”.
I am as mystified by life and my place in the universe in my late 20’s as I was at 17. The upside, if that’s what I can call it, is that I am not alone. Oh no, not alone, not by a long shot. Three quarters of the people I call “friend” right now are suffering right along with me. We are clueless. Some of us know what we want to be. Some of us know who we want to be with. Some of us have an idea of where we want to go, and a few have an idea of how to get there. But for the most part, we are stumbling along together, leaning one on the other, trying to make our way into the wide world. In some ways, the advantages our parents gave us have crippled us. In some ways, the progress they made has hindered our development. How else do you explain the fact that half of all marriages fail? How else do you explain upper and middle class child neglect? How else do you explain our inability to function without cell phones, SUV’s, and the internet?
We are a generation of infants with adult bodies. We have the ability to reason, but not the wherewithal to get any real life business taken care of. We are horribly lazy. We have no voice in the public square, because we can’t find our cohesion, other than to be angst-ridden and wear the throw back clothing of our parents’ generation. We want to be cool, but we forget that when you are cool, you also have substance. And we don’t want substance, because that just takes too much fucking work.
Some of us are motivated, yes. But to what end? So we can drive the two-story, eight mile to the gallon behemoth that Hummer just put out? So we can buy a monstrosity of a domicile in some cookie-cutter neighborhood and fill it with stuff from Ikea and play house with the last person we had sex with because we think we might make pretty babies with them? What are we doing? What do we want to do? I ask myself that question, and I have trouble getting an answer. I ask my friends that question, and I have trouble getting an answer.
I want more than a house. I want more than a husband. I want more than two point five children. I want more than a volunteer position at the hospital auxiliary. I want more than a career. I want more than credit card bills and unrivaled cell phone reception. But I have no idea what that means. I don’t think it means going back to school and getting that Masters’ Degree in Renaissance Art that I’ve been toying with. I don’t think it means joining an on-line dating service because I’m too afraid to see what’s out there on my own. I don’t think it means freaking out and freezing my eggs before I turn 30, because I might not get married and I want to have a kid. I don’t think it means getting a job at the local coffee house to pay down my credit card debt faster. And I don’t think it means laying awake at night worrying about urban renewal policy and universal healthcare insurance.
In the final analysis, I think answering those questions is going to mean a lot of things. And it’s going to mean only one thing. The lot of things will lead to the one thing. Very Zen, I know. But at 1:20 on a Tuesday morning, it makes good sense to me.
Of all the things that I do know, I know this: I will not find bliss at the bottom of a coffee cup, unless I am sharing a cup of coffee with a good friend. I will not find my purpose in life sitting on my ass, letting life pass me by. I have, as have we all, an infinite amount of potential within me. And unless I am willing to waste that potential, (which I am not, because I firmly believe that all sin boils down to waste) I won’t find the many or the one.
Bars are funny places, and the feelings they bring out in me are many. I very rarely end up leaving a bar totally shit-canned. I also can say I’ve never left a bar with anyone I didn’t come in with. I have held friends’ hair while they vomited in bars. I have held friends’ hands’ while they cried in bars. I have hidden in the back of a bar to avoid talking to people who creep me out. I dug thrown up mushrooms out of a bar sink one night, to avoid my co-worker being arrested for an intoxication in public ticket. And one fateful night, at a bar called Blaine’s, I got up and danced on the tables when Sweet Home Alabama came over the speakers.
I remember when I thought bars were like Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders—full of delights and drama the likes of which I never could imagine. There’s a part of me that’s disappointed every time I rediscover that a bar is just a public living room, filled with people you don’t know.
Just like bars, most things in life are not the way I thought they would be. I thought by now that I would be married, or at least close to it, have a kid, maybe have a law degree, or be doing something fabulous in policy creation or in the non-profit sector. Instead, I quit a job I was good at, moved in with my mother (to whom I am terribly grateful), I had a very non-traditional, job taking care of my cousin with CP and his twin brother who is totally fine, except that he’s a 12 year old male, took a job for yet another church, bought a house, and set about to start my real-live adult life. There have been random crushes in the middle, one that showed some promise, but turned out to be nothing to get excited about. Reality is not what you imagine. Reality is what really IS, regardless of where my peers have ended up. This is my life—confusing, complex, never boring. It’s not where I imagined I would be, staring down the barrel of 30. But it all belongs to me.
See, most people have a pretty good idea of what they are supposed to do and be. I am supremely jealous of those people. For example: I changed majors five times in college. God bless my mother for never yelling at me like the rest of too many other mothers faced with vacillating and vexing offspring. Mom told me, “Babe, you know exactly how much money you have for college. You know exactly how many hours that will buy. Study what you want, and worry about making money later.” Good advice, to be sure, but now that I’m sitting on history degree, with a minor in political science, I’m wondering why I couldn’t have picked a major that was interesting AND lucrative.
I can tell you all about political theory and the rise of empires in Europe. I know the military history of Rome and the rise of the Republic. I think those things are important. I think those things are worth knowing. But I’d also like to know how in the world those things are supposed to get me to retirement, with something besides my big fat brain chock full of trivia to support me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not disappointed with my life at all. I’m very grateful to be alive, to be reasonably healthy, reasonably sane, and reasonably intelligent. I’m grateful for the opportunities of which I have been able to take advantage. I have lived a big life, up to this point. The question looming on my mind, and I’m sure it’s on the mind of my friends and family, is, “What in the hell comes next for Rachel?”
There have been many nights in my life when I have lain awake in bed, tempted by forces unseen to pack a bag, gas up my car, and just start driving. (My friend Dustin, who is a hero in my pantheon, suggested that I do just that as a remedy for my quarter life crisis. Instead, I went to the beach and worried about work the whole time I was gone. So much for advice…) But every time I sit up in bed and wonder which bag would hold the most stuff, or who I would call when I got to where ever I was going, all I can think about is the shit that would hit the fan once I was really gone. Where would my car payment come from? How would I pay Capital One the fee they are due this month? How would I explain to my family that I just had to bug out and find myself?
Find myself—God, but that sounds so freaking cliché. It’s a poor phrase, but so dead on the money. Where IS me? Is me what I own, or is me what owns me? Am I more than the sum of my credit card statements? Am I more than the degree that I still haven’t had framed, and have only actually looked at twice? Am I more than just my parents’ child? Am I more than all the jobs I’ve had, all the jobs I’ve not taken, all the jobs I’ve been turned down for? Am I more than the friend I have been, the sister I have tried to be? What in the fuck am I doing? Is there any end to the questions? More than that, is there even one sensible answer to even one of the questions? When do I stop asking the dumb questions, and start asking the smart ones? Is there a drug for this? Is there a premium on questions? Is there a surcharge if I ask the wrong ones? The answer, I think is always “Yes”. And the answer is always, “No”. This means that I’m right where I’m supposed to be: the most damnable place of all, if you ask me.
Do I imagine that I am going to find some state of inner peace by finding artful and artless pieces of graffiti scrawled on the bathrooms across this country? Do I think that one day, I will walk into some diner with my digital camera and find my soul mate? Do I think that anyone besides my family and friends will want to read any of what I have to say? Yes. Probably. Maybe not, but it’s worth the shot, right? I mean, going off to do “book research” sounds a hell of a lot more noble than “finding myself”.
I am as mystified by life and my place in the universe in my late 20’s as I was at 17. The upside, if that’s what I can call it, is that I am not alone. Oh no, not alone, not by a long shot. Three quarters of the people I call “friend” right now are suffering right along with me. We are clueless. Some of us know what we want to be. Some of us know who we want to be with. Some of us have an idea of where we want to go, and a few have an idea of how to get there. But for the most part, we are stumbling along together, leaning one on the other, trying to make our way into the wide world. In some ways, the advantages our parents gave us have crippled us. In some ways, the progress they made has hindered our development. How else do you explain the fact that half of all marriages fail? How else do you explain upper and middle class child neglect? How else do you explain our inability to function without cell phones, SUV’s, and the internet?
We are a generation of infants with adult bodies. We have the ability to reason, but not the wherewithal to get any real life business taken care of. We are horribly lazy. We have no voice in the public square, because we can’t find our cohesion, other than to be angst-ridden and wear the throw back clothing of our parents’ generation. We want to be cool, but we forget that when you are cool, you also have substance. And we don’t want substance, because that just takes too much fucking work.
Some of us are motivated, yes. But to what end? So we can drive the two-story, eight mile to the gallon behemoth that Hummer just put out? So we can buy a monstrosity of a domicile in some cookie-cutter neighborhood and fill it with stuff from Ikea and play house with the last person we had sex with because we think we might make pretty babies with them? What are we doing? What do we want to do? I ask myself that question, and I have trouble getting an answer. I ask my friends that question, and I have trouble getting an answer.
I want more than a house. I want more than a husband. I want more than two point five children. I want more than a volunteer position at the hospital auxiliary. I want more than a career. I want more than credit card bills and unrivaled cell phone reception. But I have no idea what that means. I don’t think it means going back to school and getting that Masters’ Degree in Renaissance Art that I’ve been toying with. I don’t think it means joining an on-line dating service because I’m too afraid to see what’s out there on my own. I don’t think it means freaking out and freezing my eggs before I turn 30, because I might not get married and I want to have a kid. I don’t think it means getting a job at the local coffee house to pay down my credit card debt faster. And I don’t think it means laying awake at night worrying about urban renewal policy and universal healthcare insurance.
In the final analysis, I think answering those questions is going to mean a lot of things. And it’s going to mean only one thing. The lot of things will lead to the one thing. Very Zen, I know. But at 1:20 on a Tuesday morning, it makes good sense to me.
Of all the things that I do know, I know this: I will not find bliss at the bottom of a coffee cup, unless I am sharing a cup of coffee with a good friend. I will not find my purpose in life sitting on my ass, letting life pass me by. I have, as have we all, an infinite amount of potential within me. And unless I am willing to waste that potential, (which I am not, because I firmly believe that all sin boils down to waste) I won’t find the many or the one.
mil besos--rmg
01 February 2008
portrait of a lady
she told me a lot of stories. about losing her youngest son, about getting sober, about how much she loved her husband. she told me about her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren, about trying to raise four kids on one income, about her husband's heart attack. she told me about how good God had been to her and how much she loved me bringing her communion. she told me how pretty i was, how blue my eyes were, and how she would dance at my wedding.
we had some inside jokes. we always laughed a lot. she kissed me on the cheek when i would leave, and i would spend most of the visit holding her hand. she had the same birthday as my nephew, and always asked about him when i would go for a visit. she was a complicated woman, but always the consumate lady. always gracious, always complementary, always focused. i felt like i'd known her my whole life and i only knew her for about a year and a half. her children said she'd kept every card i'd ever mailed to her.
when my office manager came into my office monday morning to tell me she had died, my outlook had just reminded me that i had an appointment with her at 3pm. i got up, shut my door, and put my head down on my desk and cried like a little kid. it's not that i was sad for her. i was sad for me--she had become my friend, and i had come to look forward to our visits. in this business, i try not to have favorites...but she was my favorite. and today, we will honor her life. and i will smile and be glad that i knew her. and tonight, i will go home, crack open some champagne, and celebrate another week, another life i got to share, and be grateful.
welcom home, sweet jomeree! i can't wait to see you, again. and we will both be dancing.
mil besos,
rmg
we had some inside jokes. we always laughed a lot. she kissed me on the cheek when i would leave, and i would spend most of the visit holding her hand. she had the same birthday as my nephew, and always asked about him when i would go for a visit. she was a complicated woman, but always the consumate lady. always gracious, always complementary, always focused. i felt like i'd known her my whole life and i only knew her for about a year and a half. her children said she'd kept every card i'd ever mailed to her.
when my office manager came into my office monday morning to tell me she had died, my outlook had just reminded me that i had an appointment with her at 3pm. i got up, shut my door, and put my head down on my desk and cried like a little kid. it's not that i was sad for her. i was sad for me--she had become my friend, and i had come to look forward to our visits. in this business, i try not to have favorites...but she was my favorite. and today, we will honor her life. and i will smile and be glad that i knew her. and tonight, i will go home, crack open some champagne, and celebrate another week, another life i got to share, and be grateful.
welcom home, sweet jomeree! i can't wait to see you, again. and we will both be dancing.
mil besos,
rmg
24 January 2008
thoughts on planting...
I took this picture in the bathroom at Gruene Hall, which boasts the oldest dance floor in Texas. I’ve literally danced out of my shoes at Gruene Hall, sung at the top of my lungs, and consumed more beers than I’m comfortable counting. My mom always jokes that we’ll rent it out for my wedding reception one day. It’s a great place, one of my favorite places in the world, I suppose.
But this story is not about Gruene Hall. In fact, the story that goes with this picture happened a long way from Gruene Hall, about as far away from a party spot as you could get, if you want to know the truth. This is a story about being on the edge of things. That’s what this picture reminds me of—that thin edge of reality we all secretly stand on, but want to pretend doesn’t really scare the pants off of us. That thin edge of reality that we get to avoid because we have a little money put back, a job that pays our bills, a family that can bail us out, and friends who keep us sane. That thin edge of reality that reminds us that today, this minute, this situation, and this breath are secretly all that we really, really, really have. That thin edge that is the same edge for you and me and every other person in the whole wide world.
You might remember that I went to Mexico last summer for a week. Hands down, this was one of the most amazing weeks of my entire life. We did hot, sweaty, tiring work. We helped with vacation Bible school, put a new roof on the church sandbox, demolished a house and leveled a lot, and put up a structure for community meals. In the end, we came away with much more than we brought. At least, I came away with more than I brought.
The colonias along the border are famous for their squalor, sort of kingdoms of abject poverty, poor hygienic conditions, and an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. The houses in the colonias are barely houses in the way you and I think about living structures. They are sometimes cinderblock, but most frequently corrugated metal and cardboard, shored up with wooden pallets scavenged from where ever they can be found, held together with bailing wire, crooked nails, glue, chicken wire, twist ties from old bread bags, and God knows what else. Some colonias have running water and electricity, or paved roads. Most of them don’t have any kind of amenity you and I would find in our own subdivisions. But they all have a soccer field. And bands of feral children and mangy dogs and wild cats roaming through the streets. The colonias are desperate places to live. Living that close to the bone, living so close to nothing—no safety net, no savings, no nothing, has got to be hard. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like.
I’ve never gone to bed hungry because there was nothing to eat in my house. I’ve never gone to bed being afraid that someone could come in and take everything and everyone I lived with. I’ve never been at the end of my rope, with no place left to go. I’ve never had to get up every morning and wonder how to feed, clothe, and shelter my family. I’ve never watched my child’s face get eaten up by ringworm, or had to bury a child because they got sick from drinking contaminated drinking water. I don’t understand that kind of poverty or that kind of pain. I had the good fortune of being born into a family that had jobs, houses, stuff, etc. As I looked at the faces of the young women in the colonia, some who were my age but looked much older, I marveled at the crap-shoot my good fortune really is. And I tried not to feel guilty.
On the first day of the trip, my job was to help staff the vacation Bible school at the colonia called “Colocio”. This was the “poor” colonia. I thought the hardest part of my day was going to be calling back Spanish phrases I hadn’t used in years, trying to drown out the drone of my Spanish teachers telling me “Rachel, pay attention to your conjugation!”. I was wrong. The hardest part of the day wasn't trying to look past the lice that climbed over the heads and faces of three and four year olds, or trying not to scrape myself on the nails protruding from every hard surface, or dodging rocks in the ground that seemed hell-bent on not letting us sit down, or trying to stay under the sunshade and help glue flowers to papers, or having to remember not to refill my water bottle from the tap. The hardest part of my day was realizing that what I thought I was bringing to Piedras Negras was nothing, in fact.
I came to Mexico thinking that we would be helping out so much by doing what amounted to crowd control and manual labor. That by the end of the week, we would have shown ourselves to be magnanimous people who wanted to help these people better their situation, not the ugly Americans who want to build walls and fences. I imagined that we were going to be heros, in some form or fashion. What I left with, on that first day, was a decidedly different impression. I came to understand that I wasn’t there to build, or staff, or speak. I was there to bear witness, to be present. I was there to hold small children’s hands, kiss their faces, learn their names and tell them mine. There was not one single thing I could do, or be, or give, or teach that was worth anything. But my presence, my willingness to be present and invested, and not look away from the poverty and the mess and the smell but to look right into it, was worth everything. Sometimes, most times, the best thing we can do in any situation is to acknowledge that the situation is there. Not to fix it, or go around it, but to sit and recognize the fact of the matter. That was my job, my real job, anyway.
We were treated like family, by every person we came into contact with, and not just the church people who were hosting us. Every mother of every child, every brother and sister, every little kid, every watermelon vendor, every truck driver with a load of stuff for us treated us like we were family. They smiled, spoke slowly, and thanked us for what we were doing. They thanked us for coming to spend time with them, for playing soccer and teaching them how to jump double-dutch. They thanked us for dancing with them, for raking dirt, for Gatorade, for bothering to be with them. They thanked us for acknowledging them as people. Can you imagine? It was enough to fill my heart to the brim, and break it a little, so it could hold even more.
As we drove out of Colocio on that first day, down a road that was more pot holes than actual road, we passed dwelling after dwelling that seemed to go from bad to worse. We found out that this particular colonia had just been granted running water and electricity four years ago. Some yards had chickens or a small garden. Most had wee little children hiding in whatever shade they could find, waving madly at our big white van. Dogs ran around the van in circles, so the going was slow, sometimes so slow that I just wanted to lay down in the seat, cry and imagine myself away from that place. It’s hard to see something like the colonias and not wish it away. But I stayed sitting up, willing myself to just accept what was in front of me, and not go to the magical beach that lives in my head.
Just before we turned back toward the church to have lunch, we passed a house that looked like it was about ready to fall down. The house just looked stressed out and tired, like the mortar and the cinderblocks had just seen too much and were about to give up the ghost. And up against the fence was this beautiful climbing rose bush, in full flower. I caught my breath at the sight of it, awestruck by the appearance of something so pretty in a place that seemed so bent on being ugly and awful.
I’d like to tell you that my first thought was “Oh, how nice…someone planted a rosebush in their yard, just like home…”. My honest first thought was “Why bother? Why? When you’ve got a dirt yard, and a dirt floor, and have to live with 27 other people and God knows what else in that house, why?” And my second thought was, “ That’s by-God the most hopeful thing I’ve seen in a long time, in a place where hope comes at a high cost.” Who knew such riches lay before me in such a poor, poor place? Who knew that on that knife-edge of life and death, some gentle soul would have the audacity to plant a rosebush, to give color and beauty to a little corner of someplace that so desperately needs it. They gave it to me, as well.
I have thought about that rosebush every single day since I saw it. That rosebush has haunted my thoughts, my dreams, my prayers, and my wishes. It’s easy to get so bogged down in the grind, to see nothing but the dirt and the mess and the cycle that keeps you dirty and messy, whether you live in a ritzy suburb or a colonia.
But this story is not about Gruene Hall. In fact, the story that goes with this picture happened a long way from Gruene Hall, about as far away from a party spot as you could get, if you want to know the truth. This is a story about being on the edge of things. That’s what this picture reminds me of—that thin edge of reality we all secretly stand on, but want to pretend doesn’t really scare the pants off of us. That thin edge of reality that we get to avoid because we have a little money put back, a job that pays our bills, a family that can bail us out, and friends who keep us sane. That thin edge of reality that reminds us that today, this minute, this situation, and this breath are secretly all that we really, really, really have. That thin edge that is the same edge for you and me and every other person in the whole wide world.
You might remember that I went to Mexico last summer for a week. Hands down, this was one of the most amazing weeks of my entire life. We did hot, sweaty, tiring work. We helped with vacation Bible school, put a new roof on the church sandbox, demolished a house and leveled a lot, and put up a structure for community meals. In the end, we came away with much more than we brought. At least, I came away with more than I brought.
The colonias along the border are famous for their squalor, sort of kingdoms of abject poverty, poor hygienic conditions, and an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. The houses in the colonias are barely houses in the way you and I think about living structures. They are sometimes cinderblock, but most frequently corrugated metal and cardboard, shored up with wooden pallets scavenged from where ever they can be found, held together with bailing wire, crooked nails, glue, chicken wire, twist ties from old bread bags, and God knows what else. Some colonias have running water and electricity, or paved roads. Most of them don’t have any kind of amenity you and I would find in our own subdivisions. But they all have a soccer field. And bands of feral children and mangy dogs and wild cats roaming through the streets. The colonias are desperate places to live. Living that close to the bone, living so close to nothing—no safety net, no savings, no nothing, has got to be hard. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like.
I’ve never gone to bed hungry because there was nothing to eat in my house. I’ve never gone to bed being afraid that someone could come in and take everything and everyone I lived with. I’ve never been at the end of my rope, with no place left to go. I’ve never had to get up every morning and wonder how to feed, clothe, and shelter my family. I’ve never watched my child’s face get eaten up by ringworm, or had to bury a child because they got sick from drinking contaminated drinking water. I don’t understand that kind of poverty or that kind of pain. I had the good fortune of being born into a family that had jobs, houses, stuff, etc. As I looked at the faces of the young women in the colonia, some who were my age but looked much older, I marveled at the crap-shoot my good fortune really is. And I tried not to feel guilty.
On the first day of the trip, my job was to help staff the vacation Bible school at the colonia called “Colocio”. This was the “poor” colonia. I thought the hardest part of my day was going to be calling back Spanish phrases I hadn’t used in years, trying to drown out the drone of my Spanish teachers telling me “Rachel, pay attention to your conjugation!”. I was wrong. The hardest part of the day wasn't trying to look past the lice that climbed over the heads and faces of three and four year olds, or trying not to scrape myself on the nails protruding from every hard surface, or dodging rocks in the ground that seemed hell-bent on not letting us sit down, or trying to stay under the sunshade and help glue flowers to papers, or having to remember not to refill my water bottle from the tap. The hardest part of my day was realizing that what I thought I was bringing to Piedras Negras was nothing, in fact.
I came to Mexico thinking that we would be helping out so much by doing what amounted to crowd control and manual labor. That by the end of the week, we would have shown ourselves to be magnanimous people who wanted to help these people better their situation, not the ugly Americans who want to build walls and fences. I imagined that we were going to be heros, in some form or fashion. What I left with, on that first day, was a decidedly different impression. I came to understand that I wasn’t there to build, or staff, or speak. I was there to bear witness, to be present. I was there to hold small children’s hands, kiss their faces, learn their names and tell them mine. There was not one single thing I could do, or be, or give, or teach that was worth anything. But my presence, my willingness to be present and invested, and not look away from the poverty and the mess and the smell but to look right into it, was worth everything. Sometimes, most times, the best thing we can do in any situation is to acknowledge that the situation is there. Not to fix it, or go around it, but to sit and recognize the fact of the matter. That was my job, my real job, anyway.
We were treated like family, by every person we came into contact with, and not just the church people who were hosting us. Every mother of every child, every brother and sister, every little kid, every watermelon vendor, every truck driver with a load of stuff for us treated us like we were family. They smiled, spoke slowly, and thanked us for what we were doing. They thanked us for coming to spend time with them, for playing soccer and teaching them how to jump double-dutch. They thanked us for dancing with them, for raking dirt, for Gatorade, for bothering to be with them. They thanked us for acknowledging them as people. Can you imagine? It was enough to fill my heart to the brim, and break it a little, so it could hold even more.
As we drove out of Colocio on that first day, down a road that was more pot holes than actual road, we passed dwelling after dwelling that seemed to go from bad to worse. We found out that this particular colonia had just been granted running water and electricity four years ago. Some yards had chickens or a small garden. Most had wee little children hiding in whatever shade they could find, waving madly at our big white van. Dogs ran around the van in circles, so the going was slow, sometimes so slow that I just wanted to lay down in the seat, cry and imagine myself away from that place. It’s hard to see something like the colonias and not wish it away. But I stayed sitting up, willing myself to just accept what was in front of me, and not go to the magical beach that lives in my head.
Just before we turned back toward the church to have lunch, we passed a house that looked like it was about ready to fall down. The house just looked stressed out and tired, like the mortar and the cinderblocks had just seen too much and were about to give up the ghost. And up against the fence was this beautiful climbing rose bush, in full flower. I caught my breath at the sight of it, awestruck by the appearance of something so pretty in a place that seemed so bent on being ugly and awful.
I’d like to tell you that my first thought was “Oh, how nice…someone planted a rosebush in their yard, just like home…”. My honest first thought was “Why bother? Why? When you’ve got a dirt yard, and a dirt floor, and have to live with 27 other people and God knows what else in that house, why?” And my second thought was, “ That’s by-God the most hopeful thing I’ve seen in a long time, in a place where hope comes at a high cost.” Who knew such riches lay before me in such a poor, poor place? Who knew that on that knife-edge of life and death, some gentle soul would have the audacity to plant a rosebush, to give color and beauty to a little corner of someplace that so desperately needs it. They gave it to me, as well.
I have thought about that rosebush every single day since I saw it. That rosebush has haunted my thoughts, my dreams, my prayers, and my wishes. It’s easy to get so bogged down in the grind, to see nothing but the dirt and the mess and the cycle that keeps you dirty and messy, whether you live in a ritzy suburb or a colonia.
We’re not so different from each other, down at the bottom of everything. Hope comes to us all at a high cost. I’m looking at the yard of my heart with new eyes now, trying to figure out where to plant my rosebush, where to plant that seed of hope, that riot of color that seems to draw your eyes and your heart up and out of where ever it’s been. I want to have the will to plant that rosebush, to tend it, to be comforted by it. I want to shake the hand of the person who planted that brave sign of life and hope in that dusty yard in Mexico and thank them for the gift they gave me on that hot and hard Monday, because hope is worth everything.
mil besos--rmg
09 January 2008
land of the living
"Say to them,
say to the down-keepers,
the sun-slappers,
the self-soilers,
the harmony-hushers,
"even if you are not ready for day, it cannot always be night."
You will be right." --gwendolyn brooks
my antibiotics are starting to make me feel really wonky. i read all about the medicine i'm taking for Kidney Infection 2008, and i appear to be having all the "normal" side-effects. i am tempted to swear off anything other than water and cranberry juice for however much longer God lets me live, because i don't ever want to get this sick ever again. holy moly. what a way to start the new year. although, i will say that only wanting to eat oatmeal and soup and cereal is doing wonders for my diet. and all this water is doing wonders for my complexion. i suppose i can't complain all the time, huh?
i'm trying to get back into the swing of work. being off for a week for Christmas was wonderful. i slept, i saw my family, it was wonderful. being off for a week sick was horrible. i feel so sluggish and out of touch with my old people. and yet, all i really want to do is go home, crawl back into my pj's, pull the covers up, watch a movie, drink lots of fluids, read a book, and try like anything to get some real sleep. apparently, the fine makers of levaquin figure if they can stomp out your infection, a little lost sleep on your part is really no big deal. while i appreciate their fine product, i think they are total asshats for allowing such a disgusting side effect spring from their product. i plan to write them a strongly worded letter regarding same as soon as i can get 8 hours of sleep in a row.
i've been at work for 2.5 hours. i think that's enough damage for one day.
mil besos--rmg
say to the down-keepers,
the sun-slappers,
the self-soilers,
the harmony-hushers,
"even if you are not ready for day, it cannot always be night."
You will be right." --gwendolyn brooks
my antibiotics are starting to make me feel really wonky. i read all about the medicine i'm taking for Kidney Infection 2008, and i appear to be having all the "normal" side-effects. i am tempted to swear off anything other than water and cranberry juice for however much longer God lets me live, because i don't ever want to get this sick ever again. holy moly. what a way to start the new year. although, i will say that only wanting to eat oatmeal and soup and cereal is doing wonders for my diet. and all this water is doing wonders for my complexion. i suppose i can't complain all the time, huh?
i'm trying to get back into the swing of work. being off for a week for Christmas was wonderful. i slept, i saw my family, it was wonderful. being off for a week sick was horrible. i feel so sluggish and out of touch with my old people. and yet, all i really want to do is go home, crawl back into my pj's, pull the covers up, watch a movie, drink lots of fluids, read a book, and try like anything to get some real sleep. apparently, the fine makers of levaquin figure if they can stomp out your infection, a little lost sleep on your part is really no big deal. while i appreciate their fine product, i think they are total asshats for allowing such a disgusting side effect spring from their product. i plan to write them a strongly worded letter regarding same as soon as i can get 8 hours of sleep in a row.
i've been at work for 2.5 hours. i think that's enough damage for one day.
mil besos--rmg
29 December 2007
year in review 2007
everyone is sleeping, except for me. mommy and grammy are snuggled in with my little chunk of a nephew, little bro and sister-in-law are snuggled down across the hall. and i'm sitting at grammy's computer pecking away to add to my blog. christmas comes almost a week late for our clan, and we're totally fine with that. there are, need i remind you, 12 days of christmas, and we celebrate them all. make sure and keep all those live christmas trees and greenery for the big epiphany bonfire on January 6th (which is also JJD3's anniversary into the priest-hood).
so, here we are, friends and neighbors, at the close of another year. i must say, it's been quite an adventure, at least on this end. let's recap, shall we?
January--rachipoo makes her first mortgage payment, after closing on the barbie townhouse in the alamo city. on her first night in her new home, the skies open and rain cats and dogs. rachiepoo realizes that her newly bought roof leaks, right on to the floor beside her bed. she frantically calls her home owner's association manager, and is pleased to find out that this is not her problem, and aside from a slightly damp spot on her carpet, all will be resolved. rachiepoo thanks the baby Jesus for condo living, and vows to never complain about her HOA dues, ever again. at least until february. also in january, rachiepoo joins a gym so she can squeeze herself into yet another bridesmaid dress in april. for those of you playing the "at home" addition of adventures in rachiepoo, please move your wedding token to the number 13 spot. do not skip ahead to the altar portion of that section. it's just not your turn yet.
February--rachipoo works a lot in february. she also celebrates her mother's birthday. and bk's birthday. and she eats pancakes on shrove tuesday. she also begins teaching in chapel as part of her job. she learns that she has what might be termed as "anxiety" about this venture, because she begins spending most of her monday nights and early tuesday mornings worrying about what she will say to the children about the baby Jesus. she hopes she will remember to be orthodox and not say outlandish things that might get her into trouble.
february also brought with it a new discovery. identity theft can even happen to rachiepoo. she is very much dismayed. after several calls to the bank and a frantic call to her mother, she meets her new best friend, her personal banker, who presses lots of buttons and suddenly makes everything better. and she gets her money back. rachiepoo begins keeping all her mail. she also begins saving up for a shredder, and begins to wonder if she can begin a cottage industry selling hamster cage liner to expedite paying for said shredder. she is very glad that february only has 28 days this year.
March--rachiepoo worked alot in march as well. in fact, she worked so much that she doesn't really remember much about march at all. she paid bills, saw friends, and talked on the phone. a lot.
April--rachiepoo pays her taxes, and wonders where all that money went. rachiepoo is in her 13th wedding. it is at the beach. hilarity ensues, and whilst looking something like a doric pickle, she managed to carry off her duties with some sense of grace in tact. she also manages to spill a margarita on her dress. further hilarity ensues. upon returning from the beach wedding (congratulations koehlers!!), she has bestowed upon her a cat. jinx becomes part of rachiepoo's world. after a warming period, marked by jinx's being extremly emotionally needed and equally extremly afraid of the full length mirror in rachiepoo's hall way, the two of them become fast friends. also in april, the birth of ella the wonder girl expands the female population of women on the paternal side of rachiepoo's family to lucky number 7. there is much rejoicing. a girl, finally!
May--rachiepoo celebrates cinco de mayo in the district of columbia. she eats at ben's chili bowl a record four times in three days. that's right. four times. she is happy and excited and sleep-deprived (quite willingly) with missy and caro and alex. there is much frivolity involving a blanket and a pair of eye glasses. there is also chinese food (a trip to the hood, included, for free), some cookies, lots of walking, and a trip to the new spy museum. a sideways trip to the shenendoah valley also occurs. la fonda the honda experiences a runaway truck lane. bladder control is threatened numerous times. airline miles have rarely been spent for such a worthy occasion.
may is, as some of you may recall, the time when rachiepoo is drawn indelibly back to alabama. she is happy to see her granny and papaw, her uncle pedro and aunt inez, her cousins anna and mia, their husbands gene and archie, their children austin (keep austin weird, ya'll), and ella the wonder girl. she is also happy to see her various other semi-family folk. she teaches austin the capital of new mexico, and that a pirate's favorite letter is "arrrrh". she also attempts a swimming lesson that both rachiepoo and austin agree ended badly. fortunately, austin later enrolls in a class at the "y", and is now slated to be the youngest swimmer at the 2008 summer olympics. rachiepoo is excited about going to china to cheer him on, if he will let her anywhere near him.
rachiepoo's friend lala moves in for the summer, until lala's husband can move to san antonio. much hilarity and wine drinking occurs on the balconey. rachiepoo and lala also discover that jinx is very afraid of lala's dog, roxy. roxy, however, discovers an unrequited love for jinx, or at least for the treats he leaves for her in the cat box. more hilarity ensues.
June--rachiepoo works alot in june, again. she also has to learn some hard things about working with sweet old people, i.e. they keep getting older, and as they do this, they sometimes die. rachiepoo does not like this lesson, but grits her teeth, and learns it anyway. what's the alternative choice, really? rachiepoo also enjoys a wonderful family reunion with her mother's family. she is surrounded by small children and grown ups that she loves. she hears lots of stories, laughs a lot, and is reminded that a kiddie pool in the backyard ALWAYS equals a party. she is fascinated by her cousins and nephew dressing up in her old dress-up clothes. she is slightly nostalgic, but in a good way.
june also brings another huge benchmark to rachiepoo's life. she drives all the way back to btex to attend her 10th high school reunion. she stays at chez weatherman. she stays up very late and hears and tells many stories. she laughs. a lot. and is glad that, in spite of her initial misgivings, she attends the party. rachiepoo and lala continue to drink wine on the balconey, occasionally joined by jax and kirby. even more hilairity and lots of existential ramblings occur.
July--rachipoo goes to mexico on a mission trip. her life is radically changed. she wants to go back. a lot. she plays with kids, wishes she could recall more spanish, and enjoys coca-cola made with real sugar. she also drives a van load full of people to the market one day. she is very afraid, but is suprisingly, not the worst driver on the road that day. she is very glad to not have to drive to the market everyday. she buys her little chunk of a nephew a very cute soccer uniform, which later becomes his favorite article of clothing, cementing her place as "greatest auntie ever". rachiepoo loves her time in mexico, but is also very glad to come home and sleep in her own bed and drink from the tap with no fear of explosive bowels.
August--rachiepoo works a lot in august. she pays bills. she sees friends. she says goodbye to her summer crush. she learns that crushes are nice to have, but are nicer to be over. she is very glad to learn this lesson. rachiepoo also goes to a fun party at her friend joy's house, where she is accosted by a pseudo-politico who tries to find out about rachiepoo's political beliefs. luckily, rachiepoo knows better than to talk about politics in mixed company, and instead tells some funny stories to throw people off track. she gets home very late, but is glad to have gone to a lovely party.
September--rachiepoo, for the second time in less than a calendar year, follows the herd back to btex for goat cook off. ryanegro and bean are there, so what's not to like? bean's new manfriend is there, also. rachiepoo has to face down an old ghost, and totally wusses out and hightails herself through the arts and crafts mosh pit to avoid a potentially very uncomfortable situation. she is very gratified to know that cutting and running, is in fact, in her blood. she and ryanegro and the bean and the man friend and the reinisch folk have a stunningly good time. she stays up too late. she may have had a little bourbon. she also stays at chez weatherman, again. she is glad she went. she even ate some goat.
birthdays are always a good time, (happy b-day to momo, kirby, aunt inez, and jax!)and while 29 was rather anti-climactic for rachipoo, she manages to keep herself in good running order. she is plotting next year's big day before the flan is even cooled on her plate.
October--rachiepoo works a lot in october. she sees friends in austin. she wishes her friends all lived in san antonio, so she could only drive across town to see them. lala and her husband (t, to his friends) buy a house. lala moves out. rachiepoo is sad. but lala manages to still come over and drink wine. rachiepoo is pacified. rachiepoo also has a mini-showdown with one of her co-workers. using her outstanding skills in pacification and diplomacy, rachiepoo extracts an apology, and is sure that she will never have to walk down that road again. at least for another month. rachiepoo loses another old person. boo. and yay. it's a mixed bag. rachiepoo also celebrates her little brother's birthday and her sister-in-law's birthday, and her birthday. her family really likes combined celebrations. she also sends her granny some flowers on HER birthday. yay.
october brought with it another addition to rachiepoo's universe. juju the hyper tiger kitten comes to be jinx's baby. juju is very small, and very fast, and has very, very, very sharp teeth. rachiepoo's legs have not been this cut up since she was learning to shave. jinx occasionally looks up at her, and asks "why did you do this to us? we were so happy, once." rachiepoo's mother is quick to remind her that juju is a baby, and just needs some getting used to. rachiepoo takes this to heart, fills a squrit bottle with water, and attempts, night after night, to tame the beast. rachiepoo spends a couple of nights in her guest room, just the same, and begins considering renaming juju "chorizo".
halloween, apart from hanging out with lala and t, is a real let-down. rachiepoo discovers that it's really just for the kids, and she feels slightly ripped off. christmas decorations appear the next morning. what the hell, people?
November--rachiepoo celebrates one year of gainful employment at the church of st.'s adirol and ritalin. she is still very happy to have her job. she is ordered to go fold laundry on one of her old people visits. she is not altogether pleased with this, but since one of her old people died, she folds the close with a very tight smile on her face. november, in her mother's and grammy's town means only one thing--a ten day salute to sausage. rachiepoo does her duty as a townie, and goes to wurstfest. she and grammy and mom and aunt sue all laugh. a lot. rachiepoo foregoes the funnel cake. she is a little disappointed, but knows her pants will thank her later. 12 members of the mother clan gather to eat the roasted turkey. rachiepoo is, as ever, the designated dressing taster. the dressing comes out wonderfully and is applauded by all. much eating occurs. rachiepoo has to take a nap. rachiepoo also discovers that she still holds amazing sway over her 14 year-old cousin. cousin anna's pregnancy is moving along nicely. rachiepoo is stoked about seeing a new baby in may. YAY!
December--rachiepoo works alot. a lot. she is on a search committee for a new assistant priest for st's. a &r. she enjoys this more than she should. she continues to make lots of visits to her sweet old people, who for the moment, are suprisingly healtly. she is very thankful. rachiepoo preaches a sermon to the kindergarten class and compares Jesus the Grown-Up to bob the bulider. she waits for calls from irate parents. none come, that she knows of...yet. she is very relieved. half-price books garners a gain in sales, as rachiepoo cannot seem to read enough. she badly wraps her family's presents, and thinks that next year, she should just invest in cute bags and coordinating tissue paper. she thinks her lack of technique may have something to do with kirby forcing her to drink a bottle of champagne against her will and watch old 80's movies on her vhs player. rachiepoo also remembers to take her daily vitamin and her calcium supplement, and is amazed at how well this makes her feel. she also begins a list of new year's resolutions that she hope she can keep until at least MLK weekend.
and that, my dear people, is the year that was 2007. 2008 looms large, and i hope it's filled with many laughs and good stories and new memories for all of us. i hope you got what you wanted for Christmas. i know i did, and i still have stuff to unwrap. i got each of you--on my side, in my heart, in my head, and in my prayers. and that is so much more than enough. good night, er, morning.
mil besos--rmg
so, here we are, friends and neighbors, at the close of another year. i must say, it's been quite an adventure, at least on this end. let's recap, shall we?
January--rachipoo makes her first mortgage payment, after closing on the barbie townhouse in the alamo city. on her first night in her new home, the skies open and rain cats and dogs. rachiepoo realizes that her newly bought roof leaks, right on to the floor beside her bed. she frantically calls her home owner's association manager, and is pleased to find out that this is not her problem, and aside from a slightly damp spot on her carpet, all will be resolved. rachiepoo thanks the baby Jesus for condo living, and vows to never complain about her HOA dues, ever again. at least until february. also in january, rachiepoo joins a gym so she can squeeze herself into yet another bridesmaid dress in april. for those of you playing the "at home" addition of adventures in rachiepoo, please move your wedding token to the number 13 spot. do not skip ahead to the altar portion of that section. it's just not your turn yet.
February--rachipoo works a lot in february. she also celebrates her mother's birthday. and bk's birthday. and she eats pancakes on shrove tuesday. she also begins teaching in chapel as part of her job. she learns that she has what might be termed as "anxiety" about this venture, because she begins spending most of her monday nights and early tuesday mornings worrying about what she will say to the children about the baby Jesus. she hopes she will remember to be orthodox and not say outlandish things that might get her into trouble.
february also brought with it a new discovery. identity theft can even happen to rachiepoo. she is very much dismayed. after several calls to the bank and a frantic call to her mother, she meets her new best friend, her personal banker, who presses lots of buttons and suddenly makes everything better. and she gets her money back. rachiepoo begins keeping all her mail. she also begins saving up for a shredder, and begins to wonder if she can begin a cottage industry selling hamster cage liner to expedite paying for said shredder. she is very glad that february only has 28 days this year.
March--rachiepoo worked alot in march as well. in fact, she worked so much that she doesn't really remember much about march at all. she paid bills, saw friends, and talked on the phone. a lot.
April--rachiepoo pays her taxes, and wonders where all that money went. rachiepoo is in her 13th wedding. it is at the beach. hilarity ensues, and whilst looking something like a doric pickle, she managed to carry off her duties with some sense of grace in tact. she also manages to spill a margarita on her dress. further hilarity ensues. upon returning from the beach wedding (congratulations koehlers!!), she has bestowed upon her a cat. jinx becomes part of rachiepoo's world. after a warming period, marked by jinx's being extremly emotionally needed and equally extremly afraid of the full length mirror in rachiepoo's hall way, the two of them become fast friends. also in april, the birth of ella the wonder girl expands the female population of women on the paternal side of rachiepoo's family to lucky number 7. there is much rejoicing. a girl, finally!
May--rachiepoo celebrates cinco de mayo in the district of columbia. she eats at ben's chili bowl a record four times in three days. that's right. four times. she is happy and excited and sleep-deprived (quite willingly) with missy and caro and alex. there is much frivolity involving a blanket and a pair of eye glasses. there is also chinese food (a trip to the hood, included, for free), some cookies, lots of walking, and a trip to the new spy museum. a sideways trip to the shenendoah valley also occurs. la fonda the honda experiences a runaway truck lane. bladder control is threatened numerous times. airline miles have rarely been spent for such a worthy occasion.
may is, as some of you may recall, the time when rachiepoo is drawn indelibly back to alabama. she is happy to see her granny and papaw, her uncle pedro and aunt inez, her cousins anna and mia, their husbands gene and archie, their children austin (keep austin weird, ya'll), and ella the wonder girl. she is also happy to see her various other semi-family folk. she teaches austin the capital of new mexico, and that a pirate's favorite letter is "arrrrh". she also attempts a swimming lesson that both rachiepoo and austin agree ended badly. fortunately, austin later enrolls in a class at the "y", and is now slated to be the youngest swimmer at the 2008 summer olympics. rachiepoo is excited about going to china to cheer him on, if he will let her anywhere near him.
rachiepoo's friend lala moves in for the summer, until lala's husband can move to san antonio. much hilarity and wine drinking occurs on the balconey. rachiepoo and lala also discover that jinx is very afraid of lala's dog, roxy. roxy, however, discovers an unrequited love for jinx, or at least for the treats he leaves for her in the cat box. more hilarity ensues.
June--rachiepoo works alot in june, again. she also has to learn some hard things about working with sweet old people, i.e. they keep getting older, and as they do this, they sometimes die. rachiepoo does not like this lesson, but grits her teeth, and learns it anyway. what's the alternative choice, really? rachiepoo also enjoys a wonderful family reunion with her mother's family. she is surrounded by small children and grown ups that she loves. she hears lots of stories, laughs a lot, and is reminded that a kiddie pool in the backyard ALWAYS equals a party. she is fascinated by her cousins and nephew dressing up in her old dress-up clothes. she is slightly nostalgic, but in a good way.
june also brings another huge benchmark to rachiepoo's life. she drives all the way back to btex to attend her 10th high school reunion. she stays at chez weatherman. she stays up very late and hears and tells many stories. she laughs. a lot. and is glad that, in spite of her initial misgivings, she attends the party. rachiepoo and lala continue to drink wine on the balconey, occasionally joined by jax and kirby. even more hilairity and lots of existential ramblings occur.
July--rachipoo goes to mexico on a mission trip. her life is radically changed. she wants to go back. a lot. she plays with kids, wishes she could recall more spanish, and enjoys coca-cola made with real sugar. she also drives a van load full of people to the market one day. she is very afraid, but is suprisingly, not the worst driver on the road that day. she is very glad to not have to drive to the market everyday. she buys her little chunk of a nephew a very cute soccer uniform, which later becomes his favorite article of clothing, cementing her place as "greatest auntie ever". rachiepoo loves her time in mexico, but is also very glad to come home and sleep in her own bed and drink from the tap with no fear of explosive bowels.
August--rachiepoo works a lot in august. she pays bills. she sees friends. she says goodbye to her summer crush. she learns that crushes are nice to have, but are nicer to be over. she is very glad to learn this lesson. rachiepoo also goes to a fun party at her friend joy's house, where she is accosted by a pseudo-politico who tries to find out about rachiepoo's political beliefs. luckily, rachiepoo knows better than to talk about politics in mixed company, and instead tells some funny stories to throw people off track. she gets home very late, but is glad to have gone to a lovely party.
September--rachiepoo, for the second time in less than a calendar year, follows the herd back to btex for goat cook off. ryanegro and bean are there, so what's not to like? bean's new manfriend is there, also. rachiepoo has to face down an old ghost, and totally wusses out and hightails herself through the arts and crafts mosh pit to avoid a potentially very uncomfortable situation. she is very gratified to know that cutting and running, is in fact, in her blood. she and ryanegro and the bean and the man friend and the reinisch folk have a stunningly good time. she stays up too late. she may have had a little bourbon. she also stays at chez weatherman, again. she is glad she went. she even ate some goat.
birthdays are always a good time, (happy b-day to momo, kirby, aunt inez, and jax!)and while 29 was rather anti-climactic for rachipoo, she manages to keep herself in good running order. she is plotting next year's big day before the flan is even cooled on her plate.
October--rachiepoo works a lot in october. she sees friends in austin. she wishes her friends all lived in san antonio, so she could only drive across town to see them. lala and her husband (t, to his friends) buy a house. lala moves out. rachiepoo is sad. but lala manages to still come over and drink wine. rachiepoo is pacified. rachiepoo also has a mini-showdown with one of her co-workers. using her outstanding skills in pacification and diplomacy, rachiepoo extracts an apology, and is sure that she will never have to walk down that road again. at least for another month. rachiepoo loses another old person. boo. and yay. it's a mixed bag. rachiepoo also celebrates her little brother's birthday and her sister-in-law's birthday, and her birthday. her family really likes combined celebrations. she also sends her granny some flowers on HER birthday. yay.
october brought with it another addition to rachiepoo's universe. juju the hyper tiger kitten comes to be jinx's baby. juju is very small, and very fast, and has very, very, very sharp teeth. rachiepoo's legs have not been this cut up since she was learning to shave. jinx occasionally looks up at her, and asks "why did you do this to us? we were so happy, once." rachiepoo's mother is quick to remind her that juju is a baby, and just needs some getting used to. rachiepoo takes this to heart, fills a squrit bottle with water, and attempts, night after night, to tame the beast. rachiepoo spends a couple of nights in her guest room, just the same, and begins considering renaming juju "chorizo".
halloween, apart from hanging out with lala and t, is a real let-down. rachiepoo discovers that it's really just for the kids, and she feels slightly ripped off. christmas decorations appear the next morning. what the hell, people?
November--rachiepoo celebrates one year of gainful employment at the church of st.'s adirol and ritalin. she is still very happy to have her job. she is ordered to go fold laundry on one of her old people visits. she is not altogether pleased with this, but since one of her old people died, she folds the close with a very tight smile on her face. november, in her mother's and grammy's town means only one thing--a ten day salute to sausage. rachiepoo does her duty as a townie, and goes to wurstfest. she and grammy and mom and aunt sue all laugh. a lot. rachiepoo foregoes the funnel cake. she is a little disappointed, but knows her pants will thank her later. 12 members of the mother clan gather to eat the roasted turkey. rachiepoo is, as ever, the designated dressing taster. the dressing comes out wonderfully and is applauded by all. much eating occurs. rachiepoo has to take a nap. rachiepoo also discovers that she still holds amazing sway over her 14 year-old cousin. cousin anna's pregnancy is moving along nicely. rachiepoo is stoked about seeing a new baby in may. YAY!
December--rachiepoo works alot. a lot. she is on a search committee for a new assistant priest for st's. a &r. she enjoys this more than she should. she continues to make lots of visits to her sweet old people, who for the moment, are suprisingly healtly. she is very thankful. rachiepoo preaches a sermon to the kindergarten class and compares Jesus the Grown-Up to bob the bulider. she waits for calls from irate parents. none come, that she knows of...yet. she is very relieved. half-price books garners a gain in sales, as rachiepoo cannot seem to read enough. she badly wraps her family's presents, and thinks that next year, she should just invest in cute bags and coordinating tissue paper. she thinks her lack of technique may have something to do with kirby forcing her to drink a bottle of champagne against her will and watch old 80's movies on her vhs player. rachiepoo also remembers to take her daily vitamin and her calcium supplement, and is amazed at how well this makes her feel. she also begins a list of new year's resolutions that she hope she can keep until at least MLK weekend.
and that, my dear people, is the year that was 2007. 2008 looms large, and i hope it's filled with many laughs and good stories and new memories for all of us. i hope you got what you wanted for Christmas. i know i did, and i still have stuff to unwrap. i got each of you--on my side, in my heart, in my head, and in my prayers. and that is so much more than enough. good night, er, morning.
mil besos--rmg
17 December 2007
christmas songs
it's monday. i am trying to not do as much work as possible today, because i know the next week is going to be insane, and i'm trying to conserve energy. it's not as slack-tastic as i'm making it sound. i am doing my transportation report. and i'm working on two calendars for old people who need rides to church. and i'm making appointments for christmas communion. i'm just not going anywhere today. and i'm pretty sure that if i don't iron clothes tonight, there's a high probability that i will end up teaching chapel in my sock monkey pajamas tomorrow morning.
so, this close to the end of the year, everyone makes lists about favorite christmas movies, favorite christmas gifts, etc. this year, i'm hopping on the band-wagon to bring you my favorite non-religious christmas songs. don't get me wrong, i LOVE the religious christmas songs (i am epsicopalian, for heaven's sake, we even sing advent carols...), but the non-religious ones are some of my favorites. there are also some non-christmas songs on the list, which i'll explain. i'm feeling chatty today. deal with it. you people live for this stuff.
1) war is over--john lennon and yoko ono. this is absolutely my favorite christmas-time song. it's wonderful. it makes me happy. i will roll down the windows, crank up the heater, and sing at the top of my lungs. the celine dion version, however, makes me want to punch through my eardrums with an icepick and drip lemon juice into the festering hole.
2) all that i want--the weepies. LOVE THIS SONG. yes, i realize it's the jingle from the jc penney's commercial. i could care less. this is one of my favorite i-tunes purchases. it's so, so, so pretty. and i like to believe that one day, i will know what that song means. aww.
3) go places--the new pornographers. this is a great song for any season, but it's a waltz, and that makes it automatically christmassy, to me.
4) river--joni mitchell. the ultimate break-up song, featuring a christmas theme, and it always makes me think of "love actually", even though this song was not featured in the soundtrack. this is a wonderful song, no matter who is singing it--indigo girls or sarah mclaughlin. it's beautiful, and haunting, and it just hurts so good.
5) long december-- counting crows. haunting melody, haunting lyrics. adam duritz makes me a little bit weak-kneed, i'll admit. i'm a sucker for a man in dreadlocks. i like this song, a lot, because in spite of the maudlin tone, it's actually quite hopeful. and after all, isn't that what christmas is all about--hope?
6) babylon--david gray. i bought this cd the christmas i lived in washington, dc. every time i hear this song, i remember the smell of snow, and going downtown to pick out presents to bring home to my family. and i remember how happy i was to be going home.
7) good king wenceslas--i know it's technically a church song, but I LOVE THIS SONG. and if you sing it with a lisp, kind of loud and obnoxious on an airplane, your mother will laugh so hard that she could possibly loose bladder control. your brother might laugh til he cries. and the other passengers will look at you, and wonder how such a pretty face could belie such an empty head and whether or not you might have a shot at getting married to corky, from "life goes on".
8) santa baby--the eartha kitt version. my little tiny nephew knows some of the words to this one, and i think that's about the coolest thing i've ever heard in my life. he's a genius. he can now also sing "happy birthday" to the baby Jesus. he's the smartest kid in the world.
9) baby, it's cold outside--sarah vaughn and louis armstrong. i could listen to this song on repeat for at least a day and a half. i have fond memories of driving from austin to my mom's house, singing this song at the top of my lungs. there are some wonderful harmonies in this version. and anything by louis armstrong is cooler than cat pants.
10) have yourself a merry little christmas--james taylor. if the soundtrack to my childhood had to be sung by one person, james taylor would be the voice. i freaking love james taylor, but not in a scary stalking kind of way.
here are some songs that i will immediately change the station to avoid...
1) jingle bell rock. i HATE this song. my dislike for this song rivals my dislike of misogyny, xenophobia, hate crimes, and crushing poverty.
2) any and every christmas song ever covered by celine dion. i will throw up if i have to listen to more than 15 seconds of any given song. this is a proven fact. if you don't believe me, come over and i'll show you.
3) the little drummer boy. pa-rum-pah-pum-pum is an onomatopoeia that should never be sung by the human voice. it's a nice song, in theory. but i hate it. a lot. and the grace jones version scares the poop out of me.
4) i saw mommy kissing santa claus--this song is disturbing for a lot of reasons. but robert knox put it best when he said,-- "Apparently this kid is used to seeing his whore of a mother liplocked with another man. "Oh, what a laugh it would have been if Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night." These are the lyrics. What a laugh it would have been?! Hey kid! What a laugh it would've been to spend Christmas day at an orphanage wiping the remnants of a murder/suicide off your stocking! "-- too true mr. knox, too true.
5) jingle bells--barbra striesdand. while i will admit that babs is a guilty pleasure of mine (right up there with whitney houston, pre-crack out), this song is just awful. and i hate it when she sings it super-fast. it makes my heart beat really loudly in my ears, and i just know that at any moment, my head is going to explode in a cloud of confetti and candy, just like those christmas cracker things from england. ugh.
6) feliz navidad--jose feliciano. i know, i live in san antonio. i should love this song. the truth is, i can't stand this song. it's nasally. it's piped into every grocery store for a 1000 mile radius and plays 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. the accordion part is the real kicker for me. unless i'm listening to klezmer music (and wouldn't those be Hannukah caroles, anyway?), or doing the Santa Claus polka at Wurstfest, i want nothing to do with mixing christmas and accordions. not to mention that this song is so freaking ingrained in the subconscious of almost every single person i know, no one can keep from humming it or singing along quietly everytime they hear it. it's awesomely bad.
7) hard candy christmas--dolly parton. seriously? this song is part of the soundtrack to "the best little whorehouse in texas". should we be playing a song like this during the season of the birth of the Baby Jesus? it's from a movie with the word "whore" right in the title...and it's awful.
8) the 12 days of christmas--i realize that there are 12 days in the christmas season. i send my lazy christmas email instead of christmas cards during these 12 days. they save my bacon every year. but i hate this song. the only version i have ever liked was on my "john denver and the muppets sing christmas" cassette tape, which i would give my right big toe to have, again. it was awesome. otherwise, this song is like playing monopoly--it never freaking ends well. and when it's over, you wonder what happened to that two hours of your life, and try to reconcile the fact that you will never, ever get them back.
9) i'll be home for christmas--this is the MOST DEPRESSING SONG, ever. i feel like i need to go take an anti-depressant just thinking about it.
10) carol of the bells-- another song that just goes really, really fast and makes me nervous because i can't always understand all the words. this song makes me feel like i've had a venti latte with an extra four shots, seriously. i am getting a scary buzz just thinking about it. i feel bad about not liking this song, because it's got such a nice melody, and it's very difficult to sing. but it creeps me out. like there might be a bunch of scary elves with candle flashlights chasing me through target singing this song, and if i don't find the right paper to wrap presents in, they are going to turn me into a doll with big buggy eyes. scary. creepy. awful.
if i don't get back to work, the elves might come get me, anyway.
mil besos-rmg
so, this close to the end of the year, everyone makes lists about favorite christmas movies, favorite christmas gifts, etc. this year, i'm hopping on the band-wagon to bring you my favorite non-religious christmas songs. don't get me wrong, i LOVE the religious christmas songs (i am epsicopalian, for heaven's sake, we even sing advent carols...), but the non-religious ones are some of my favorites. there are also some non-christmas songs on the list, which i'll explain. i'm feeling chatty today. deal with it. you people live for this stuff.
1) war is over--john lennon and yoko ono. this is absolutely my favorite christmas-time song. it's wonderful. it makes me happy. i will roll down the windows, crank up the heater, and sing at the top of my lungs. the celine dion version, however, makes me want to punch through my eardrums with an icepick and drip lemon juice into the festering hole.
2) all that i want--the weepies. LOVE THIS SONG. yes, i realize it's the jingle from the jc penney's commercial. i could care less. this is one of my favorite i-tunes purchases. it's so, so, so pretty. and i like to believe that one day, i will know what that song means. aww.
3) go places--the new pornographers. this is a great song for any season, but it's a waltz, and that makes it automatically christmassy, to me.
4) river--joni mitchell. the ultimate break-up song, featuring a christmas theme, and it always makes me think of "love actually", even though this song was not featured in the soundtrack. this is a wonderful song, no matter who is singing it--indigo girls or sarah mclaughlin. it's beautiful, and haunting, and it just hurts so good.
5) long december-- counting crows. haunting melody, haunting lyrics. adam duritz makes me a little bit weak-kneed, i'll admit. i'm a sucker for a man in dreadlocks. i like this song, a lot, because in spite of the maudlin tone, it's actually quite hopeful. and after all, isn't that what christmas is all about--hope?
6) babylon--david gray. i bought this cd the christmas i lived in washington, dc. every time i hear this song, i remember the smell of snow, and going downtown to pick out presents to bring home to my family. and i remember how happy i was to be going home.
7) good king wenceslas--i know it's technically a church song, but I LOVE THIS SONG. and if you sing it with a lisp, kind of loud and obnoxious on an airplane, your mother will laugh so hard that she could possibly loose bladder control. your brother might laugh til he cries. and the other passengers will look at you, and wonder how such a pretty face could belie such an empty head and whether or not you might have a shot at getting married to corky, from "life goes on".
8) santa baby--the eartha kitt version. my little tiny nephew knows some of the words to this one, and i think that's about the coolest thing i've ever heard in my life. he's a genius. he can now also sing "happy birthday" to the baby Jesus. he's the smartest kid in the world.
9) baby, it's cold outside--sarah vaughn and louis armstrong. i could listen to this song on repeat for at least a day and a half. i have fond memories of driving from austin to my mom's house, singing this song at the top of my lungs. there are some wonderful harmonies in this version. and anything by louis armstrong is cooler than cat pants.
10) have yourself a merry little christmas--james taylor. if the soundtrack to my childhood had to be sung by one person, james taylor would be the voice. i freaking love james taylor, but not in a scary stalking kind of way.
here are some songs that i will immediately change the station to avoid...
1) jingle bell rock. i HATE this song. my dislike for this song rivals my dislike of misogyny, xenophobia, hate crimes, and crushing poverty.
2) any and every christmas song ever covered by celine dion. i will throw up if i have to listen to more than 15 seconds of any given song. this is a proven fact. if you don't believe me, come over and i'll show you.
3) the little drummer boy. pa-rum-pah-pum-pum is an onomatopoeia that should never be sung by the human voice. it's a nice song, in theory. but i hate it. a lot. and the grace jones version scares the poop out of me.
4) i saw mommy kissing santa claus--this song is disturbing for a lot of reasons. but robert knox put it best when he said,-- "Apparently this kid is used to seeing his whore of a mother liplocked with another man. "Oh, what a laugh it would have been if Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night." These are the lyrics. What a laugh it would have been?! Hey kid! What a laugh it would've been to spend Christmas day at an orphanage wiping the remnants of a murder/suicide off your stocking! "-- too true mr. knox, too true.
5) jingle bells--barbra striesdand. while i will admit that babs is a guilty pleasure of mine (right up there with whitney houston, pre-crack out), this song is just awful. and i hate it when she sings it super-fast. it makes my heart beat really loudly in my ears, and i just know that at any moment, my head is going to explode in a cloud of confetti and candy, just like those christmas cracker things from england. ugh.
6) feliz navidad--jose feliciano. i know, i live in san antonio. i should love this song. the truth is, i can't stand this song. it's nasally. it's piped into every grocery store for a 1000 mile radius and plays 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. the accordion part is the real kicker for me. unless i'm listening to klezmer music (and wouldn't those be Hannukah caroles, anyway?), or doing the Santa Claus polka at Wurstfest, i want nothing to do with mixing christmas and accordions. not to mention that this song is so freaking ingrained in the subconscious of almost every single person i know, no one can keep from humming it or singing along quietly everytime they hear it. it's awesomely bad.
7) hard candy christmas--dolly parton. seriously? this song is part of the soundtrack to "the best little whorehouse in texas". should we be playing a song like this during the season of the birth of the Baby Jesus? it's from a movie with the word "whore" right in the title...and it's awful.
8) the 12 days of christmas--i realize that there are 12 days in the christmas season. i send my lazy christmas email instead of christmas cards during these 12 days. they save my bacon every year. but i hate this song. the only version i have ever liked was on my "john denver and the muppets sing christmas" cassette tape, which i would give my right big toe to have, again. it was awesome. otherwise, this song is like playing monopoly--it never freaking ends well. and when it's over, you wonder what happened to that two hours of your life, and try to reconcile the fact that you will never, ever get them back.
9) i'll be home for christmas--this is the MOST DEPRESSING SONG, ever. i feel like i need to go take an anti-depressant just thinking about it.
10) carol of the bells-- another song that just goes really, really fast and makes me nervous because i can't always understand all the words. this song makes me feel like i've had a venti latte with an extra four shots, seriously. i am getting a scary buzz just thinking about it. i feel bad about not liking this song, because it's got such a nice melody, and it's very difficult to sing. but it creeps me out. like there might be a bunch of scary elves with candle flashlights chasing me through target singing this song, and if i don't find the right paper to wrap presents in, they are going to turn me into a doll with big buggy eyes. scary. creepy. awful.
if i don't get back to work, the elves might come get me, anyway.
mil besos-rmg
20 November 2007
for these and all God's blessings...
Though our mouths were full of song as the sea,
and our tongues of exultation as the multitude of its waves,
and our tongues of exultation as the multitude of its waves,
and our lips of praise as the wide-extended firmament;
though our eyes shone with light like the sun and the moon,
and our hands were spread forth like the eagles of heaven,
and our feet were swift as hinds,
we should still be unable to thank thee and bless thy name,
we should still be unable to thank thee and bless thy name,
O Lord our God, and God of our fathers,
for one thousandth or one ten thousandth part of the bounties
for one thousandth or one ten thousandth part of the bounties
which thou has bestowed upon our fathers and upon us.
- Hebrew Prayer Book
- Hebrew Prayer Book
i love thanksgiving. aside from my birthday, it may be my favorite holiday. i like that when i was a little girl, thanksgiving was always the same--utterly predictable, and utterly wonderful. i also like it that as a grown up, thanksgiving has always been the same--a moveable feast, different every year. i was bothered by that for the longest time, and then i realized the obvious--thanksgiving isn't about the place, or the food, or the silverware, or the house, or the time you eat, or whether you see a movie or go shoping or get a nap. it's about the attitude you bring to the table, even if you never actually sit down at a table, or if it's the grown-up table or the little kid table, or the take out counter at jason's deli.
i have so much for which to be thankful this year. the whole list is enormous. the short list reads something like this:
family--all of them, the crazies, the normals, the in-laws, and the out-laws, but especially my momma. family is sometimes a hard thing to be. we don't always understand each other, we don't always know the ways to love best, or say true things, or absolve hurts. but we are family, and that is something special. that's something that doesn't just fall off the cart every day. family is work, play, rest, and welcome. family is babies and old people, baptisms and funerals. it is change and it is changeless. family is where you go to say real things, to make up, to fight, to get married, to heal broken hearts, to let your mother brush your hair dry, to ask your grandparents to tell you that story one more time, to hear your aunt laugh in the phone, to talk to your brother about things you did when you were small, to learn about your sister-in-law's dreams, to put your nephew to sleep, to smell babies, to love and be loved. you are my family. you are me. i am you. we are in this together, for better or worse. i am so grateful that i was born into this family, into these stories, into this gumbo of people who are so different, so similar, so beautiful, and so funny. i can't imagine belonging anywhere else, and even on days when i know you wonder about what i'm doing next, how i'm doing, and what in the world i am thinking, i am so glad i belong to you.
friends--you are the family i have made for myself. each and every one of you--the ones i talk to every day, the ones i talk to once in a blue moon. you are irreplaceable to me. you have taught me more than i can imagine. you are my sanity in an insane world. you are the rudder and the wind in my sails. you are dinner and drinks, baseball and dancing. you are movies and sunrises, tents and starshowers. you are couches and futons and guest bedrooms. you are take-out, homemade, four-star, diner fare, starbucks, french-pressed, deep fried funnel cakes. you are my face aching from laughter, and my eyes tear-swollen, my overage on the cell-phone bill, you are text messages at 4 am. you are concert tickets, bob dylan, 70's soft-rock, angry girl music, beethoven, yo la tengo, bluegrass, funk, soul, hip-hop, and reggae. you are chocolate and peanut butter, salty and sweet. you are the ocean and the mountains, the shenandoah valley and big bend national park. you are all the capitals, all the ghost-towns. you are black and white, you are technicolor. you are the secret language that only we understand. you are the secrets and the truths. you are broken. you are beautiful. you are my face.
health.
work.
free time--for new paint in my powder room, for kittens with razor-sharp claws, for the giggles (which i seem to be getting with terrifying frequency, a la my 13 year old self), for good books on my reading list, for naps, for trips to see friends and family, for frequent flyer miles, for staying up too late, for over-analyzing things with my nearest and dearest.
memories--for learning how to remember without feeling sad, for being nostaligic instead of tragic, for knowing lessons and still being willing to learn, for the art of forgiving, for the ability to walk away without being angry.
for my whole life--all the intersesctions, all the contradictions, the ups and downs, the scary things and the exciting things, for chicago and dc and birmingham and brady and new braunfels and tyler and austin and houston and all the places i have been fed and slept and laughed and cried. for the home that lives in my heart, and the people who live there.
yes, for these and God's blessings, i am truly thankful. and while thank-you seems like such a small thing to say, it's all i have. and so this year, i will try to live my "thank-you" loudly, and try to be a blessing, as much as i have been blessed.
love, a many splendored thing, has spread itself so richly over my life.
mil besos--rmg
I think over again my small adventures,
my fears,
These small ones that seemed so big.
For all the vital things I had to get and to reach.
And yet there is only one great thing,
The only thing.
To live to see the great day that dawns
And the light that fills the world.
--inuit song
--inuit song
14 November 2007
pet post
well, since the law of the jungle is "ladies first", i'll introduce you to the latest stray to find its way into my life...this is juju. she's about a month old, has wicked sharp teeth and claws, and her favorite time to play is from 2:30am-3:30am. she's really great, though, and she provides a lot of comic relief. she's getting rather vexed with me, as i have taken to spraying her with lavender water every time she climbs on the night table, or my dressing table, or up the screen, or the shower curtain, or bites her brother on the tail. which brings me to the next member of my menagerie...
this is jinx. jinx found me in april, and has been providing enough cat hair to make at least seven other cats over the last 7 months. he's such a good boy, and is content to just be petted. juju came to live with us as a result of jinx being VERY emotionally needy. and by very emotionally needy, i mean that he was up in my face every five minutes. he's adjusted to juju very well, apart from his insistance on sniffing her hind-parts every five minutes and pinning her down to groom her (i think jinx may be suffering from some gender identity issues) four or five times a night. he and juju could care less what i do, so long as i keep food in their bowls. jinx's favorite toy is a string, just behind him in the picture--that's right, a string. he hates every toy i've ever brought, but he thinks a friendship bracelet from circa 1992 is the greatest cat toy in the universe. ( good grief, the carpet in my room is scandalous. i vacuum it all the freaking time, and it still looks like it's infested with funk...sick out. )
i struggled over the decision to bring another cat into the house...you know the old chestnut about single women and cats...but, jinx needed a buddy, and juju needed a home. i've managed not to fill my cabinets with unlimited cans of cream cheese frosting, and i am reasonably sure that i will not start eating cat food as a dietary supplement, no matter how bad the hair balls get.
the last two nights, i have shut myself up in the guest room to escape what i will lovingly describe as "juju's late night fun hour". i can tolerate a lot, and i know she's only a kitten, but i can't really deal gracefully with having my face jumped on and my ears swatted in the middle of the night, so rather than throwing the sweet little creature against the wall, i opted to just changed rooms. she and jinx were curled up next to each other, right in front of the door when i went into my room to get dressed this morning.
mil besos from the pseudo cat lady in waiting...
rmg
12 November 2007
chaos theory and stream of thought
"Ich sage euch: man muß noch Chaos in sich haben, um einen tanzenden Stern gebären zu können. " trans: "I tell you: one must have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star. "fwn
***
things to remember on a monday...
life throws his head back when i tell him that i'd like a two week notice on change. he laughs so hard that he actually cries a little bit. if sharon really gave a shit about my reproductive possibilities she never would have suggested using the whitetrashtownie in front of the car as my "sperm donor". stop censoring. stop checking up on things and people. things are the way they are, and no amount of shoring up, checking in, due diligence, etc. is ever going to change a single thing.
people are who they are, and you can't love them into being anything else, and even if you could, that would be a bad choice. causality is everything. everything is eventual. death and life are just opposite ends of the spectrum, and dying isn't too much different than being born. there's a change and a party. someone always cries. things move on. there is integration.
in the grand scheme of things, i think it's dangerous for me to know how powerful i really am, how powerful i really could be. i hate the obvious questions that no one thinks to ask out loud, so i ask them and am always suprised at the answers that come around. i'm even more suprised that anyone with an ounce of sense would deem those questions "insightful". morons make me so angry. shallow people make good morons.
blue is a nice color, but it befits spring. i was glad to wake up today, and glad that it was overcast, because i like gray and red and dark brown in the fall. i wore a green sweater today, even though it's not nearly cold enough. mom gave it to me for christmas. it feels like her hugs.
sometimes, i am afraid of dying. mostly i'm afraid of dying alone, and wondering if the cats would eat my eyeballs. and then i remember that i would be dead, so it wouldn't matter. i was very relieved when the doctor told me i wasn't going to die and that my ekg looked great. i almost cried. i'm glad the medicine is working. i'm glad i'm going to be ok. i'm glad my head isn't exploding anymore. sometimes i think that if i lost 80 pounds i could snap up a boyfriend quicker than anything. that makes me angry. it makes me hopeful, too. that thought makes me feed the cats, and go to the gym, anyway.
there's always a princess. there's always a fairy god-mother. always. always. always. and even when i can't swim out of the dream fast enough to save them all, i know it's a dream. and that i can breathe underwater. and that there is enough time to do what i must do to have things come out right. they will come out right. i just know it. i just have to stop checking. stop checking. stop checking. because things are how they are, and you can't get a two week notice on change. things don't really ever change, anyway. they are how they have always been, you just sometimes learn to open your eyes wider, or squint a new way, or put on fancy new glasses and see things from a new view.
tomorrow is going to be a long day.
mil besos--rmg
***
things to remember on a monday...
life throws his head back when i tell him that i'd like a two week notice on change. he laughs so hard that he actually cries a little bit. if sharon really gave a shit about my reproductive possibilities she never would have suggested using the whitetrashtownie in front of the car as my "sperm donor". stop censoring. stop checking up on things and people. things are the way they are, and no amount of shoring up, checking in, due diligence, etc. is ever going to change a single thing.
people are who they are, and you can't love them into being anything else, and even if you could, that would be a bad choice. causality is everything. everything is eventual. death and life are just opposite ends of the spectrum, and dying isn't too much different than being born. there's a change and a party. someone always cries. things move on. there is integration.
in the grand scheme of things, i think it's dangerous for me to know how powerful i really am, how powerful i really could be. i hate the obvious questions that no one thinks to ask out loud, so i ask them and am always suprised at the answers that come around. i'm even more suprised that anyone with an ounce of sense would deem those questions "insightful". morons make me so angry. shallow people make good morons.
blue is a nice color, but it befits spring. i was glad to wake up today, and glad that it was overcast, because i like gray and red and dark brown in the fall. i wore a green sweater today, even though it's not nearly cold enough. mom gave it to me for christmas. it feels like her hugs.
sometimes, i am afraid of dying. mostly i'm afraid of dying alone, and wondering if the cats would eat my eyeballs. and then i remember that i would be dead, so it wouldn't matter. i was very relieved when the doctor told me i wasn't going to die and that my ekg looked great. i almost cried. i'm glad the medicine is working. i'm glad i'm going to be ok. i'm glad my head isn't exploding anymore. sometimes i think that if i lost 80 pounds i could snap up a boyfriend quicker than anything. that makes me angry. it makes me hopeful, too. that thought makes me feed the cats, and go to the gym, anyway.
there's always a princess. there's always a fairy god-mother. always. always. always. and even when i can't swim out of the dream fast enough to save them all, i know it's a dream. and that i can breathe underwater. and that there is enough time to do what i must do to have things come out right. they will come out right. i just know it. i just have to stop checking. stop checking. stop checking. because things are how they are, and you can't get a two week notice on change. things don't really ever change, anyway. they are how they have always been, you just sometimes learn to open your eyes wider, or squint a new way, or put on fancy new glasses and see things from a new view.
tomorrow is going to be a long day.
mil besos--rmg
01 November 2007
episode #241, in which rachiepoo takes pictures in san antonio and learns to drive in chicago...
see, even when i'm not writing thoughtful and witty posts, i'm still always moving, trying to find the next thing to write about or take a picture of. i'll need a nap soon, but since it's national blogging month, i figured i better get with the program, and write some posts already.
i love trees. i'm mesmerized by them, to tell the truth. the "ents" in Lord of the Rings are some of my favorite imaginary creatures, not the least of which is because they are trees. this particular tree is in the couryard of the alamo. it's a live oak that was transplanted there in 1912. it's amazing.
this is a detail taken off a bridge crossing the san antonio river on presa street. it's a great old bridge, and marks the entry into la villita, my favorite part of san antonio. i always park near this bridge so i can walk across it.
our lady of guadalupe is my favorite of all the marys. i took this picture out side of mission san jose, in san antonio. i plan on cleaning the shot up some, flipping it to black and white, and maybe using it for a christmas card. the mission is really beautiful, and i very much enjoyed the afternoon i spent walking around the grounds, looking at the buildings, etc. all the art work in and on the building was done by the indians who lived in the mission. what a beautiful place!
i can unequivically say that i would rather have all my fingernails pulled out than drive in chicago ever again. it's horrible. there's a word to describe it, but seeing as how i send this blog to my grandparents, i can't use it. but the first syllable is cluster...you get the point. this is really the only picture i wanted in chicago. i fought hard to get to wrigley field, and braved a 2 hour traffic jam to snap this. i am very much, on occasion my father's child, not only because i got lost five times while actually using a map, but also because i drove 60 miles roundtrip to take a picture of the front of baseball stadium. here's to ya, pops.
does anyone else see the total irony of proclaiming a restaurant "the wieners circle" while advertising it as the "home of the char-broiled cheddarburger"? i do. and i stopped traffic to get you this picture. you are allowed to show your pleasure in the form of gratuitous praise. cash is also acceptable.
this is the best shot of the sears' tower i could get from the street. i got honked at. a lot. but there was no way i was coming home without some damn pictures of chicago landmarks. not after fighting my way downtown in obscene traffic and having paid money on tolls. geeze louise. that being said, chicago is a great town. maybe one day i will attempt to conquer it, and add it to the list of cities i have pillaged with my awesomeness. i will be hiring a driver to cart me around, for sure.
that's pretty much all i have for you from this side of the funny farm.
mil besos--rmg
23 October 2007
28 September 2007
deja vu, all over again...
last weekend, i went on a driving expedition with my mom and grammy, somewhere between lake mcqueeny and new braunfels, i saw a two and a half story house painted a color like oxidized copper, with a double wrap around porch. the house was surrounded by fields, and had a tree break on one side of it. the only other place i have ever seen a house that like was in a dream i had a year and a half ago, almost to the exact date. i have been sort of haunted, in a good way, since last saturday.
here's the journal entry i wrote about it when i woke up:
February 26, 2006 - Sunday
i had the most amazing dream either sometime last night or this morning. it was so vivid. like if i had stayed asleep long enough, it could have become totally real.
i dreamed i bought a house-- a green one with two and a half stories, painted some random green color--like the way copper looks when it's oxidized. i had a little writing room at the top of the house, and i could see the fields all around my house (because it's a farm house...duh), because there were walls of windows on all four sides, and i had all my book deadlines dry erased on the windows, so i could see when my editor needed things. and there was a windmill in the backyard that had brand new silver blades on it, and the wind was blowing to beat the band.
i dreamed i caught a bus to go into town, and i ended up in a bar, and all my favorite people were there, and i was suddenly playing some card game that was a cross between texas hold-em and five card stud, in a smokey room where a nice waitress kept bringing us unlimited sweet tea with lemon slices and fried catfish. we played cards and laughed and talked about life, and i felt alive and beautiful and free. and then i realized i was secretly in love with this idiot man who is so far out of my league that i should even be allowed to talk to him, much less have a crush on him, but i told him that anyway, and he didn't freak out, and then all my friends and idiot hot guy and i all loaded up on the bus and went back to my house for a house warming party.
i woke up knowing that everything is going to be ok. and that my house is waiting for me. my life is now.
--rmg
very strange, don't you think? i have no idea what this means. but it's kind of exciting.
mil besos...
here's the journal entry i wrote about it when i woke up:
February 26, 2006 - Sunday
i had the most amazing dream either sometime last night or this morning. it was so vivid. like if i had stayed asleep long enough, it could have become totally real.
i dreamed i bought a house-- a green one with two and a half stories, painted some random green color--like the way copper looks when it's oxidized. i had a little writing room at the top of the house, and i could see the fields all around my house (because it's a farm house...duh), because there were walls of windows on all four sides, and i had all my book deadlines dry erased on the windows, so i could see when my editor needed things. and there was a windmill in the backyard that had brand new silver blades on it, and the wind was blowing to beat the band.
i dreamed i caught a bus to go into town, and i ended up in a bar, and all my favorite people were there, and i was suddenly playing some card game that was a cross between texas hold-em and five card stud, in a smokey room where a nice waitress kept bringing us unlimited sweet tea with lemon slices and fried catfish. we played cards and laughed and talked about life, and i felt alive and beautiful and free. and then i realized i was secretly in love with this idiot man who is so far out of my league that i should even be allowed to talk to him, much less have a crush on him, but i told him that anyway, and he didn't freak out, and then all my friends and idiot hot guy and i all loaded up on the bus and went back to my house for a house warming party.
i woke up knowing that everything is going to be ok. and that my house is waiting for me. my life is now.
--rmg
very strange, don't you think? i have no idea what this means. but it's kind of exciting.
mil besos...
24 September 2007
two weeks in review...
i've somehow found myself spending the last couple of weeks feeling rather like this:
but two weeks ago, two of my little cherubs from atex bought me tickets to acl. i saw some great music, hung out with old friends, got a horrific sunburn, and saw bob dylan for the second time in my life. he played my most favorite song, ever. i laughed til my stomach was sore. my nose is still peeling...
i had some trouble going to sleep friday night, after my little b-day dinner party, featuring birthday flan. it's been hard to get my head around the idea of turning 29. i remember my mom's 29th birthday-- my dad and God-mother threw her a wake. it's odd to be an age that i remember my mother being. very, very surreal. i've been kind of pouty about starting the last year of my twenties, to tell the truth. it feels so...i don't know, settled? i mean, i own a house, a car, i have life insurance, i have a pet, i own a vaccum cleaner, and i go through a can of starch every other week. i bought a toilet and opened and ira account. i go on business trips. it's all very surreal, and seems to all have happened very, very fast. and i guess i got sidetracked into feeling like i was starting this static point in my life, instead of choosing to feel like i am beginning some of the best of times, precisely because i am settling down. granted, there are days when i'm not what i imagined i would be at this point in my life. but, my reality is kind of growing on me. and in those small hours saturday morning, i found myself thanking God for what is, and not asking God for what isn't. that's kind of a nice place to be...mil besos--rmg
13 September 2007
between a rock and a hard place
i've been thinking a lot about elijah, lately. elijah the prophet, not elijah the kid who played the hobbit, in case you were confused...i very much like idioms--they are so helpful in conveying things that you want to say, but might say badly, or clumsily. between a rock and a hard place is one of my favorite sayings. but i've gained a new respect for that phrase over the summer, which lead me right back into the story, and the arms (as it were) of elijah, the prophet.
elijah was a difficult man to be friends with, i imagine. that much intensity and purpose could wear out the most patient of souls. he was a fire-brand, a lightening rod, someone who did not hold with equivocations, or namby-pamby lackluster worship or thought. he did not put up with chicanery, not under any terms. i imagine he had a hard time having fun. fun probably was not easily had in elijah's time and place, anyway. but, even if he'd been born in disney world, i imagine elijah would have had little time to have his picture taken with mickey mouse, or gone spinning in the tea cups til he barfed his mouse-shaped icecream onto his shoes. elijah was a man of principle. a man of discipline. a man with a plan, and a will to follow God, even if it meant that he was a rambler, a wanted man, hunted, and hated.
elijah found himself in a cave, in a wilderness, with death waiting on him if he went home, and his own disappointment if he didn't go home. elijah was stuck between a rock and a hard place. he had no choice but to be silent, to be uncomfortable, to be challenged, and to find a way to stand true and be who God was calling him to be. and in that posture of discomfort, between the physical rock and the spiritual hard place, elijah heard the voice of God. elijah felt the power of the strong wind, the magnitude of the earthquake, felt the heat and the power of the great fire, and was smart enough to know that the most powerful of all the things he witness that night was the whisper that came next. and elijah heard what he already must have known--to go back, and keep doing his job, and to be comforted in that purpose.
i don't like to be uncomfortable. i am uncomfortable a lot of the time, emotionally speaking, in my job. but to not do my job would be to deny who i am as a person, to say that God made a mistake, to call into question every place i have been, everything i have done, and every word that has come out of my mouth.
we live between physical rock and spiritually hard places, but how often do we be still enough, brave enough, quiet enough, and awestruck enough to listen to the whisper and respond with our whole hearts. sometimes you have to have your back against a wall to ever realize that moving forward is the only option. between the rock and the hard place is a holy place. God is there.
mil besos--rmg
12 September 2007
summer begins to relent, sort of...
things are ok. really, they are. the ramp up to fall always comes to an apex, and we pick up the pieces left over from the blitz until christmas, and start all over again. funny how my life still mimics an academic one with the wax and wane of fall, winter, spring, and summer.
i'm trying to spend more quality time with myself. i know that probably sounds stupid, but it's very easy for me to forget to do my own thinking, my own praying, my own writing, my own art, my own life some days. there are days when the only thing i do that's self-motivated is try and remember to eat something green at every meal. i'm going back to the gym, and i'm suprised at how good that's been, just from a mental stand point, and the fact that i've decided to suck up the gas money and drive to the nice gym seems worth the trouble. it's nice to slip back into a routine of some sort.
i keep remembering these random phrases from the bible--like mental sound bites. the biggest one i keep hearing is " on this rock, i build my church." i keep thinking about peter, and what that meant. we think (or at least i do) about rocks for buildings being dressed, at least smoothed down, squared off, clean and tidy. i don't think that's what peter was like, at all. i think he was rough, broken, not terribly well-suited to have such trust vested in him. but God saw more, and knew better. and so i have a vocation today. and when my weaknesses are revealed in stark and stunning ways, i remember that i am just like peter--willfull, reluctant, stubborn, etc. and if God saw fit to build a church on such a one as peter, maybe God can do something with me, as well.
i think it's time to go back and re-read "the alchemist". i try to do that every couple of years. it's kind of like taking a vacation for me. i just re-read "til we have faces", over the last couuple of nights, and remembered why i loved that book so much. so often we see things the way we want to see them , forgettingor discounting the back stories, the alternate perceptions, the global/universal ramifications of our passions. it's good to remember that we are not only accountable for the rotten things we do, but also for the joys we forego. life is a spiral. it all comes back around, again, and again, and again. and the joys are sweeter, the pain a little easier to bear. and the closer we get to the middle of things, the more and more frequently things come back around.
things are good. the backyard is coming along. i officially hate brick as a medium of landscaping. i'll try and get some pictures up as things get closer to being finished back there. i'm already plotting my next project...furniture refinishing!!
mil besos--rmg
i'm trying to spend more quality time with myself. i know that probably sounds stupid, but it's very easy for me to forget to do my own thinking, my own praying, my own writing, my own art, my own life some days. there are days when the only thing i do that's self-motivated is try and remember to eat something green at every meal. i'm going back to the gym, and i'm suprised at how good that's been, just from a mental stand point, and the fact that i've decided to suck up the gas money and drive to the nice gym seems worth the trouble. it's nice to slip back into a routine of some sort.
i keep remembering these random phrases from the bible--like mental sound bites. the biggest one i keep hearing is " on this rock, i build my church." i keep thinking about peter, and what that meant. we think (or at least i do) about rocks for buildings being dressed, at least smoothed down, squared off, clean and tidy. i don't think that's what peter was like, at all. i think he was rough, broken, not terribly well-suited to have such trust vested in him. but God saw more, and knew better. and so i have a vocation today. and when my weaknesses are revealed in stark and stunning ways, i remember that i am just like peter--willfull, reluctant, stubborn, etc. and if God saw fit to build a church on such a one as peter, maybe God can do something with me, as well.
i think it's time to go back and re-read "the alchemist". i try to do that every couple of years. it's kind of like taking a vacation for me. i just re-read "til we have faces", over the last couuple of nights, and remembered why i loved that book so much. so often we see things the way we want to see them , forgettingor discounting the back stories, the alternate perceptions, the global/universal ramifications of our passions. it's good to remember that we are not only accountable for the rotten things we do, but also for the joys we forego. life is a spiral. it all comes back around, again, and again, and again. and the joys are sweeter, the pain a little easier to bear. and the closer we get to the middle of things, the more and more frequently things come back around.
things are good. the backyard is coming along. i officially hate brick as a medium of landscaping. i'll try and get some pictures up as things get closer to being finished back there. i'm already plotting my next project...furniture refinishing!!
mil besos--rmg
27 August 2007
to write love on her arms...
man, what a day. if i could ask God one question, it would be this, "why do people have children if they aren't going to love and take care of them?". i don't understand why people bring children into the world, and leave them to take care of themselves. neglect is horrible, just as bad as abuse. i mean, what's worse--being ignored, or getting kicked around just for existing? same shit, different dress, if you ask me. i can't imagine ignoring my hypothetical children, or not fighting tooth and nail for them to have a happy childhood, or a healthy mind/body. i don't understand people who seem to have children out of some sick need to conform to society, and then just spend the next 18 years of that child's life ignoring them, farming them out to other grown-ups, abusing and neglecting them either physically or emotionally to the point that they may never be able to get well.
i think about having kids. i think about how much i want them in my life, how much i want to teach them to do things, show them the wonders of the world that i have seen, and watch them make discoveries of their own. i can't imagine with-holding affection from them, raising a hand to them in anger, treating them as less than valuable people, making fun of their ambitions or their limitations, or blaming them for being depressed, or anxious, or even just acting like teenagers. i konw that sounds lofty, because i don't have kids. and i know you can never underestimate the value of a visceral experience. but God help me if i would do any of that on purpose. or ignore someone telling me that my child was in danger, and that i better wake up.
i remember lessons i learned in high school about people who didn't pay attention to their sick child, and wanted to pretend that everything was fine. i never imagined i would see that re-inforced in my adult life, and still feel like my hands were just as tied as they were when i was 17. i don't want to go to a funeral that could be prevented. i understand that depression and self-injury are sometimes terminal diseases, i get that. but things don't have to be that way for the child in question. it's so hard for me to know that i have done everything i can do, and that this situation isn't any better. there's no quick fix. i'm not the police, or the doctor, or the parent, or the therapist. i have pushed as hard and as far as i can. and nothing has changed. not a damn thing. i cannot love this child enough to make her well. i can't tell her how special she is, or that things are going to get better, or that she's not going to be sick forever any more times than i already have and have her believe me. all i can do at the end of the day is to put her at the feet of Jesus, and hope that she can find some rest there. today was a hard day.
if you have some time, google "to write love on her arms". it's a powerful story. and it's beautiful. hope is sometimes a hard thing to find, but i know it's there, it's there and it's abundant, and it belongs to all of us.
mil besos--rmg
i think about having kids. i think about how much i want them in my life, how much i want to teach them to do things, show them the wonders of the world that i have seen, and watch them make discoveries of their own. i can't imagine with-holding affection from them, raising a hand to them in anger, treating them as less than valuable people, making fun of their ambitions or their limitations, or blaming them for being depressed, or anxious, or even just acting like teenagers. i konw that sounds lofty, because i don't have kids. and i know you can never underestimate the value of a visceral experience. but God help me if i would do any of that on purpose. or ignore someone telling me that my child was in danger, and that i better wake up.
i remember lessons i learned in high school about people who didn't pay attention to their sick child, and wanted to pretend that everything was fine. i never imagined i would see that re-inforced in my adult life, and still feel like my hands were just as tied as they were when i was 17. i don't want to go to a funeral that could be prevented. i understand that depression and self-injury are sometimes terminal diseases, i get that. but things don't have to be that way for the child in question. it's so hard for me to know that i have done everything i can do, and that this situation isn't any better. there's no quick fix. i'm not the police, or the doctor, or the parent, or the therapist. i have pushed as hard and as far as i can. and nothing has changed. not a damn thing. i cannot love this child enough to make her well. i can't tell her how special she is, or that things are going to get better, or that she's not going to be sick forever any more times than i already have and have her believe me. all i can do at the end of the day is to put her at the feet of Jesus, and hope that she can find some rest there. today was a hard day.
if you have some time, google "to write love on her arms". it's a powerful story. and it's beautiful. hope is sometimes a hard thing to find, but i know it's there, it's there and it's abundant, and it belongs to all of us.
mil besos--rmg
23 August 2007
good lord, have mercy...
i wish i had something of import to say at this point. i just don't, because i am so tired right now. i'm trying really hard to rest and take care of myself, it's just hard right now. too many different directions, and i feel like i'm being sort of drawn and quartered. and i know that when this happens, parts of my life will suffer. there will be people who don't get enough of my attention. there will be things that don't get done (like cleaning the bathroom...sorry jinx!) or will get done to a point that they keep me up until all hours trying to make them perfect. this is how i know it's fall. that and everyone in my universe is going through some kind of transition that's driving them nuts in some form or fashion. my days have seemed so long this week, i think because i've been eating lunch at my desk. not leaving here for an hour in the middle of the day makes it seem so much longer. thank goodness today is my version of friday. hopefully, if i can keep all my plates in the air for 72 more hours, i can get my house cleaned and my laundry done.
my crazy old people make me laugh. i wish i could tell you some of their stories, but i know it's agains the rules. they are pretty amazing, though. some of them are funny, some of them will break your heart. none of them are boring, though. and that's a good thing.
i caught myself singing along with the radio today. the song on was an old, old, old duran duran track (ordinary world). i hadn't heard it in years, but i still knew every word. i felt sightly uncool about how well i knew the words, and how much i liked the song. i've sort of reconciled that now, though. random, i know. kind of like how i feel like i iron my clothes with more vigour if i watch a western while i do it. raise your hand if you watched lonesome dove AND tombstone this week--i have a plethora of ironed clothes, now. finally.
that's all. i need a nap. or maybe just to sleep for 36 hours. maybe i'll take myself to the zoo on saturday...
mil besos--rmg
my crazy old people make me laugh. i wish i could tell you some of their stories, but i know it's agains the rules. they are pretty amazing, though. some of them are funny, some of them will break your heart. none of them are boring, though. and that's a good thing.
i caught myself singing along with the radio today. the song on was an old, old, old duran duran track (ordinary world). i hadn't heard it in years, but i still knew every word. i felt sightly uncool about how well i knew the words, and how much i liked the song. i've sort of reconciled that now, though. random, i know. kind of like how i feel like i iron my clothes with more vigour if i watch a western while i do it. raise your hand if you watched lonesome dove AND tombstone this week--i have a plethora of ironed clothes, now. finally.
that's all. i need a nap. or maybe just to sleep for 36 hours. maybe i'll take myself to the zoo on saturday...
mil besos--rmg
14 August 2007
simplify, simplify, simplify...
i stayed home from work yesterday. that almost never happens. i took medicine, slept the bulk of the day, slathered vick's vapo-rub all over my chest and throat, and turned my bathroom into a steam-shower four times. i am so glamorous, it's hard to even contemplate it, sometimes. shocking to think that i am still single, isn't it? taking a for real sick day was glorious, and even though i still sound like kathleen turner, i feel a little better. my poor cat didn't know what to think--he's used to me getting up, turning on the tv, getting ready for work, and bolting out the door by 9:30 most mornings, and not getting home until 6 or 7 at night. i think he was secretly irritated to have to share the bed all day.
i spent two days at a leadership conference last week with my staff. my boss told me to work on processing everything we heard/saw/read, to journal or blog about it. so i'm blogging in the middle of a work day, and i don't feel too guilty about that. bossman said to do so, and i like to be a good soldier, so here i am. and truth be told i don't really know what i think about everything i heard last week. i'd like to believe that there are some good nugets to be put to use, some real depth and substance to be explored and put into practice.
my fear is that too many cook spoil the broth. and we have so many, many, many cooks. and i'm not sure that we're all real clear on what the menu is. it reminds me of pot-luck dinner at church, where everyone knows just what they want to bring, but there's a good shot that without some direction, you'll just end up with a table full of pea-salad, or nothing but desserts and deviled eggs. so i'm processing. and i'm afraid. a little afraid.
but this is not my table. it belongs to God, and my job is to bring to God what God has given to me. and to unappologetic about that. and so i will be. even though the thought scares me, and what i have to give seems so different, so small and large and overwhelming and insignificant. but it is God's. and it is mine.
i know in my bones that at some point in the near future, i will go to Africa. i don't know how. i don't know why. and i don't know where. but i am going. i know that like i know my own name. it's not even so much as a desire as it is a compulsion. and i can't ignore it. i have known i would go to Africa since i was in college. and lately, the dreams of dust and noise and movement, of blue sky and red earth haunt me and loom larger than they ever have before. something, and i don't know what, broke open inside of me while i was in mexico, and i can't help but think that the trickle is a flood now, and i have to just relax, and let it take me where i'm going. to fight it seems like something close to a sin. i have many questions. many questions. and i am realizing that the answer to most of them, or at least to the most important of them has to be "yes".
mil besos--rmg
i spent two days at a leadership conference last week with my staff. my boss told me to work on processing everything we heard/saw/read, to journal or blog about it. so i'm blogging in the middle of a work day, and i don't feel too guilty about that. bossman said to do so, and i like to be a good soldier, so here i am. and truth be told i don't really know what i think about everything i heard last week. i'd like to believe that there are some good nugets to be put to use, some real depth and substance to be explored and put into practice.
my fear is that too many cook spoil the broth. and we have so many, many, many cooks. and i'm not sure that we're all real clear on what the menu is. it reminds me of pot-luck dinner at church, where everyone knows just what they want to bring, but there's a good shot that without some direction, you'll just end up with a table full of pea-salad, or nothing but desserts and deviled eggs. so i'm processing. and i'm afraid. a little afraid.
but this is not my table. it belongs to God, and my job is to bring to God what God has given to me. and to unappologetic about that. and so i will be. even though the thought scares me, and what i have to give seems so different, so small and large and overwhelming and insignificant. but it is God's. and it is mine.
i know in my bones that at some point in the near future, i will go to Africa. i don't know how. i don't know why. and i don't know where. but i am going. i know that like i know my own name. it's not even so much as a desire as it is a compulsion. and i can't ignore it. i have known i would go to Africa since i was in college. and lately, the dreams of dust and noise and movement, of blue sky and red earth haunt me and loom larger than they ever have before. something, and i don't know what, broke open inside of me while i was in mexico, and i can't help but think that the trickle is a flood now, and i have to just relax, and let it take me where i'm going. to fight it seems like something close to a sin. i have many questions. many questions. and i am realizing that the answer to most of them, or at least to the most important of them has to be "yes".
mil besos--rmg
09 August 2007
half asleep
that's pretty much how i feel. you know that moment when you realize that you are, in fact, having a dream, and that you must wake up? that's pretty much how i have felt for the past week. i can't figure out why. it's bizarre. i thought i was hormones or allergies or stress. now, i think maybe it's a sign from God and i'm just supposed to wait it out, until i either see a burning bush, or auras, or start getting messages on the traffic boards that give construction information along loop 410. whatever the case, i wish i would either get the message, or be able to get some sleep. this is getting a little ridiculous.
mil besos--rmg
mil besos--rmg
02 August 2007
stream of consciousness
we're dancing, dancing, dancing
cumbias and honeysuckle and pozole and small children with faces painted like tiny clowns
and i'm driving driving driving with the windows down and the top back
and the sky is so blue that at the edges it looks white and for the first time in a long time, i can see what tomorrow is going to look like. and i like it fine. and the middle of the bed is the best place to sleep.
and since the rain stopped and summer showed up my steering wheel is like a brand when i begin to drive. and i drive and drive and drive. but this time, i am not driving away. i am driving to someplace, someplace, someplace i think i have never been but see in my dreams. and maybe it's the beach or the desert or the city or a gravel road and maybe i'm singing at the top of my lungs, some kind of rockstar prophet social worker turned politician and honest woman. maybe i remember that the mole i ate was first made by the aztecs who were warlike and peaceful and made great art and music and chocolate and were ruled by shamans.
maybe the shaman was in the mole and he lives in my belly now, full full full of the earth and the sky and the sun and the quetzal and square flat topped pyramids. tiny, tiny, tiny flecks of stars peep down and say hello with the fire of ten thousand summers and smiles and tunes and stories and they smell like chlorine and bug repellant and coconut flavored sun-block. and my nose is peeling, again. freckles for fall.
sleep, perchance to dream and maybe make some sense of all that i've seen this week. stories of people getting sober, getting drunk, dying, falling in love, getting divorced, being happy, crying the whole way home over something as small as symantics. getting ready to help people live, getting ready to help people die. hold the stories like you hold a bird with a broken wing--gently, gently, you never know when you will need to be held. you are worth being held, and held well. you are. strength from the milk of human kindess, whether in a phone call or note or embrace. drink deep. be filled.
damned redeemed black white truth lies crazy sane for whom the bell tolls countless times, but for once it chimes for me. at least once. i know it. it woke me from my dream this morning. when what really woke me was the dream that i was eating oysters with the cast from west wing, and choked on a pearl. and i was in california, on an open road trying to find my way to I-10 so i could watch turtles cross the high way on their way back to the sea. i should really read about rastas during the day time...
i think that's really enough for today. my allergies are getting the best of me.
mil besos--rmg
19 July 2007
en mexico
that is where i am, dear ones. and this is the first chance i have had to get a note out to you all. i am fine, and in fact, am dreading leaving this place, just a little bit. we have been having such a good time. and i have to tell you that i do not think i will be the same person when i come home.
home...such a wonderful word. and home means so many different things to so many people. you would not believe the poverty in this place if i told you. or maybe you would. all i can tell you is that it breaks my heart. but it humbles me, too. and i can see the abuse by abundance that we place on ourselves, as well. oh, i am not saying that i am coming home to sell all my possessions and live with the poor. but i will certainly think about it. and i mean that in all honesty. i really, really, really mean that. right to the tips of my toes.
last night, we shared church with the people who worship at el buen pastor, the episcopal church we have been working with. maria elena is one of the priests, and she gave the sermon in english and in spanish. we made eucharist together, speaking different languages at the same time. it felt like pentecost mixed in with the magical mysetry tour. the older ladies at the church have been cooking for us all week, and they made us pasole last night. and we danced until we could not dance anymore. (incedentally, i cannot find the apostrophy on this spanish language keyboard, hence the lack of contractions...ay dios mio...)
anyway, maria elena began her sermon by addressing us as " my brothers and sisters" and i started crying. it was such a precious moment to me. in that moment, i realized the only thing of any worth i brought to my brothers and sisters in mexico is myself--just being with them. that is really the only thing of any value i have to give them. they do not need my standard of hygeine, just because that is what i am comfortable with. they do not need my news, or my ideas, or my ideals for that matter. they just need me to see them, to really see them. to see past the crushing poverty, the struggle for mere subsistance, to see past the nits and the dirt and the smells, and see that they are my brothers and my sisters. they are whole people. they are beautiful and broken and just like me.
i did not have time to go on this trip, for lots of reasons. i honestly do not think when i left san antonio i had room in my heart to be on this trip. too many ideas too many ideals too clean too american too much. and somewhere along the way, the Jesus who lives here and the Jesus who lives inside of me met and made something new inside of me. and thanks be to God for that. it was time.
blessed am i among women.
mil besos.
rmg
home...such a wonderful word. and home means so many different things to so many people. you would not believe the poverty in this place if i told you. or maybe you would. all i can tell you is that it breaks my heart. but it humbles me, too. and i can see the abuse by abundance that we place on ourselves, as well. oh, i am not saying that i am coming home to sell all my possessions and live with the poor. but i will certainly think about it. and i mean that in all honesty. i really, really, really mean that. right to the tips of my toes.
last night, we shared church with the people who worship at el buen pastor, the episcopal church we have been working with. maria elena is one of the priests, and she gave the sermon in english and in spanish. we made eucharist together, speaking different languages at the same time. it felt like pentecost mixed in with the magical mysetry tour. the older ladies at the church have been cooking for us all week, and they made us pasole last night. and we danced until we could not dance anymore. (incedentally, i cannot find the apostrophy on this spanish language keyboard, hence the lack of contractions...ay dios mio...)
anyway, maria elena began her sermon by addressing us as " my brothers and sisters" and i started crying. it was such a precious moment to me. in that moment, i realized the only thing of any worth i brought to my brothers and sisters in mexico is myself--just being with them. that is really the only thing of any value i have to give them. they do not need my standard of hygeine, just because that is what i am comfortable with. they do not need my news, or my ideas, or my ideals for that matter. they just need me to see them, to really see them. to see past the crushing poverty, the struggle for mere subsistance, to see past the nits and the dirt and the smells, and see that they are my brothers and my sisters. they are whole people. they are beautiful and broken and just like me.
i did not have time to go on this trip, for lots of reasons. i honestly do not think when i left san antonio i had room in my heart to be on this trip. too many ideas too many ideals too clean too american too much. and somewhere along the way, the Jesus who lives here and the Jesus who lives inside of me met and made something new inside of me. and thanks be to God for that. it was time.
blessed am i among women.
mil besos.
rmg
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