Snail Snacker

Today she turns 40- that second sister of mine. My favorite childhood memory of her is that time as a toddler when she was crawling around the patio during a summer backyard BBQ. We had this very slippery patio you see. As pre-teens, on a hot summer day, we’d throw our swimsuits on- altogether us sisters and cousins too, run the garden hose over it and slip-n-slide. At the end of a good session, our knees would be rubbed red and bruised. We didn’t care- fun was all we knew. There were no plastic slip-n-slides and if there were- our parents didn’t have the money to buy one. We did what we could and played with what we had. What we lacked in money we made up with in creativity. But I digress.

Back to my sister. She was crawling all over that slippery patio while Dad BBQ-ed some type of delicious meat. I remember we had those windows in the kitchen that opened up to the patio and we’d pass the carne asada raw and cooked back and forth through that window. The meat always marinated in this giant, mint green tupperware bowl. Man, every time I saw that bowl- I just knew it was going to be on. So there went my sister – maybe 18 months old and she’s crawling around that slippery patio and hardly anyone is paying any attention to her until- PLOP!– she picks up a nice, juicy slug of a snail and just throws it in her mouth. I’m not quite sure who noticed first that she seemed to be crunching away on something not right. Next thing you know- they ran right over to her and took it out of her mouth or what remained of that little insect and washed that mouth out with water and Lord knows what else.

I couldn’t look at my sister in the same way for a few months after that. Every time I thought of her- I thought- there she goes- a snail snacker. The only way Mom and Dad explained it was you know your sister- she’s always getting herself into something- she can never sit still- that one.

And so she remains to this day. Mother of four, husband to one, full-time working momma with a side business – making homemade, personalized sugar cookies, cupcakes and party planning. She planned her own 40th birthday bash a few weeks ago and it was spectacular- tequila shots, 90’s music in a cottage along the beach. She just finished baking personalized cookies/cake pops for our niece’s 15th birthday party. She always goes over the top and she can never stand still- constantly moving and plotting her next move. She gives her entire heart to her others. I worry about her sometimes as I do with all of them in different ways- that she gives too much, does too much and not enough time is spent on herself.

She is brilliant, talented, and full of life and love. I hope she remembers that today- a celebration of her 40 years on this earth-  and always. As her big sister, I will try to remind her of that. Love you Mel. Sisters forever.

The Park

 

The local park looks shabby now. The tops of the play structure have turned a light blue and yellow. It’s all kind of run-down looking and you wonder- did it always look like this?

My kids are at home or at school, working and doing homework on iPads and computers. Checking their grades on school portals. Practicing their instruments. Selling Girl Scout cookies and attending Boy Scout meetings where they plan the highlight of their scouting career- the infamous Northern Tier trip. Everything seems heavy and carries an air of finality to it. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m too sensitive or too serious.

I drive past the park at least once a day. I think a lot while I’m driving. I do a lot of driving. I remember our park days.

There was the time we landed there early- like 8:30 in the morning of a muggy summer day. We met friends there- the usual suspects. There was no plan, soccer balls, food nor blankets. Our kids didn’t ask us to log onto our hot spot. They didn’t complain they were bored. Half hour in- the sprinklers came on throughout the park area. We had the whole park to ourselves. The kids and adults shrieked with delight as we ran free through the sprinklers, our damp clothes sticking to our bodies and hair hanging in our face- a moment frozen in time. A moment of complete freedom and joy.

I remember being a young mom at this park. Nursing one baby in a sling and chasing the other. Pushing my babies in the infant swings. Then transitioning to chasing after them to make sure they didn’t fall off the structure. To our dismay, they loved heading to the big structures where the big kids were. Then finally graduating to teaching them to pump their legs and swing high. We held picnics and potlucks there. We flew planes and kites there. The mountains were our backdrop to our life. There was always a new Mom to connect and pass the morning with. Our conversations were always interrupted and I recall we would tell each other- just wait until they are older- we will have all the time in the world- then indeed we will be able to finish this conversation.

Our days seemed like they’d just go on for all time. The plan was always this- let’s run them ragged for 2-3 hours- then go home, throw them in the tub, make a quick Mac and cheese dinner so they’ll be in bed by 7:30. A glass of red wine was always our reward before going to bed and doing it all again the next day.

I go to the park every now and then- between the soccer games and farmer’s market – always on the way to somewhere else. The park is no longer the primary destination- it is merely an interruption on our journey to somewhere else. I don’t recognize any of the faces anymore. I’m at least 10, okay maybe 15 years older than everyone there.  I feel like an odd duck- an imposter- my face is not shiny and new and that optimism and open-mindedness that accompanies new parents is no longer in my DNA. That belongs to the new ones- with new babies in slings and swings- calling after them with that sing-songy voice. You know the one. The one you used to use that now drives you nuts when you hear new moms using it.

My kids? They are at home. He is stressed out because there’s 38 honors geometry homework questions that are on top of the test, the history quiz and spanish homework. Due tomorrow. Real dinners with equal amounts protein and veggies need to be made and someone needs to be picked up from somewhere- every day of the week. There are parent-teacher conferences, awards ceremonies, PTA meetings, reading nights and school fundraisers to attend. The red wine has been replaced with Kombucha because alcohol keeps you awake at night and between the pre-menopausal night sweats and anxiety over how you will pay for college – sleep is something you need so much more of these days.  That and our thickening waist-lines simply cannot tolerate the alcohol any longer. We wave to our mom friends in the school pick-up lane and text in case of more urgent matters. Sometimes we get together with those who have’t yet returned to the workforce- we grab a bite to eat, we hike and we talk- all uninterrupted.

Sometimes things just change. And you have to change with them. But you still drive past the park at least once a day and you remember.

Homesick

Circa Early 1980’s.

My cousin Mimi recently sent this out in a cousins group text message we have continuously going. I have no recollection of this photo or event. Yet, here I am right smack in the middle roasting marshmallows with cousins and sisters. A glimpse of pure childhood happiness. I miss them dearly and my heart yearns for what I cannot have- they who I spent every childhood day with- as I sit here thousands of miles away. This photo and now memory I hold close.

Heart

Leaving a little bit of our heart in San Francisco- as we always do. Grateful for quality time spent with each other and loved ones we don’t get to see everyday. Happy Easter Sunday to all.

Saying goodbye to Tia Chica

 

My Tia Chica passed away last Thursday, in Mexico City. I wrote about her before in Tia Chica’s Empanadas. My sister Veronica delivered the news via text message to all us sisters. We didn’t have a lot of information about her passing but we knew that if we wanted to get a chance to pay our respects to her and see her one last time, we’d have to act quickly. In Mexico City, they do not embalm the bodies and so they bury them within 24 hours. In Tia Chica’s case it ended up being cremation but needless to say that she passed on Thursday and her rosario– viewing was an all night-vigil Thursday night and Friday morning.

My two sisters- Nydia and Veronica along with my parents flew into Mexico City Friday. They arrived in the morning and I in the afternoon. The funeral was Friday afternoon and she was cremated Friday evening. I arrived in time to say goodbye and kiss her- glass between us- one final time. My sisters and I – we had an opportunity to thank her for all that she gave to us. We had told her before and we told her again. Still, the finality of death is shocking and we are left with knowing that we’ll never have her empanadas or cooking to nourish us, nor her sarcastic remarks, her biting humor to laugh at- everything and so much more that made her our Tia Chica.

I am still overcome with so many emotions and since I had not visited Mexico City in 20 years and never with my parents as an adult it was a trip that I cannot yet put to words. There are so many family stories that were told to me that I had never heard and so much I never realized. That is for another post.

Look for an upcoming picture travel diary of 48 hours in Mexico City. It was an unforgettable experience that I cannot wait to share. Thank you for allowing me to share my Tia Chica.

Laundry

I forgot.

That five year olds love to help. Together we walked down two flights of stairs with a basket piled high with laundry. The clothes kept falling out with each step and thump. And we put them back in. Every single time. When we finally made it to the basement, it was time to sort darks and lights. Huge piles were made on the ping pong table. We moved clothes from the dryer into the now empty laundry basket and placed the just washed clothes into the dryer.

Load after load. It never ends. This chore of laundry is so monotonous it kills me. Feel like I’m in the movie Groundhog Day. I look at the clothes and ask myself didn’t I wash this yesterday? I am exhausted.

As I look at the new basket of clothes ready to be folded I take a glance at my little helper. I say “well we don’t need to fold these now, it will take awhile.” But she surprises me by saying “we can do it together and it won’t take as long.” And I respond by saying, “yes, yes of course.” I get back my energy and strength and slowly, ever so gently show her how to fold a shirt, a dress, a pair of pants. She is so excited.

And then I remember that eight year olds don’t like to fold laundry. How could I have forgotten? And I am sad because I realize this time will pass so quick. Too quick.

And I will be alone on a sunny day – lugging, sorting, washing and folding laundry in the basement with the whirl of the washer and dryer going at the same time. Wishing I was somewhere else and remembering.

A Rocking Chair

A neighbor invited me over for coffee this morning. I walked into her home and found this little beauty in the corner. It brought back many warm childhood memories. I had not seen one in years. Growing up with my sisters and cousins – we would use the chair to build blanket forts and dream homes for our Barbies. Sometimes we turned it upside down and used it as a shield. And on occasion, we used it as a rocking chair. Imagine that.

 

It’s a Dog Eat Dog World

It’s a dog eat dog world out there” she screamed and “I’m wearing milk-bone underwear!!

Last day of the quote challenge and I had so much fun remembering this quote and the time period that accompanied it. Please enjoy and Happy Sunday! Thank you to Faraday’s Challenge for inviting me to this challenge and now I challenge Mommy Lanes Adventures. 

Kate walked into the apartment and slammed the door, took her heavy backpack off and exhaled before telling us her story.

She’d been walking down Frat Row, passing the many fraternities with their unkempt grass lawns and disheveled front doors and shrubbery. She had stopped only because she happened to see a woman’s purse laying on the ground in front of her on the sidewalk and thought- someone’s lost their purse- let me see if there’s an ID inside so I can return it to the owner. But instead of finding an ID, what she found was a pile of what I truly hope was dog shit inside the purse. This was Berkeley after all and anything, I mean anything could have been possible. She screamed in disgust and flung the purse far away from her. By the time she arrived at our apartment on Dwight Way, she was boiling mad and fed up with how difficult and overwhelming college life seemed to be.

We were in our 3rd and 4th undergraduate college years at UC Berkeley living in a 4 bedroom flat that could have been the International House (I-House). All of us in one place for a short but critical period of our lives- having taken so many different journeys to get there.

Will- the aspiring attorney who liked adding kidney beans to his spaghetti sauce and spent his days debating philosophy at cafes and had grown up in the middle-class black suburbs of LA(yes, they exist).

Ben- the hard-core architect who loved building anything and photography. He hailed from Sacramento and dated a Catholic girl which would have been fine if he wasn’t Jewish. It led to some interesting late-night conversations.

Linda- my bestie who I met during freshman orientation days who on that day told me she was going to medical school and would be a doctor. Japanese-Mexican and another So-Cal girl, we bonded instantly. To this day, I don’t know how she did it, but the girl did not sleep and I would find her every night watching television all night always awake and studying biology, physics, the infamous o-chem class, in-between blue screens. She always cried if she pulled out anything less than a B in class. How was she going to get into medical school she wailed? I secretly thought, hmmm – maybe you should stop watching all that television. But I always kept my mouth shut. Who was I to judge?

And there was Kate of course. Kate hailed from the land of Encino, California and had worked her ass off at 2-year community college to get the coveted position of transfer student to UC Berkeley. But all Kate talked about was Dooney & Burke purses and her boyfriend Tim who she would surely marry right after graduation because their parents were life-long friends. Kate dreamt of getting out of college as quickly as possible so she could get on with the rest of her life. “I wish I could just wake up and be like 28 years old, married to Tim and pregnant with the first kid.” College life was not what she thought it would be so she dreamt of what she was sure were better days ahead.

I think about some of these characters sometimes. I wonder how life has worked out for them. If it turned out the way they thought it would.

Home

 

From left to right- Me (age 4?), cousins Gaby and Angelica

Last night I had the most pleasant dream. I was a child again and I was in a place I have very fond memories of- my Tia Soco’s house- in my older cousins’ Angelica and Gaby’s room. It was a big room with two twin sized beds side by side filled with a lot of toys, dolls and books. The thing is I had not thought of that room in maybe 20 plus years. In my conscious state- I cannot remember or tell you what it looked like but in the dream – with my subconscious – every single detail was perfectly clear like wearing glasses or contacts when you haven’t seen clearly in so long. And I swear I dreamt it right- exactly how it used to be.  I was lying in the left sided bed – the one I think remember belonging to Angelica and I was just so darn happy. I had an overwhelming feeling of being completely free and unencumbered- no responsibilities, deadlines, not one care in the world.  A child once again. Truly that’s what being a child felt like to me and I had not felt that in so long that it completely took me over. That dream – that feeling- it sustained me all day long- I carried that feeling deep inside me. In the last few weeks my mind has been filled with lots of old childhood memories of home or what home feels like.

Spending the night at Abuelita Chelo’s house- the one on Huron Street- in either Tia Yoli or Tia Elvia’s bedrooms. Windows open with the scent of that sweet honeysuckle coming in. Thinking that there was all this stuff happening in the world but there in that little house it did not matter- anything that was mildly important was happening right there. It was the center of the universe or so it seemed.