madre!

ya no se como lo hago...
me estoy poniendo loca - poco a poco.

I managed to write some on a piece I'd started about a month ago. It's turning too narrative but I've managed to separate the piece into parts so I'm hoping the narrative becomes okay as I add in some of the more personal tones.

My computer is acting up so I spent about an hour cleaning through it and got rid of 50 versions of my resume through the years, as well as those of others I'd created, old graphics, etc. Still have a lot to go through. By then I was a zombie. I'd not slept any (Delhi got sick on the ride home from Austin on Sunday night and, it turns out, actually was sick - keeping me up all night with uneasiness, hurting stomach, throw up, odd food requests, etc.)

The day before, I stayed with my mom, cooking and washing clothes, cleaning up, etc. She still can't put any weight on her foot and she's not in a good mood about it. Worse, I wouldn't have gone to Austin at all for the day if I knew what was happening at the house. We spoke the next day and my mom said that my father didn't cook anything, didn't ask her if she needed anything - general ass behaviour. It made me realize that, while I am not the best at naming/finding/acquiring home or at being in a secure and loving relationship, my parents are horrible examples of both. I started realizing that my daughter's ease in establishing home and her possessive though tender love are symbols of growth past the examples previously worked out.

Like always, I'm an intermediary of sorts. I sometimes wish I weren't.

While in Austin I did get to see Carol and Lilia for a bit. They moved to a new place so I bought them some dinner - it's not easy to cook when boxes are everywhere, I know that from experience!

I also got to see Sunny, who is on her way to Minnesota (a surprise to me!). It was so good to see her. My nickname for her does suit her - whether she would agree or not is another thing. While we talked for some time, I think it was just the best when, in saying good bye, she told Delhi "see you in Minnesota". Had I written in here we were planning a trip to Minneapolis/St. Paul to see my "homeland" (as much home as any other place in this hemisphere)? Yes, I'm planning a trip in November.

I miss school - I was thinking about that today. I'm going to find a couple of strange classes to join. My mind is wandering - I suppose that's a good thing.

fraud

I felt like such a fraud when I entered this weekend. I haven't completed the writing I've been wanting to, haven't completed even cleaning the house!, and felt as though I was holding myself back, wasn't allowing a clear view for anyone, even myself. I really felt like some dark cut of glass - transparent but with this coloring that doesn't let you decipher everything.

I was told by someone last week that they were checking on me by checking on my blog. This isn't all of me, I realized. This is very little. I mean, I've been up to so much, there have been so many changes that I can't keep up with them. Not in a physical way but mentally. It seems all these things in my life are having a tremendous impact on me.

For instance, I would not have thought that taking 6 little girls out for my daughter's birthday would have made me feel so feminist and capable of awaking young minds. And, conversely, would make me want to have more children so deeply.

Or, having a peach for breakfast on Friday that blew me away with its texture and smell. I haven't been awake in my body for a while so I was taken aback by such an incredible thing: dirt and humidity and sun and perfume and musk all at once. Or, in going to lunch with a faculty member here - the Indian food we ate intoxicated me. I love my body very open to experience. The textures and tastes filling me. It can be overload but it empowers too - and not just my writing.

I did settle down some after Carol and Lilia's arrive Friday evening. We went to go see Gaytino!, a performance piece by Dan Guerrero, son of the "father of Chicano music", Lalo Guerrero.

Conversations with my sister friend Carol this weekend let me talk something out - always helping me see more of something long before I would have on my own (mostly because of avoidance or denial). I always felt this dichotomous idea that I had to choose to be in a relationship or choose my creativity.

While my creativity is by no means destructive (i.e. Sylvia Plath), I've felt it spinning a little beyond my control. I can manage it but wonder if, given some foundation, it might come out more tactile. Right now it feels like a fire in me that threatens to take everything in the air and make it something else.

I'm mis-saying because it is not destructive - I just wonder if, with more avenues to express myself, I might be able to keep the emotional fuel of my creativity in check. That this might also encourage better sleep and more consistent self-care (right now I'm eating one end up eating one meal a day and way too many cups of coffee).

And while it's not specifically an intimate relationship but more like connections with people that can aid this, I of course think about relationships. Since moving here, this is the most personable I've been. I'm really feeling available, open, transparent. Or, at least trying for transparency. I have reminded myself people will like me if I'm this way - and if they don't, at least I wasn't lying and they weren't interested in some part of me that was not complete truth.

Before the gay pride festival on Saturday, Carol and Lilia and Delhi and I went to Casa Chiapas for lunch. The festival was sweet, much smaller than ones I've been to in San Francisco and Austin but also very community-oriented - no entrance fee, lots of community booths, local talent performing. Most of the larger ones do out of town talent and charge $10 to get in. We didn't get there until 5 p.m. or so and so I was surprised I didn't see more of the people I knew there. In looking at the website they were there - I guess I arrived too late. I did see a former co-worker from when I worked at the San Antonio Symphony. I knew she was family but I think I surprised her because she didn't clock me that way.

At Casa Chiapas, I felt all Kitchen Table Press, we were talking about defining as queer vs. lesbian vs. bisexual and how neither world cares for those who are not "gold-star lesbians". That was a huge discussion for me that I don't want to talk about now.

So, I felt a little better by the time the mujeres left late Saturday. Still lots to process and I would like to talk a little more about it. Of course, despite my increased socialness, I find myself alone tonight. . . and what I have in my head is way too big for some shallow conversation.

safe space :: madison, wisconsin // not a safe space :: guantanamo

I remember a couple of years ago I was invited, along with ten or so other queer activists, to a media training workshop given by a media education group in Madison (pictured). Madison is a super safe space and probably #1 city for lesbian couples. I was able to walk around freely, buy books from one of the oldest feminist bookstores in the country, enjoy a cup of coffee at one of numerous available cafes. It hardly seemed like real life.

We learned how to work with the media, be responsive to queer issues discussed in the media (mainly print), and respond timely with concise information, quotes, stats, etc.

We did a couple of samples together, disciminating a couple of topic points and focused on Guantanamo.

I never spoke up but should have. While the others talked about human rights, Geneva pacts, etc., I thought about how I, as a Cuban American, saw those who were kept at Guantanamo as Cubans. Despite their being from Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Iraq or Afghanistan, I saw them as now under the military thumb of Americans on land that was seized by Americans but that belonged to Cubans and Cuba. How must the Cubans view not just Guantanamo but Guantanamo's new role, new duties?

It hurt me that there were no screaming Cubans outside Guantanamo. It hurt me that I couldn't say anything. I had more than one relative or family friend stay in the prisons of Cuba after the revolution. The desperation they must feel - their lives squandered, military personnel and government officials surrounding them like parasites. My Tio Cheo made it out of the prisons and was one of the Marielitos but he was never the same. He drank himself to near death, smiled a faraway smile sometimes and, in looking at you in the face, would look like he was going to cry. He died of cancer. There's no story in the world out there for him. My grandfather's cousin, Pedro Luis Boitel, was more well known but died during a hunger strike on May 25, 1972. I was not even one year old.

Well, today, another Guantanamo detainee died - killing himself rather than staying there. My god, what possible information could they still be trying to collect after being subjected to mistreatment, forced detainment, and inconsistent protections and legal aid for 5 years! When are they gonna shut this crap down? And I don't just mean the camp but the whole damned base!? The House of Reps is trying to shut the camp now.

I'm really hurting today. I read the news item while at my desk at work earlier today and felt so ridiculous, trying to balance numbers while one man was dying. I keep crying.

just like Bobo...

man, my grandfather was like no one else. this week my mother's car was being repaired (still!) from the accident she had in november. there was one part that's held the repair techs up so all week I've dropped off the tiger, picked my my mom (the lion), and drove to the park and ride to take the bus to work, leaving my mom with the car for her work.

it's actually been nice, a new morning ritual away from the routine, and i've been able to hear all kinds of stories.

i got a new cell phone because the cricket plan I was on estaba narajas girl so. the little one was desperate to have the phone, I suspect to call me to just say hi, and she took with her to school today. i called it just to be trouble but had put the ringer really low so she didn't hear it. so this morning, because she slept at my mom's i had to pick them both up and take myself to the park and ride first (with one bus, I'm 15 minutes late - the bus before gets me there 30 early!) then my mother was going to take my daughter to school. we told her that she might be late.

well, as soon as I was dropped off, my daughter pulled the cell phone and told my mother the time continually. I left a message at my mother's work to see how they got along this morning and my mother wrote:

i just got your message, she got off fine, in a hurry and reading the time off of the the dammed cell phone every three seconds and telling me what time it was. she wanted to know why we didn't take her first, i told her that it wasn't just about her, if you missed the bus, i would have to take you all the way out there and if i had an accident because of her rushing me she would probably be two hours late because it takes the police that long to get there. she finally put the phone away and didn't give me the time anymore. god, she's just like bobo.

I've been hearing family stories all week because of the time we are spending together. including stories about Bobo, my grandfather and mother's father. I've also been hearing how the Cuban parenting method endeavors, despite distance to culture and family - my cousin, with 3 of her own, recently overhead her youngest (4 years old) tell one of his brother's friends (at 15 years old) that he was going to set his ass on fire.

Seems like the less Cuban is in the kid, the more they express it.

nail biting

I had a woman pretend to read my palm Saturday night as I left Rolling Oaks Mall, where one of my daughter's friends had her birthday party at a place called "Inflatable Wonderland" - no, not for adults. She was selling a sugar scrub of dead sea something and, as she turned my hand around said "oh, you bite your nails" in this coquettish sales girl kind of way.

This weekend was rush rush rush but I found some time, about an hour, to just chill with my feet up and a couple of books that have been waiting for me on my shelves. And I did a full hour's worth of cleaning while Tigrette did her guitar lesson.

I have been easily angry lately and I mean to put some routine to my meditation so that I can cut that down but I am actually debating anxiety drugs at this point.

I also spent a lot of the weekend going to northeast SA, with trips to the hospital to see my brother and his girlfriend's new baby, Deja Matilda Reyes De leon. I was telling my mother that I felt a little removed from her because she had parts that I didn't recognize. I realized how ridiculous this was when I claim as family most everyone around me - non of whom have my grandfather's tipped ear, my mother's hazelish-green eyes or my father's big nose.

She is a pretty little girl though. Doesn't cry, sleeps beautifully and has the cutest way of stretching - full body, arms up, head tilting so far back you think she's gonna slip out of your arms. Tigrette's happy with her too, is talking about how she's going to show her the ropes. Great, another revolutionary for kids' rights.

spillover from my birthday, update on pumpkins, what else is happening? I know there's more I'm supposed to be writing down...

I haven't yet recounted my birthday hijinks and, thankfully, those photos people took haven't ended up on the internet or Bermuda Triangle's website!

I did meet up with Nancy who I then tried to convince to let me be her Two Week Girlfriend. She moved up to Austin last week. Of course she thought I was crazy but now we are talking nice. So much dreading about women and it's better if they do live far away. Yes, there's the missing but there's also all that time where I can actually do the things I need to do!

My new work is fantastic. Loads of paperwork but great support and just, overall, super funny and intelligent people. It's meant changing my schedule some and now I'm super tired on Mondays because I'm running like mad all weekend.

The new queer parenting group I'm in met up and went to Medina, Texas for a huge pumpkin patch held at Love Creek Orchards. It was so hot the last thing I needed to be carrying was a 10 pound white caspar pumpkin but it's a beauty! I got a tan too. So much for that cold front coming in.

Tigrette had a great time in the hay maze and painting another, much less heavy, orange pumpkin in all kinds of colors.

We knew we hit the right place when, at the entrance to the orchards there were individual flags forming the rainbow. It's like they were waiting for us. Like gay days at the pumpkin patch. You knew we had to find jokes in all this.

Montoya!

Well, I did it.
My face was flushed and puffy, my hands shaky, and my Word footer function not working. Still, I did it. I thought I'd sleep like a baby last night but I woke up throughout the night.

In some ways, I've really appreciated having this deadline because it let me focus on something besides Cliffy's cowardice and the fact that I still love her. Now, I don't know what my mind won't conceive of without some larger thing to concentrate on.

I have to thank Laura, Love Joy and Spenta for their great insight into my work. A special thanks to Laura for the coffee and lunch. Thanks to Krissy for hearing me. To Carole for her incredible assurances - how you hit the mark, girl! To Gloria for kicking my ass with her loud talking. And to V and L (those who are "Sweetness") for occupying some of my time. Thanks also to my mother for the copies made and for the quick trip to the post office.

a new year

it's been a few weeks since I've written anything.
it's actually been several weeks since I've felt like writing anything.

curiously, I moved into the apartment and ended up with a rash that usually shows up when I am stressed. true enough, work's been hell with changes. not intolerable but it's easily visible that lines are being drawn and friends help friends.

the rash finally gone I realized my writing was at a change and needed some time to come together again. I feel like I'm in the first few months of pregnancy, and am starting to feel the flutter like butterfly wings inside my center now.

this month of quiet has been unique, magic and calming:

tigrette's learning an incredible amount of sign language at school
and she can laugh about looking like a boy sometimes, especially now that her hair is even shorter, and sometimes, the way she looks at me, reminds me of a picture of my great great grandfather, a mulatto french man who moved to Cuba, with wild, kinky hair and intense eyes;
cliffy and I are coming together
and things like grocery shopping aren't chores so much as they are the opportunity to provide some softness to my family;
the apartment is all lived in already but still fresh, a real opportunity to grow;
we have a new hamster, puffy, who has the same boitel attitude all the rest of the family has;
I've strengthened my friendships, in some cases finding friends again, and claimed them as family.

there's a lot more but some moments of growth and change are so subtle, I would have no appropriate word to show the movement they provoked in me.

today is my birthday and cliffy gave me a gift last night that I didn't want to open until this morning. at 1 a.m. I couldn't sleep so I got up for some water and opened the present. you know, I've been accused of holding back on letting people see me. I didn't expect any present at all except a handmade card from Delhi and some great emails from friends.

a gift from cliffy was incredibly sweet and she chose these things that were so exactly right for me. it makes me feel good that she sees me. in particular, she bought me a cute red and purple ceramic heart with the word "create" on it. there I was, all crying, just holding that heart.

cliffy thinks I'm not writing because of work. I can't disagree with her but I do know that my writing is present, is with me - just quietly sleeping, a small group of petals promising an entire landscape.