crunch time but my mind is wandering...

I have three phobias which, could I mute them, would make my life as slick as a sonnet, but as dull as dishwater: I hate to go to bed, I hate to get up, and I hate to be alone. --Tallulah Bankhead

This last few weeks have been immense. I've not talked to any friends. Cliffy stayed at the house the weekend before last. Like always, it was good until after she left. I've had this stomach virus off and on for weeks and got the final brunt of it last week, missing two days of work - not my choice, especially considering it's a new job. I'm loving work and even went in this weekend to show Delhi the space and get some cleanup done. School is kicking my butt and I'm supposed to be awake to write my extra credit paper. I was so sick I couldn't even get up to get to class so I missed a test - good thing is that I'm not penalized - bad thing is that my final test counts twice. It's been 4 or 5 days since the worst of it and my neck is still tight and my ribs hurt tremendously.

Amid all this, I've had on my mind the realization, yet again, that there is so little in this city for me. I'm at the opposite side of the wheel that I was in when in Austin - there I'd lost my job but found a city that, while not perfect, was close to sharing my energy/frame of mind/frequency. Now, I've got a great job, keep getting promoted and pay raises but don't have community. It hurts me.

Delhi surprised me this evening and folded some of my clothes that I'd washed and made my bed (if you know me, you know I don't make beds). I told her I really appreciated it because those were ways we could help each other - in just the few moments we have free. We'd been having so many talks where I was doing the talking - I'd neglected the community-vision of my parenting - that eventually she never talked. This weekend she spent some time at my mother's house but I picked her up Sunday morning and told her that I wasn't going to rationalize or guilt her but that I would very much like us to work together to clean up. It took forever but we went through some clothes for school, threw away old school stuff, put her books away and checked off the school supply items we already had.

I'm trying to make the most of the space that I do have. I would very much like to be in a space where I could say what I wanted, where I could let out my wittiness without apologizing, where someone who tells me they should marry me means it - some place where I'm able to write so that I'm not getting frustrated with my little mama. I would like to stay peaceful with her. We work so much better. I don't know that I'm capable of making peace with this city or with the luck that's given me career opportunities but I can make peace with my Delhi.

my child

The thought of raising a child still terrifies me. With good reason - my child is truly the kind wished for in the late 1800s, when children were viewed as "small adults" who made their decisions, held conversations and generally were seen as good company.

Summer is a hot blooded time for both of us - she adores and gains freedom and I search for but cannot get my hands on freedom. Of course, I'm taking that college course so that has taken my sectioned time for freedom/play/personal enjoyment - much like my sleeping again has taken my time from writing.

Still, Delhi's been hanging at my mother's way too much. I still remember my mother's "Oh God" when I told her, sometime in March, that Delhi would be born June 15 or 18 or 21. I had had a dream of the calendar and my circling a day. She wasn't boohooing my dream - my mother was just freaked because, in her words, "She'll be a gemini! My parents were both geminis!". She said further: "Well, I was under them but this one will be under me!" The evening I had Delhi my mother made one soapy, googly look and I told her "under you, huh?"

We still talk about Delhi's immense personality and how she is like the threat of a huge thunderstorm when she approaches with something on her mind.

So lately, she's been pushing, with all her logic, how upset she is with the summer camp she's attending part-time. I have her at another summer camp between 1 and 2 times a week but can't afford to do it all week right now. By August she'll be going every day anyhow because this free summer camp she finds "just awful" ends in July. I was so fed up with her rationale and her consistent pecking at either me or my mother about just how awful the summer camp was I showed her our budget for the month. This worked for a couple of days.

Then I amended the budget to show just her expenses. We were both surprised that she manages to swindle me out of more than half my check. Her immediate face indicated she thought that perhaps she was deserving of more. My face, on the other hand, must have shown my disgust at having paid her basically $100 an hour for work she may have done around the house (and not with the greatest output either!). So this kept her quiet for another few days.

Next I told her about my cracked tooth and it was either two days of summer camp more for her or me repairing a tooth that was bothering me and that could crack on me. She didn't immediately agree with the urgency.

Finally, yesterday, I reminded her that I needed glasses and those would be about $250 and if I had to hear, even once more about how she didn't like the free camp, she wouldn't be going to the cool camp that costs money at all for July because that was costing me $260 for the month. Well, my mother came to pick her up this morning for the free camp and the first thing out of her mouth to my mother was about how mean I was.

Kills me that I taught her, from the beginning that she needed to use her mouth to enact change. Kills me more that she seems to have received the stubborness on both sides of the family.

dream

I had a dream Tuesday night that there were two, bulky looking men who handed me a baby to take care of. I realized as they were passing her to me that she was my niece and, in looking at the men, I realized they were police or at least uniformed.

This goes back to my feeling of motherliness. I don't know if the dream is in response to all this feeling (though, who imagines a baby just handed to you?) or if I'm anticipating a possible outcome considering what's going on in their life.

Here's a pic of them. My scanner broke so I took a capture shot from the webcam, hence the strange look.

Cute, no? Mati (Deja Matilda) and my child, Delhi Micaela! Pictures of me in the 1970s look the same!

gonna do the rounds

oh, man, i'm feeling good and nervous about this trip to the RGV (as they call it).

So, because Tigrette has so much energy and i think i still do, we have a couple of "must do"s on our list of what to hit when we go down. I want to visit Gloria's grave.

I first went there a few days after her funeral - we were on our way back from Mexico and we took the long way back in order to visit. Ya Vez didn't care really but she wanted to look sympathetic and the Fifis wanted to go. Lourdes sang a song for her and I left a bracelet with la virgen de cobre on it. I had relied on that bracelet a lot, especially given the mess my relationship was in at the time but I was okay without it after. I had dreams about Gloria from the time she died up until about 6 months later.

I thought we might make it to Don Pedro Jaramillo's shrine but I really need a map before I start planning all these little side trips. With it being a 4 hour drive I'm going to have enough time on my hands having to entertain Tigrette.

La Streppy

Tigrette (a.k.a. "La Streppy") had strep throat so, of course, this blog is about my suffering through it all. I am amazed I didn't get sick. Tigrette is always the most loving when she is sick so there were endless kisses on the mouth, long hugs, sips out of my drink, using my toothbrush, uncovered sneezes and coughs - it goes on and on. There's a reason, long ago, that we named her Typhoid Delhi. The girl knows how to pass it around. Worse, she would kiss you then say "I'm contagious".

The first day she was actually sick was Friday so my mother, who doesn't work on Fridays, took her. Saturday and Sunday were the first full days of glorious sun in a number of weeks - reason enough to go outside and do nothing. Tigrette wanted to reattach the placental bond by sitting in my lap all day and watching movies. She needed comforting. I needed a dose of sunshine and independent time.

Come Monday, with her no better, I took her to my doctor (who is great!) and we found out she did have Strep. Tigrette was healthy and alert enough to remind me I could hide some cool magazines in her jacket but, upon returning home, wasn't healthy enough to eat, throw trash away or pick up her socks from throughout the house.

My first question to the doctor was "When can she return to school?", to which the doctor replied she could return Wednesday. I knew she was feeling better Tuesday morning when she picked three little fights with me by 9 a.m. I was ready to medicate her and send her to school anyway.

By Tuesday night I was begging my mother to take her for an hour. I had all these plans! Go to the bookstore, buy a cup of coffee and sit outside, make a call, do some writing. All I did was take a nap. I'm still tired and it's Friday!

She managed to look beautiful and refreshed by Thursday when they had pictures taken. I remember years and years of minor "issues" which always meant my pictures were horrible. Sick for 3 days to return on picture day wearing a god-awful periwinkle and pale yellow shirt with a collar and (augh!) skinny tie (how could my mother not have known I was a dyke?). That's just the memory of 7th grade pictures.

foreigners at the Target

Target's come out with their Global Bazaar series of furnishings, decor and must-haves. It's nice looking, and I get caught up, especially since I'm slowly transforming the house into this multiethnic, multicolored buzz.

It goes to show how much Americans like their consumer goods, and how often majority culture views ethnic goods as easy, marketable things which will "color" their lives.

But theory is different than practice: I knew it would happen - that Tigrette, my little one, would be at some store and someone would allude to her being "foreign". It happens to all people of color. I was once lovingly told at a Greyhound bus stop that I looked so much like someone's Hawaiian niece, the product of a second marriage to their [white] daughter. My coloring, my frizzy hair.

So, my mother returns from one of her weekly trips to Target with Tigrette and tells me this woman approached her and said how beautiful she is. Again, her "coloring, her hair..." and then proceeds to ask her what race she is. My mother, face stone cold, turns to her and says "The human race. And you?" Nicely said, mater!

Usually my mother would go into a tirade that would include some choice words, a reference to "you people" (which never sounds good) and end with a spanish-language slur about the woman's mother. She must have been in a good mood.

So many things are wrong here: consumerism versus actual appreciation of ethnic contributions and cultural expressions; justification of dominant culture to infer details about an "other" and state them without any fear of inappropriateness; beauty relegated to ethnic makeup based on preconceived notions; false sentimentality and community based on gender commonality. There's more.

And to think Tigrette used to hate having to correct people when they thought she was a boy. This type of assumptive thinking is even harder to recognize and respond to because it's along gender and culture lines. Makes me think of Ronald Takaki.

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.

freezing cold?

Well, I took the ice storm of 2007 much better than I thought I would. I didn't trip out while driving, I wasn't cold in the house and I didn't have any trouble with the plants, pipes or kid. I am glad I paid the extra bucks to get the back brakes fixed up though. You could feel the difference on the road. And, just as they were lowering my vehicle from the lift, the cold front was blowing in Saturday morning.

The city didn't fare as well. Everything closed down. Highways, stores, schools, work, etc. It was crazy. Tigrette spent some time at my mom's, which let me write. I got 13 pages of poems down and, amazingly, they came as a group. I actually see them as the beginnings of a book. So, of course, I've got to fight myself constantly to ensure I keep writing before I lose that feeling and I'm on to another subject. It was hard enough not getting up for every little noise or to make a cup of coffee or check how full of ice the bird feeder was.

This series idea started with an article about a bullfighting school in Southern Califas, where they practice "tientas", a bloodless match which tests the skill of the bullfighter and the bull. A flash went off and I ended up equating the idea with my relationship with Ya Vez. I had debated writing more about our relationship as a way to continue healing past it. Still, I didn't want to give it all the attention an entire book might give. So, I thought to use Anne Carson's new book Decreation, as inspiration. Her other books have offered as much illumination. She's fabulous. I would love to study with her.

Once I sat down with the idea, I wrote very little about the whole break up. It really did leave a bad taste in my mouth, while at the same time, I was thankful to have gone through it and be past it all. Rather than focus on this old air, I was able to write these pieces which focused on my perspective now, how it's changed and how I could bridge that person I was before this last 5 years with the person I have become.

Strangely, last week's final bye with Cliffy, and this new writing spurt were prompted by this one man who was attending the conference a sister office at work was having. He was strangely matter-of-fact when he came up to me while I was at the registration table the first evening during a reception. He asked where the next day's sessions would be, and some other question before telling me I was pretty. Then he asked me another question regarding the conference. He was a gorgeous man. I wasn't unaffected, you know? But I realized, with all the thoughts growing in me, that I had changed with the last 5 years and I didn't like the parts of me that had grown cautious, reserved, secretive or scared. I missed those pieces within me that made me distinct. I ended up going across the street after the reception cleanup was done, to Ruta Maya, and wrote while a drum circle took place for awareness about Darfur.

The next day he and I actually spoke and I was a lot looser than the day before. I felt the freedom that was due me. I can't be so angry with Ya Vez or Cliffy for their expectations but I can be more clear in what it is that I need. I also can't fight hard enough to remove those commonplace ideas of what's considered "normal" or "acceptable" behavior to define me to the point of suffocation.

I know that, as a woman I could easily ask myself why some small compliment was needed to turn me around. I should be able to lift myself up. But, I keep thinking about that night I left Osento, the evening before I returned home from San Francisco a couple of summers ago. I had spent 5 or 6 hours in Osento's getting a massage, loving the dry sauna, reading, meditating, etc. I had spent almost two weeks recommitting myself to my writing, its importance. When I walked out to catch the last bus back to USF, this homeless woman looked up at me and, just as she was about to ask for money, she told me I was beautiful. I thought this was bad ass - yes, you know the transformation you are working on but it's wonderful when someone else catches a glimpse of it too. This man reminded me of the changes I had accomplished but also reminded me that I had pushed some things aside which shouldn't have been pushed aside.

gush - comiendo el mundo, mordadita a mordadita

I am so tired. And to think, I was already getting gloomy because the tsunami hit Thailand 2 years ago and that marked the day my life changed halfway around the world in Austin, Texas. However quiet I am, the image/idea finds me.

I try to think of it as low tide - a tiny thing incapable of hurting me, wanting rather some attention. As though saying the whole world is going to hell - look, can't you see? So I hold it, recognize the pain and wait instead for the gush of words to come from me.

I had that dream, as I mentioned in an earlier blog, about writing and things coming true. Happily, I kept this image close to me and yesterday, rather than go home and beg for sleep, I went to a cafe and knocked out 4 or 5 poems. I'm going to keep working on them this weekend. Thankfully, I have this next week off!

I'm moving furniture too. Tigrette asked me why I am always moving furniture around. I told her it was genetics - that I got the genes from her Nana. It's surprising how much a room's focus can change if you move things (or the other way around). I thinking right now specifically of my bedroom - but that's a whole other blog entry.

strep!

I should have known. my voice was different than usual. classic sore throat and achy. I had strep, not tonsilitis. I was listening to the automated system for test results that my doctor uses and though I would hear "negative for strep. please continue your antibiotics as prescribed by your doctor".

this time it was "positive for strep. please continue your antibiotics as prescribed by your doctor." not much different, I know, but I tripped because I had Tigrette all on top of me the last few days and sometimes she uses my toothbrush without telling me. I should have known tho : she had a cough about 1 1/2 weeks before I got sick and then got rid of it. We didn't use to call her Typhoid Delhi for nothing - girl knows how to share.

Moreso, I've been thinking too much: I used to have issues with my voice when I was in transition. if that's still the case there's a lot of transition happening!

I'm sleepy. my throat hurts.

an old story... childrearing between generations

my mother and I are often at opposite sides of ways to raise Tigrette. as an immigrant, she wants me to "do better than I did, not have to work so hard". that's wonderful but it implies a comparison, a burden on the shoulders of the child to take one step further on the path their parent(s) took.

i would often take the large view with raising Tigrette. I have to see her as an individual who does not belong to me, who make take a completely different path than I have taken, whose life may be so distinct we are truly able to honor each other's individuality. of course, her hair is like mine and she is sassy like I am and she can't have her food touching so dinner is often placed in 2 or 3 small chinese bowls (yes, like me when I was a kid!). yes, she is like me but she doesn't have to keep on the life mission I'm on or have chosen to take on.

turns out there's an author educating along the same lines. Who knew childrearing instructions could be found in the Talmud?