are for sleeping in
coffee with Mom and Dad
nibbling on a sugar cookie
dragging myself to the Y
sweat anyway
workout done
Saturdays are for easy lunches
salads and croissant sandwiches
thrift store shopping
unexpected surprises
Saturdays are for laughing
a bit of laundry, hugs,
packages in the mail
slurping spaghetti
Saturdays are for chatting
making wrong turns
again
on our way to the venue
Saturdays are for concerts
an orchestra
musicians, my musician
John Williams’ genius
enchanting us all
with memories of favorite movies
Saturdays are for sitting
around the fire pit
chocolate, graham crackers,
and sticky charred marshmallows
winter playing tag with spring
under the orange sliver of a moon
llena de alegría y deseos dulces
¡ dale, dale, dale,
rompe la piñata ¡
uno, dos, tres,
zas y pum, zas y pum
doy más, y más, y más
ya no tengo
¡ ayudame ¡
I am a piñata
full of joy and sweet wishes
go ahead, go ahead, go ahead!
tear the piñata
one, two, three
zas and pum, zas and pum, zas and pum
I give more and more and more
I have no more [to give]
help!
I’m so nerdy, subscribe to a sticker club. It’s like an ’80s sticker store, but in the mail. I purchased a year’s subscription for my mini-me two years ago as a birthday gift. I didn’t cancel the subscription, but decided to gift it to myself. Plus they offer a teacher discount, so how can I cancel? I’ve been hoarding stickers ever since. I don’t want to use them, but I totally need to use them. I have no business buying a sticker album either. Yes, they sell those too.
Deconstructing the mailing envelope.
Every month, I receive a shiny holographic envelope with another sparkly zippered pouch packed with stickers. Oh happy day, snail mail, my favorite! I’m sure I can repurpose the envelopes, so I hoard them along with my stickers.
Last week, I received a badge machine I ordered for our library’s maker space. Bingo! I packed up my sticker stash and envelopes. I’ve never used one, so it was time to play. I cut out circles from the envelopes and the front page of the ‘zine that comes with each pack. The covers have fun prints, so I read them, rip the cover, and save them along with everything else.
After several failed attempts at making a badge and before deciding to send it back, reading the directions might help. I left out the important metal base. Went back to try again and alas, awesome, shiny, 80s style buttons. I decided to make a few for students to see if they’d like them. I wasn’t sure if they’d go over well. My idea of cool stuff is not their idea of cool stuff. Once spotted though, our regulars all wanted one.
Taking it a step further, I decided to make some donning the covers of popular books. The backgrounds aren’t shiny because we print them out, but sure enough, students are looking for their favorite titles. My library assistant made a template so all we have to do is place the image of the book cover on the circle templates, print, and cut them out. We have books on the 2022 Texas Lone Star Reading List ready to print. One of our student aides has learned how to make them and the task is now hers to supervise others.
I’m hoping these will motivate students to read. Even if they don’t, it will bring them through our doors so we can have a little bonding time, chatting. About books. Or stickers. Or about what it was like growing up in the 80s. (Hello, primary source, here.) And they’ll leave with a mark of library coolness.
Two students came in this morning to print flyers they made for next week’s Spirit Week, kicking off spring break ’22 (is it really that time already?). One of them is a student library helper that has taken on the task of checking out books to students so we can work on more pressing issues. Like making sure no one tries to bite a Chromebook. True story, but not under my watch.
One of the scheduled spirit days is “Dress as Your Favorite Decade.” They asked if I’d be participating. “Heck yes! Totally the 80s for me.” Then I began reminiscing. They asked what it was like and how I dressed. My answer? Pretty much like I do now, except everything was neon. Big hoop earrings. Side pony tails. Leg warmers. Fingerless gloves. Rectangular sunglasses. Rubber bracelets stacked from wrist to elbow. Miami Vice jackets with huge shoulder pads.
Miami Vice…my celebrity crush was Don Johnson, among many others. “Ooh, Ms. Garza, was he cute?” They proceeded to Google him. “No! Not yet! You can’t Google the Don Johnson now. You have to search for the 80s Miami Vice Don Johnson, they won’t look the same. Don’t do it!”
Too late. They give each other an odd look. Sure enough, it’s not the Miami Vice Don Johnson. We dig a little deeper and find one of Crockett and Tubbs donning their signature pastel t-shirt and suit combos. Sigh… “I know, he was way too old for me.” My library assistant chimes in, “But if it’s a celebrity crush, it doesn’t matter.” I mull it over. “True, but look at him now, ewww! It’s just ewww! He’s old enough to be my dad! Gross!” They agreed without having to agree with me. “Okay Ms. Garza, we’re going to come check out your outfit.”
“The flyer says you’re giving out candy if people participate. I’m totally going to get some candy!”
I print their flyers. We chat a little more about how we plan to dress up and other 80s celebrity crushes. For about ten minutes I was 13 again, swooning over a Google search instead of a poster in Teen Beat magazine.
When I read Tiger Eyes, I had no idea other people added little Spanish into a book written in English. I knew Spanish books existed. My grandma’s Bible was in Spanish, but I never encountered any real Spanish in a book. And especially not a young adult book. And most certainly not a young adult book at my school.
Four little words. “Cuando los lagartijos corren.” This is what Wolf said to Davey when he told her needed to go away for a while. She didn’t know what it meant, so he told her to look it up. I knew what it meant, so I translated for her. Being a book character, she didn’t answer until she figured it out later, but I thought we could totally be friends.
And New Mexico! Hello, Texas neighbor. I certainly never read books set in New Mexico! Back then, I didn’t know a thing about “windows and mirrors” through literature. I did know that watching Maria on Sesame Street and listening to her speak Spanish was one of my favorite parts of the show when I was much younger. I even secretly liked watching it with my younger siblings because, you know, who doesn’t love Maria? Now, she writes her own books, holding up those windows and mirrors for today’s generation, just not on Sesame Street.
When I started my teaching career as a bilingual teacher, I made sure to get my hands on bilingual books for my classroom library. I wasn’t ever aware these books existed, or at least I didn’t have experience with such books, but I was glad to find them. But why were they so hard to find? I now know both the easy and hard answers to this question. The easy answer: There aren’t many authors writing these books. The hard answer: There are authors writing these books, they’re just not getting published for a million reasons disguised as “that’s just not what we’re looking for.”
Well, people are looking for these books. They always have been, but the stories have been held back. Or authors have been discouraged. Or [insert a random reason here, you know the one].
Judy, did your editor give you any push-back for including those four little words, renegade of a writer that you are? Did they suggest you stick to English so that you wouldn’t lose any readers? Was that ever a controversy when your book came out or was it merely the issue of Davey’s father’s death? Was there an issue with Davey having a Spanish speaking boyfriend, because back then, interracial couples were not the norm?
I was just a teen who wanted to read a good book, so I didn’t keep up with things like this. What you impressed on me most were those four little words. A tiny bit of a language I was in danger of losing because it wasn’t “cool” to speak Spanish, so why was it offered as a class in high school? Can I go back with a smidge of wisdom to have the guts to ask hard questions? Would anyone be able to answer them?
Thank you for reading. Will you even read this? If you do, will you write back? Por favor?
I know, everyone is “celebrating” this once in a lifetime palindrome of a day. And I like palindromes, so much so I was fascinated with one of the characters in Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible, who spoke in palindromes. The character, one of the daughters in the story (her name escapes me-it’s been years since I’ve read it), renames Emily Dickinson no snikcidy lime, one of my favorite poets.
I found myself trying to make sense of today’s oddity. I like oddities. We tend to find each other frequently and sometimes, people find me, odd. Never mind them. It doesn’t bother me. Usually.
I had to walk back into the house twice this morning for forgotten items. My watch, oh grand teller of time. And my H20.
At work, we started day one of a two day testing session, the bane of my existence. No matter how far removed you are from the classroom, you still manage to get suckered in for testing.
During lunch, I messaged my husband and suggested we do something to celebrate. Maybe a dessert. Maybe something out of the ordinary for a weekday with the kids, but what, I wasn’t sure.
Later, I got a message. My husband and my nineteen year old suggested we go out for dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Dos Salsas, where two different salsas accompany your chips before your meal. To top it off, it’s also National Margarita Day. Margarita is my signature color and if I were to choose a middle name (my parents didn’t give me one), it would be Margarita. Why the heck not, I’ll have a margarita today, three days before the weekend officially starts.
No one complained about the choice of restaurant. We didn’t argue about the possibility of sharing oversized meals and this time I ordered what I wanted without thinking twice about adding a margarita. I didn’t balk at a shared dessert of fried ice cream-we rarely order dessert. The kids didn’t fight over the last bite of it either. We all got along and genuinely enjoyed our meal together.
And that’s the point. Being together. This felt like the first normal restaurant meal we’ve had in two years. We’ve been back, but someone always stayed home, and usually for pandemic reasons. I know we’re not “back to normal” yet, if that’s even a possibility, but it felt like we were all back today. 2/22/22. Two years (mostly) later. Two long, hard, bitter years.
Do we always do this? No. Have our dinners always turned out this way B.C.-Before Covid? No. But it sure did feel good to have my family back for a few hours. It’s giving me hope that we’re at a place where we can move forward and take all the things that got thrown at all of us and actually process them. For us adults, we had to put on our business as usual attire for the sake of our kids. But I think it’s important for them to know that it was far from business as usual.
I think today is a perfect day to use as a turning point. We can fully come out of where we have been and reflect on everything we’ve learned. We can share our gratitude about how it wasn’t worse even though it got rough. We can show how much we’ve changed and how much we’ve stayed the same.
Dos Salsas is still there. Mom still likes a good margarita. It’s okay not to split a meal, but totally okay to order dessert. Celebrate odd days such as these because they only come around once in a lifetime.
I broke my heart this morning. Not on purpose. I grabbed my phone and charger in a rush to get out of the house on time because, you know, always running late. The cord yanked it off the ledge and plopped it straight to the floor. Broke in three pieces, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and… I threw my phone into my bag, picked up the pieces, and put them back on the window ledge. I didn’t even think twice about it. Had this occurred last month, I might have cried. I would’ve overthought the implications. It broke into thirds. The petals of a flower fell off. The thorns on the vine were fine. But what awful thing awaits, the day after St. Valentine’s Day? My literary brain overanalyzes everything.
That might have been the case before I even made it. The heart. But once I decided to grit my teeth and sign up for an online craft retreat over Zoom (despite how I HATE online meetings now), I paid my money and waited for my package and February 5th. One of my favorite bloggers and artists, Kathy Cano Murillo, known as the Crafty Chica, hosted a mini-retreat to create five Mexican-inspired crafts. She’s in Arizona, I’m in Texas. Zoom is the closest I can get to participating.
Work in progress
She sent supplies for all of the crafts, one being a clay heart. We rolled, sculpted, trimmed, and shaped while asking questions and learning about techniques for using terra cotta colored air dry clay. It got messy and I loved it. While it wasn’t (isn’t) an artist quality piece, everything stayed intact. If all else fails, she suggested gluing pieces back in case they break or fall off during the drying process.
I was proud of myself. Everything dried well. I planned to paint it this weekend, to get the gist of it. My preferred medium is the written word. I stepped out of my comfort zone while comfortably crafting in my home where no one could see what I created. Advanced crafters and artists attended. My art skills sit at around those of third graders. Not a joke.
The point was to play and learn something new. I repeated this to myself multiple times. I knew many of the pieces wouldn’t turn out well and I breathed in and accepted that-not an easy feat. Kathy mentioned how sometimes you get “the first batch of cookies” when you make something new. As you keep practicing, it gets better. My daughter snagged the leftover hunk of clay, so I only had one shot. I wouldn’t have enough to make another.
Little Intentions Pillow
The day continued with sewing a heart pillow with a pocket on the back featuring her new fabric. I have hand-sewn before, but this was my first time for a blanket stitch. It took three sets of turquoise colored thread before I finished. Somehow I managed to tangle the thread useless and thought I’d have to patch up the final stitches in a completely different color. I haven’t completed the final step: writing an intention on a slip of paper and tucking it into the pocket to save for next year.
Tin Matchbox Shrines
The matchbox tins seemed easy until I tried to “emboss” a simple shape onto the back of a piece of a Bud Light can. With the right tool, it might have been easier. I managed. Painting on wood earrings seemed easy. The flaming heart didn’t look at all like a flame. I attempted to create my own pattern at the top and wound up with what resembled blotchy Texas bluebonnets. I didn’t put the earrings together; I doubt I’ll wear them.
Mini Journal
We ended the afternoon with a mini-journal. This was the easiest of the projects since I’ve been making and teaching kids how to make their own journals for years. I didn’t expect an online retreat to be so enjoyable. Fortunately, I wasn’t required to leave my camera on, but we still experienced those group meeting glitches from the early online meeting days: microphones on, talking to the boss during the break, pinning the speaker, co-hosting… Overall, I’d do it all again.
My heart broke, but it’s more of a burnt cookie I’ll toss into the garbage. I kept the template and I have ideas on small pieces I’ll try making and painting. I ordered two tubs of the air dry clay. It arrived yesterday, on Valentine’s Day. Just in time to replace my broken heart.
No, I don’t have one, but I sure did hear Charlie Bucket singing about his golden ticket as soon as my son surprised me with a chocolate bar when I came home. A chocolate bar is always good, but one with a mystery ticket…
…a popular social media influencer by the name of MrBeast launched chocolate bar products recently. Four of the said bars were procured by a young man-child, Mr. Garza, in a world-wide mission to win a non-Willy Wonka mystery ticket, but certainly inspired by Mr. Wonka’s Golden Ticket (original concept by Roald Dahl). 21st century mystery tickets are not wrapped around a chocolate bar and tucked inside of a wrapper, but accessed via QR code. Enter the special code and “spin to win” a chance for one of these fabulous prizes: Visit Feastables.com for more details…
I’ll take chocolate any time. My son fills me in on possibilities, “1,000,000 in prizes and offers,” one being to compete in a video to win the chocolate factory. A Tesla, earbuds, a Beast Burger. I tap into my inner twelve year old and think of the possibilities. If I won the chocolate factory, I’d manufacture book shaped chocolate, educators get it free any time. And it wouldn’t be one of those BOGO deals we get during teacher appreciation week either. If I win the Tesla…heck, I’d be happy with a free burger.
I turn the chocolate bar and look at the little corner that instructs me to peel the label concealing the code, which will be entered onto a website with algorithmic robots controling my million dollar destiny. Or that with the value of a burger. Most likely the value of the chocolate bar. I still haven’t “played” the game. I’m wondering if the code is a distraction and there really is a golden ticket wrapped around the bar inside of the wrapper. It certainly isn’t too late for dessert.
I keep breaking up with OLW (for some reason I want to call it OWL though…One Word, Little?). I once lasted two whole years, with the same word. We have a shaky relationship though. Just one? And words, aren’t so little.
Perseverance. Create. Creativity. Be (add another word here and switch it out every month so you get TLWs-two little words). Three, like I wrote about here-and is a much better post than today’s-a quarter into 2016. Courage. Blank-this year’s word because it hasn’t found me. Yet.
But this OLW, OWL, whatever, is like finding the one. Lipstick. Spouse. Wedding dress. Dog. Car. House. Vacation destination. It takes time. It takes perseverance. Patience. Creativity. Listening, which I’m not good at doing, not one bit. I like to think I find it, but it finds me. Hello, OWL, OLW, where are you?
Last year, I broke a fancy champagne flute we received as a wedding gift almost 23 years ago. We only used them to toast the new year or on our wedding anniversary. They’re the fanciest pieces of drink ware we own and only used them once or twice a year. Eventually, I decided to use them more frequently. Why do they sit in the cabinet? Shouldn’t I use them more often? I first took them out for special occasions like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day. Later, I used them for mimosas on Sundays after long runs, filling them with cheap sparkling wine and orange juice. My husband sometimes joins me, but it’s mostly a party for one.
I set them on the counter when they need to be washed. I once explained how they do not go in the dishwasher after I fished them out one day. They might get broken. They’re special. I can’t afford to replace them.
I began washing them carefully after a mimosa date. I carefully rinsed them and placed them on the drying mat. They always get washed first. I continued with the other items requiring hand washing. After I drained the sink water and shook out the dishcloth, I heard a clink in the sink. What…?
A piece of glass. I didn’t wash any glasses. No, no, no, no and NO! I immediately took a look at my champagne flutes, set upside down to initially drain the water. After washing everything, I always hand dry them and put them away. I took a look at the bottoms of the stems. Nothing. Maybe a glass broke in the sink earlier in the day and I didn’t notice the shard? I took one flute, inspected it and didn’t find any damage. I did the same with the second. No breakage on the bottom. Nothing along the rim. Well, not this side of the rim. I spun it around and there it was, a triangular shaped shard seemed to have been chipped from the front edge of the flute.
I almost cried. I dried them and couldn’t bring myself to toss the broken flute. I couldn’t even trash the shard. Can I fix it? If I do, I can’t use it. I researched crystal glass repair. Surely it would cost more to send it off to get fixed than it would to replace it, if I could even find a replacement. I like to think that I purge things I no longer need and after all, it’s just stuff. It was bound to happen. I’ve been using them instead of letting them sit around. They hold my little bubbles of joy every once in a while, on special occasions and on ordinary uneventful Saturdays.
I dried the broken flute. I might be able to use it if I sip from the opposite side. It might work for a quick toast. I’ll let my husband use it since I wind up finishing his sipping bubbles anyway. It’s sitting in the cabinet, unused, next to it’s companion that gets a little more one-on-one time with me. After a year, I can’t bring myself to throw it out.
New Year’s Day came and went this year. We were all under the weather and didn’t attend my best friend’s New Year’s Eve birthday party, let alone stay up late enough to welcome 2022. I had a mini-bottle of Prosecco for a toast. I didn’t open it until this past weekend, a week later. I filled it with cranberry juice and bubbly, clinking the air, while I opened my journal to write, yet again, my hopes and dreams for the new year. In sixth months, I’ll turn 50. F I F T Y! I plan to use both flutes for a toast. Broken or not, here I come.
Nerds Beget Nerds 