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 ¡
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!
Is they’re ordinary basic inexpensive collectors of dreams disappointments mileage scribbles doodles facts and figures A crayon mark or two Sometimes they’re blank like a mind can feel or like a sadness or a fresh start, a new beginning with the possibility of an end or eternity Sometimes they're a continuation of ideas The thing about notebooks the containers of one's soul, potential, possibility, is people dismiss them as mere notebooks without appreciating the fact that anyone who bothers with a blank page may never be the same The thing about notebooks is the infinite variety in which they’re bound, that people want to read them the ones that are filled fat with words, oozing with thought, seeping with taped in mementos receipts, tickets, love letters to do lists notes a thumbprint coffee stains and the magnificence of what’s contained in the creator’s mind somehow finds its way into the world leaving an indelible mark on those lucky enough to read them
I belonged in a family that semi-celebrated Halloween Nana said we'd go to hell, it's the devil's festival But my pastor uncle, took us to almost every house in our small town, twice always starting on the good side of town, the ones that gave out mini-candy bars and never stopping at Nana's Rule follower me reminded him we'd already been to this house or that "They don't remember, go get you some more candy!" Once, my mom took us trick-or-treating- one round, no fancy houses, quick- there are other things to do "There's candy by the door," she instructs Dad. But it's Monday Night Football and the Dallas Cowboys are playing We return home with our bags all the lights out darkness Where is he? In the bedroom, under the bed a portable black and white TV flickers mini-figured gray football men, tackling Dad, a pillow propped under his chest lying on his stomach, mesmerized. A bowl full of black and orange paper wrapped peanut butter nougat candy untouched, waiting for us to split it. "I didn't want anyone to interrupt me." We give him some of our Snickers, his favorite. I became the family makeup artist the year all the younger cousins were clowns, costumes cheap to assemble and there was enough face paint to go around transforming my little brother into a skull Charged with getting everyone out the door, I don't remember them paying me with candy. I got married one Halloween my engagement ring cost a dollar A white fuzzy pipe cleaner looped into a circle a rock salt crystal gem hot glued to the top "I do." "I do." And that was that, teen-aged Halloween carnival vows without the promise of forever
Easing into fall Hill country sunset and wine Summer's kiss goodbye
Of all the tiny stories that make up a day a week, a month? Do I tell the one about being unable to make it to my cousin's funeral, the one who was like a sister when we were kids but somehow we grew up and drifted our separate ways like a dandelion seed puffed out of someone's wish? Do I tell the one about how I missed first day of school pictures? The one my husband took that wasn't full of smiles and eager tween bubbles giddy to meet friends in person once again? The one with one less in the picture because that one is enrolled in the University of Life? Of all the tiny stories, which one do I tell? Do I tell the one about the caterpillar in its terrarium? The one I caught wriggling and undulating, pumping its whole body, hard, to shake itself loose of its old skin for good, embracing its metamorphosis instead of fighting it? Do I tell the one of all the ordinary things that add up to a melting pot of emotions and reflection and trudging along, embracing changes but dreading them at the same time? Of all the tiny stories, which one gets to fly?
I sent S. back to school in January the same day I ordered E's cap and gown for high school graduation The beginning of the end to the first year of middle school the beginning of the end to the last year of high school E's spring orchestra concert that was cancelled twice once for COVID once for an ice storm Is that the last time we'll watch him perform? End of the year contemplation starts in April not December Calendars don't go in order around here The beginning of the end of another school year Did I do everything that needed to be done? Is there anything I'm still missing? Releasing E into the world, even though he'll still be home for a while the distance he's created to hang out with friends one last time brings the beginning of the end to his dependence on us S. turns 12 in June The beginning of the end of 'tweenhood We baked a cake on Sunday at her request for us to spend time together She cut the last slice in half for us to share The beginning of endings continue
Papá had a mouth full of sweet teeth Not a tooth He liked Folgers instant coffee with a heaping spoonful of sugar and milk No tomes café o te vas poner prietita, He pulled up his long sleeved shirt, proving it with his farm tanned skin I didn't care if my skin got dark I took a sneaky slurp of his hot coffee before delivering it with a small plate full of chocolate chip cookies or a thick slice of banana bread peach cobbler Mom's 7-Up pound cake carrot cake drenched under a thick coat of cream cheese icing pan dulce cinnamon rolls On hot summer days we greeted him with a tall glass of Coca Cola or iced tea garnished with lemon accompanied with a side of sweets When we had it, a bowl piled high with scoops of butter pecan ice made its way onto his lap, replacing his straw work hat We chatted, changed the channel to Bonanza or Gunsmoke reruns, his favorite shows Replacing his hat, the signal he'd had his fill, we collected empty dishes Rising from his seat, he thanked us and waved goodbye He'd return tomorrow, his sweet teeth urging him back
who invites you somewhere new, adventurous? you think about going and you check it out a few times You think, yes, maybe this will work Introductions are made smiles exchanged still wary but you feel content like the essence of who you are is understood You keep going on your own here and there testing it out meeting other people awakening out of your otherness You start chatting and discover some have real friend potential, outside of this space I'd love to hang out in person sort of potential, the oh my goodness, THANK YOU SO MUCH potential It's one thing to fit in, It's a whole other level of living to belong
The sun came out to see what it missed Plunking water from a detached rain gutter Plunk, plunk-plunk, plunk, plunk-plunk Kids back at the park laugh and carry on as if the freeze was only a dream A Mini Cooper Car club member back at work on a rebuild in the garage, a can of Bud Light sits on its primed hood it too, awaits a coat of paint Two chihuahuas yip against me from across the street their owner grumbles at them to quiet down Normalcy hums, whatever that means, zipping through neighborhood streets. No rush hour zoom, but slow casual zips scope out damage you can't see on neighborhood streets except for tree limbs piled curbside. Damage runs deep in burst pipes empty grocery store shelves people boiling water to drink. Shovels scrape, scrape, scraaape against concrete driveways saws groan at broken tree limbs trying to hang on. The last of the slush sloshes underneath my stride evidence of snow and ice evaporates One side of the sidewalk looks more like a post springtime rain shower, the opposite proves otherwise. Back outside after a week, grateful it wasn't worse when it was for so many others. A dry leaf gently cartwheels in front of me as if saying "I've come back out to play!" Along with the rest of us, picking up where we left off.
Nerds Beget Nerds 