Words on Wednesday …

Thinking of La Vecindad just last week when Chente passed away, and then I find out that someone from La Vecindad had only a few days left to live and it hit me again.

All the memories flooding in from my childhood with Doña Maria, her caring and easy-going nature, and some of best pozole I ever tasted.

She lost her battle to cancer a few days ago and I felt that saddened pained heaviness in my heart. She’d met me when I was in diapers, and knew me through my first communion, TrapperKeeper and PeeChee folder days all the way until high school graduation. I’d seen her almost everyday. She’d been part of all the carne asada and Vencindad parties. She’d been there my entire childhood watching me grow and now she was gone.

In peace, I hope. No longer suffering the hurt that comes with cancer.

I was lucky enough to see her a few days before she had passed and I mentioned my favorite story …

Being a latch-key kid growing up, it was super important not to forget or lose your your key. I happened to forget it on one occasion and I had no other choice but to sit on the steps and wait. Cold and cloudy. I waited for someone to come home.

Doña Maria’s husband, Don Chuco, coming home saw me sitting there, like a stray dog and invited me to come upstairs and wait until my parents came home. We walked in and the first thing I noticed was the smell of something savory coming out of the kitchen and the giant painting of The Last Supper hanging near their dining room.

Doña Maria came out and smiled.

Ven mija.

Mija.

That’s what she called me. It felt warm and fuzzy.

Sit down, sit down, what were you doing outside waiting, you know you could have come up here and waited inside. Come sit down, we’re gonna eat some soup. I was part of their family. In La Vecindad we were all family.

She served me a bowl of warm soup and I joined them at the table. As we began eating they both grabbed tortillas from the basket, but I just kept eating my soup. Then they grabbed another, but I just kept slurping away.

They looked at each other and smiled.

Don Maria asked if everything was all right and I said it was fine, tasted good. Don Chuco shook his head and in his big deep booming voice said …

“Oyes que no sabes que con tortilla se llena la gente …”

Roughly translated it meant … Don’t you know that tortillas help you fill up? Eat up.

They laughed. I smiled. I took a tortilla from the basket.

She let me watch cartoons the rest of the afternoon, by the window, so I could see when my parents came home.

When I told my dad later that night about the Last Supper Painting, the soup, and the tortillas, he chuckled. Said we should probably buy more tortillas then …

Doña Maria smiled at the story as she sat up on the bed wincing in pain.

Ay mija.

She smiled.

I smiled.

She passed away five days later and I felt sad. Still do. Hard to picture strong, kind, salt-of-the-Earth people that I knew, that were part of my life, part of La Vecindad no longer being here.

🙂

I send her light, love, sunshine, and waves.

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Buen Camino …

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Feel Good 5 Friday … What’s in Your Wallet?

I’ve been accused of having a Costanza wallet.

 

The kind, where you keep all the receipts … you know, just in case. The beefy kind of wallet where the flap doesn’t quite reach the button and it would never fit in your back pocket unless you’d want to be sitting lopsided. The kind of wallet where you still have baby and preschool pictures of your kid but he’s already going on off to college. The kind that still has your expired zoo membership card just in case.

That’s me.

I’m the keep-it-just-in-case person. I feel there are a lot of things you can tell about a person just from their wallet. Whether they have any pictures or not, says something. Pictures of your kids playing baseball, soccer, hockey, basketball. Spring, Summer, Winter Sports. Their changing faces each year and different uniforms, make you look at the pictures for an extra minute. Maybe the type of credit cards or gift cards to preferred stores. Hidden messages on post-it notes that inspire or push you in the right direction. . Business cards of favorite pastry shops or restaurants give you an insight as to whether they enjoyed pizza or Ramen on Saturday nights. All these little clues add up to pieces of who you are and who you’ve become.

Me. 

I’m the Costanza wallet keeper. I enjoy Pho on cloudy days, pizza thin crust from up the street with mushrooms on days I’m too tired to cook, Pad Prik King and Tom Yum on Friday nights when I want something savory, and fresh Sunday morning buttery flaky croissants from the French bakery down the street.

Restaurant business cards. 

Could drive people bananas, but when I reach in and get that 11th free hair cut card from Marlita, it feels good to have that just-in-case mentality set. And then there’s the coupons. CVS. It’s ridiculous.

I do clean the wallet out from time to time of course, when the receipts and paper seem to wanna bust out. I find an old lottery ticket and remember the story of the older secretary lady who was upset at her boss one day and was cleaning out her purse and found an old lottery ticket that was a Mega Million Jackpot. I think that could be you and this could be that ticket. But no. Never happens. So it eventually goes in the trash.

I find my Dad’s and Uncle Erick’s obituary. I gently unfold the wrinkled paper and look at their picture. I remember that face and that life and a twinge of pain hits my heart, electric static rises through my spine and makes its way to the top. I take a deep breath and stare at it for a minute, before neatly folding it back and tucking it back in its place.

And then I find the mini post-it notes I write to myself or the ones my kids wrote to me and a smile comes over my face. Sometimes you need that kind of advice or pick-me-up just to keep you going that day. I still have a small flyer given to me in 1995, 1996. A kid just passing out Christmas flyers for his church handed me one and it happen to be a day where I was struggling. A small cartoon of a kid and a Christmas tree, smiling. An invitation letting you know you weren’t alone this holiday season, even if you felt alone. The universe, God, Karma, the community, they were there. And so I read it, and it was a little less darker that day. Even though they might have printed hundreds, I felt the message was written especially for me.

I keep that in my Costanza wallet as a reminder. And it makes me feel good, as does the random music lists of songs piled in there. Feel good songs that take me back to tough childhood days of my youth that ended up proving to be some of the best memories. Feel good songs that made up the best mixed tapes. Feel good songs I turn up while doing chores or driving down the street in order to take me way back.

The Costanza Wallet.

Pieces of me and clues that add up to a good story.

So as they say, what’s in your wallet?

Buen Camino my friends …

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Genesis — Invisible Touch

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Cameo — Word Up

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Bando Machos — El Gato y El Raton

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David Bowie — Modern Love

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Nena — 99 Luftballoons

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Words on Wednesday …

Been waiting since 1988 when the RTD costs $1 and half of the school decided to leave after homeroom and make their way downtown to see Fernando Valenzuela, feel the mania in person, and catch a glimpse of “El Toro,” on a parade float.

It was amazing to see someone who resembled friends, neighbors, family lead the home team to an amazing victory. My dad got a new hat that year, don’t know where that one would be, as it’s not in my stash, but since he was busy working and didn’t have the luxury of leaving, parades were not in his future. So the hat helped celebrate the spirit of the neighborhood, and city.

I remember our neighbors being huge fans and celebrating the victory for days. Budweiser was the king of beers at the time and there was plenty of toasting going on.  There was an extra spring in everyone’s step.

And now I’ve got my bounce back.

Finally.

After so much heartbreak of coming up short, then getting robbed one year, and failing to reach the bar the next, it felt like the stumbling would continue.  But then it finally happened and I was able to watch and celebrate this rollercoaster ride with the kids. Making our own scrapbook  of memories. 

But to be honest, watching as a kid was a lot less stressful than watching it now.  My intensity levels keep strengthening and the faith of childhood  dreams with big comebacks don’t always show up nowadays … But I was hopeful and believed in Blue for decades because as you get older the stronger your allegiance to your team. 

I feel the stress and anxiety of these games a bit more as an adult, when you realize that second, third, or even fifth chances don’t come often.  You realize how deep it runs, the love of the game. The intensity of my fan being  puts me a little over the edge … especially when questionable pitching decisions snowballed into a disaster of an avalanche and I was left in my Costanza-Burgundy moments.

• 

• 

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I was more passionate about the game, and all the emotions that came with that comeback. I was grateful for the win last night. So grateful this happened to be a moment for the Jar of Awesome, sharing it with the kids … that created a memory all on it’s own. I’m hoping they’ll look back on it, just as I did. Hanging with my pops, baseball cap, and jumping up and down and screaming yesssssssssssssssssssssssss as they rushed the field.

And so I celebrate with my kids, along with the rest of the city, and enjoy the feel-good vibes that come with finally winning a World Series, of tipping my hat to players who’ve been on the roster for a long time and happy they’ve finally earned the ring they so deserve.

1988 was a long time ago.

And I was getting tired of waiting.

Hopeful … and with fingers crossed. It happened.

Picture by Wally Skalij

Buen Camino

Life Full of Wordless Wednesday’s

Stories coming to front pages begin to shed light on facts a lot of communities of color already knew. They lived it. It had been there tirelessly. N.W.A. and other artists made albums speaking on these practices. The only difference back then was not many of these were being recorded and released. Not until Rodney King.

Pictures and images give more weight to words. Especially when no one believed your words at face value.

A friend of mine from back in the newspaper days was recently featured in a National Geographic spread and I was so proud to have known someone whose storytelling needs no words. His life is full of Wordless Wednesdays, capturing moments in time that reveal emotion and journey. Zoom lenses. Shutter speed. Focus. All to get the right shot.

Sometimes pictures are so good they inspire others to tell the story.

And so during this time of social unrest, protest, and pandemic emergency it’s important to differentiate between pictures and stories that sensationalize without context and those with substance that sit with you and make you think. I wasn’t surprised to hear that my friend was highlighted as one with depth and contribution.

For photography.

But good writers, painters, composers, musicians, singers, and actors do that … Artists do that. Anyone can have a moment like that if they’re present enough. It can come in the middle of a conversation and you find it. Storytelling.

It’s been of critical importance now to hear people’s stories. It’s good that they’re being documented because the voiceless need to be heard especially when people are intentionally drowning them out and trying to cover up, manipulate, or erase what’s happening. But luckily you can still find truthful words and pictures during abuse of power. Whether it’s silent and subversive at work, home, or school, or on the streets with tear gas and rubber bullets, stories continue to be captured.

Don’t stop telling your Wordless Wednesday stories …

Buen Camino my friends

Discovering Family Table Stories

It was a booklovers epic weekend, and I was lucky enough to catch some good stories.

Walking from tent to tent and under the realization that IT was possible was inspiring. All kinds of authors with stories to share, and I was among them. Poetry slams, murals, art demonstrations, book signings, and guest lectures yielded creative nooks and crannies for everyone to absorb.

All this positive energy continued to hold its grasp on me all weekend long. I didn’t get a chance to catch a couple of the journalist or novelists as the kids wanted to explore their own lively storytellers. But I did enjoy the humor and honesty of Mike Epps’s journey. My favorite however, were the stories I discovered on the cooking stage.

The Smollett Family featured some of the recipes from their book The Family Table. The intertwining of food, stories, and family made me want to join in at their table. I had never heard of them before, but was glad to have experienced their story. It was a fun peek into the lives of these siblings and the importance of  how food played a role in keeping the bonds of family stronger.

Stories were the backdrop to every dish, like the oyster po’boys and how that dish reminded them of New Oreleans and their family roots. How every dish they learned to cook originated from the times spent with their mama in the kitchen, and the love she gave them.

It wasn’t happiness I was seeing, but joy. I had forgotten what joy looked like in the kitchen because it’s been a madhouse rush for me for a long time during meal times. But seeing this helped me remember to find time to slow down, maybe not every day, but definitely on weekends.

I enjoyed seeing the stories, laughter, and love come through their recipes. I thought … I hope my kids think of me like that. I hope they remember their favorite dishes, aromas, tastes and the stories that came with them. I hope they feel that way — that stories and food go hand in hand, that stories bind you at the Family table.

I was hoping …

One day at a time … one day at time.

I’ll find out in 20 years.

 

Buen Camino my friends.

 

 

Wake-up Stories

Lately I’ve been searching for stories that move me. You know, like a judge on Star Search, looking for talent that inspires me. I’ve been roaming the Netflix, Amazon, cable television for stories that take me away or help me unwind at the end of the day. I’ve found a lot of good stories, definitely. But in this search I’ve also found inspiration in Podcasts.

It’s strange because when I was growing up I used to hate talk radio. I thought it was for older people. I thought why listen to people talk when I can hear music while I’m in the car. But I’ve found that I’m gravitating more to these podcasts than to what’s on the radio. I’m intrigued by people interviewing all kinds of artists and leaders in every field and the inspiration behind it all.

Now granted, there are some people and actors, who go out there and record ridiculous why-waste -your-time-listening-to-this-crap sessions and you have to sift through a massive amounts of crap to get to something good. But when you do it pays off.

It’s like getting exposed to all these autobiographies with insightful tidbits of wisdom for different parts of you life. And for some reason I find something I can takeaway from each session.

For the inspiration-you-can-do-it times I particularly enjoy Tim Ferriss, Oprah’s SuperSoul Conversations, Eric Thomas’s Secret to Success Podcast and Tony Robbins. They interview so many people from so many walks of life and I always feel better after listening to their session. I walk away feeling like something is possible as long as I keep working at it, whether it’s my professional life or just life itself. I had never heard of Debbie Millman before, and I probably would never, considering she was a graphic designer and I had no interest in that field. But what she had to say about life made me pause.

I’ve touched bases with spirituality by listening to stuff from The RobCast where some of my favorite guests have been Elizabeth Gilbert, Pete Rollins, and Mike Lewis the 112th Best Squash Player in the World. His interviews and stories help bring a lightness of being and grace into my existence. Something I always need to work on when dealing with difficult people.

The Moment with Brian Koppelman make me think about my future as a writer and I was actually introduced to Brian through Tim Ferriss’s podcasts. As a writer, I find it extremely beneficial to hear about everyone’s process and problems and how they were in such a horrible bad spot, but managed to turn it around emotionally and artistically. It’s something I find inspirational when I’m losing the umph, which I had been as of late.

These stories … all of them, help push something in me. Something that goes missing on random days. But something I can get back after I go running, or boxing, or biking … that feel-good feeling. I get an extra dose of that, a push of encouragement from these stories.

I feel like I can’t start my day with that spring in my step if I don’t hear my feel-good song and a podcast. These stories aren’t like the winding down of the day Netflix at night sessions. These are wake-me-up-in-the-morning-because-this-is-your-life stories. You got one shot. What are doing? Get on it! They’ve become part of my morning routine and have helped me see possibilities when I’ve been emotionally or professionally sidelined.

So it may not be the same as the talk radio I grew up with, or it might be. Maybe I just came around to realizing that songs are not the only way to jump start your morning. Stories. Podcasts. Talk radio … can make it happen too.

 

 

Uncovering Great Stories …

Celebrating words and their magical effect on our lives under the California sun created a moment for the Jar of Awesome.

Every year, we find our way through the mazes of people and books to create our own weekend adventure. Sometimes the moments are simple, other times they’re exciting fireworks style encounters, either way we always look forward to this book lover’s tradition.

We look forward to what this festival will uncover. Sometimes it’s all about meeting a special author, other times it’s about discovering a new story, or running into my kid’s favorite super hero, sometimes it’s about exploring the science stations, or cooking demonstrations, and sometimes it’s about witnessing a great performance on stage. This weekend we were lucky enough to experience it all, although the Caped Crusader was missing … probably solving a crime though.

It was our yearly outing to the Festival of Books and the fact that we didn’t have a meltdown definitely ranked as a Top-10 Outing.

But the one special surprise that snuck its way into our hearts was discovering The Legend of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Now if you know anything about kids, you know that rock, paper, scissors is a major tie-breaker decision maker around here. So when we uncovered the origins of this very funny story, mom scored some points. If you have kids I strongly encourage you to read this one. The fact that we met the author and got it signed? Mom got a high-five for that one. The fact that we got four of our books signed? Yup. It was chocolate time.

So as I sat there on the grass, under a tree, listening to the band on the nearby stage, unloading our reading treasures and eating the goods from our homemade picnic, I thought … definitely a moment to be captured on film. Definitely a moment to be grateful for … definitely a moment for the Jar of Awesome.

 

The Adventure begins …

Checking out some authors …

 

Hitting the stage to rock some children’s music …

I loved checking out this wall … can you find ours?

 

My kids thought this would be a great book for me …

 

I decided to pick that up plus a couple of freebies 🙂

We stopped by to spread some kindness during our book loving tour …

Before departing we left our mark on the wall of books …

Our awesome loot at the end of the day …

Yup … it was a 10 out of 10. High five mom.

 

 

Dia De Los Muertos Inspires A New Conversation

I think about the clicking-clocking sound he used to make when his tongue would hit the roof of his mouth. NUK! He’d knock-knock-knock my forehead simultaneously … you know during one of my McFly moments. My Uncle Erick.

And I think about my Dad and how he used to call me Canela  and how he’d start smiling even before I told the joke.

My Dad and Uncle Erick back in the 70s

The two most important dudes in my life growing up, with the exception of the tallest Texan I know, he hails from Lubbock and has his own story, which I’ll share later. But today … today I talk about My Dad and Uncle Erick, today I talk about their stories because Dia De Los Muertos celebrates their spirits and everything they brought to my life.

They’re on my mind every day, especially when I feel how life could have been so much better if they were still around. And after surviving my Halloween Hangover (why was Halloween on a Monday anyway … KitKat overload) I took a moment to celebrate their lives by sharing some vintage Polaroids and Kodak moments with my kids, accompanied by the stories and adventures behind those pictures.

Whether it was hiking waterfalls in Guatemala, road tripping that had multiple detours, watching SC football on Saturdays, toasting pumpkin seeds on Halloween, or listening to the Bee Gees, Billy Joel, or KC & The Sunshine Band, each adventure added something to my life.

And I miss it, I miss them. I miss the conversations and the reminiscing that brought laughter.

As always it hit me in the pit of my stomach. I celebrated them, and talked about their lives, but was also sad in the end. So I was glad to have come up with a new story about them. A piece based on their lives, inspired by my Uncle Erick.  It’s a conversation. My piece is about a conversation they probably had while my Uncle Erick was growing up. It’s about the advice my dad would have given him and the interesting way he’d go about doing it.

It’s a comedy, of course.

And although this conversation never took place I can totally see it happening because I can hear their voices. I can totally imagine them going through this exchange.

So, on this very special Dia De Los Muertos celebration, I was inspired to write a piece about the two men in my family who I learned from the most.

I’ve even submitted it somewhere … so hopefully their conversation, their story, their journey continues and makes other people laugh in the process.

I’ll keep you posted on that.

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Negatives and Positives and Girl Scout Flashbacks

Good things don’t usually come out of bad experiences. I mean they may come afterward but I usually have to work at it in order for something to happen.

It just doesn’t come out on its own, I have to find the lesson.

I have to search for the funny in it. My lens changes and I’m on the lookout and eventually … it happens. I find strength, awareness, thicker skin, appreciation for myself, acceptance that failure happens and I get back up. I find something immeasurable that contributes to me as a person.

But this time … this time I found opportunity.

Like most writers certain places, people, or experiences spark inspiration and the story just comes out. You weave fact and fiction into your storytelling and at the end you’ve created something out of a negative experience. Could be a great story, could just be writing therapy, or it could be both.

I found that one of my previous writing sessions fueled by familial dysfunction turned into therapy, which turned into laughter, which turned into a short play, which turned into a writer’s opportunity.

This week I was notified that my short play had been accepted into a 10-Minute Play Festival at one of theaters downtown.

I had a total high-five moment when I read the email … for once … it wasn’t a it’s-not-you-it’s-me rejection letter. It started off with … Congratulations. So after having a quiet celebratory moment I woo-hooed myself. I was able to bring about something positive, from such an emotionally draining experience.

I celebrated the news and kept this happy moment to myself for a while before telling a few friends and while I was quietly smiling at this moment I had flashback.

I was in the fourth grade, I was a girl scout, and I had gone camping to the big girl scout wilderness camping pow-wow convention. On the last day of workshops and badge earning festivities each troop needed to have a talent to present on stage. Some groups sang, others danced. Apparently my troop decided to act.

 

Does anybody have any ideas for our play? Who wants to help write it?

And there it was … the spark.

While others wanted to be on stage, in front of the crowd, I wanted to be behind the scenes. So I scribbled down notes, dialogue, and action. We practiced a little bit and then they hit the stage.

I stood next to my troop leader, Maria, hugging her in excitement and angst, squirming just thinking about how my words were gonna be out there. She smiled and hugged me back as we watched it unfold.

“It’s gonna all right,” she said.

It was the first time I saw my words live and in action. And it was all right. People laughed at the funny parts. People smiled. And some people didn’t, and that was all right too, because I was still smiling. I had done it.

And now years later I was gonna get to do it again. That has brought back the fourth-grade-girl-scout-giddy feeling and for that I am grateful. Something positive did come out of something negative.

It’s totally possible.

 

 

 

Thanks Cheryl … Now I Remember, I Just Haven’t Accessed Them Yet

It was like I had to do it.

I mean I could have done it tomorrow in light of day, just catching moments of time here and there, but I thought it was best to soak it in all at once and have a moment. A wow moment, a self-discovery moment I knew would take place because it had happened before. It had happened with other great books in the quiet of the night, other books that gave me moments of reflection, moments of change at just the right time.

So I wanted another one.

I had to do it. I had to find out what happened in the end, I mean I know what happened, she got to the bridge. But what really happened, how did it feel? What did it change? Because even though I hadn’t walked, run, or hiked those hundreds of miles on The Pacific Crest Trail, I had changed with her.

37 pages.

That’s all I had left after chipping away for months on Cheryl Strayed’s novel, Wild. 37 pages. Didn’t seem like much, just a thin sliver, but for a slow reader like myself that seemed like a chunk and in the end, a chunk is what it was because so much had happened in those 37 pages.

And I needed to tell someone, tell my own personal community book club that no one knew they were a part of until the read the first sentence of this post.

I needed to share.

Not that anyone would read it right away, or that anyone would read it in its entirety but I felt like this has become my own little support group, filled with people I’ve never met, but at the same time filled with people who also know parts of me. Well … I did meet Susie. Bonus.

But this community of writers, and artists had become a place where running to share something awesome that happened to you because you know that somewhere out there something just as awesome has happened to someone in return and they can relate to you. Whether they’re in California, England, Boston, or Australia. Someone relates.

So I found myself at 11:59 p.m. sitting there having a moment. I had just been part of Strayed’s journey, she brought me along the her 1,100+ mile Pacific Crest Trail adventure describing the forests, mountains, skylines, lakes, trees, wildlife, and moonlit nights that transformed her.

For those of you who haven’t read it and want to, this might be the place to stop…for the rest of you…

This was definitely the story of someone who seemingly had everything health, family, college, and the love of a good man–a good husband. But that all went to crap after the heartbreaking death of her mother. Affairs, betrayal, divorce, heroine, all these bad choices found this girl at the bottom and so far away from her center she had no idea where her internal compass had gone, and she had no idea how to get back until she discovered a simple guidebook to Pacific Coast Trail while waiting in line … it was this guidebook that sparked the idea that eventually changed her life. It reminded of the movie I had seen awhile back, the one that had made such an impact, The Way, starring Martin Sheen.

They were both physical journeys that impacted the emotional levels of each character, it changed their spirit and helped them find their center. It helped both of them come to terms with the things that happened in their life.

And even though the journey had great discoveries it also had exasperating moments, like when Strayed accidentally dropped one of her hiking boots over a cliff and all she could do was hug the other one really tight, the only other hiking boot she had left, before chucking it over in utter frustration. I found myself thinking … dude that would have totally happened to me.

But at the end the losing the boot didn’t seem to matter much, it was part of what was supposed to happen in order to get her to that spot. At the end when she reached the Bridge of Gods and eventually found herself sitting on that white bench, eating the ice cream and having her moment, feeling like she knew certain things in her life would come to pass, even though she hadn’t accessed them yet, she knew they would come, that she would be all right. She knew and she was full of gratitude.

At that point, I remembered Ayers Rock in Australia. I remembered having my own mini adventure in Uluru. I remembered the roundabout walk around Uluru, the 10K, the feeling of peace as I touched to the magical sandstone, the feeling of awareness, the presence, the stories told by my aboriginal guide, the quiet I felt as I sat on the wooden bench when it was over. The gratitude in knowing the trip had changed my life and the knowledge that I’d be all right no matter what was waiting for me when I got back.

Strayed took me back to a moment that had slipped my mind, a moment after my own journey that I needed to remember. Strayed reminded me or parts that are yet to come … they’re there … I just haven’t accessed them yet.

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