Skip to main content

The Little Things

Today is Friday. It's felt like a Friday from the moment I pressed snooze on my alarm. I dozed for 10 more minutes with a large dog barking in the background. He, I assume a he because of the deep baritone, barked on and off all night. Internitingly in my sleep I kept wondering how his owner couldn't hear him and if it would be really bad if I could kick him. The owner, not the dog, because only a man could ignore such incessiant barking though out the night.

I went to school and taught my class. Today we played a game called English 1301 Feud. I created a Power Point with common mistakes and definitions and each group competed against each other. They had fun. I had fun, and more imporatantly they learned the difference between passive and active voice. (She was killed by zombies. The zombies killed her.)

The rest of my day has consisted of conversations. Conversations about writing and publishing, students and teaching, all over coffee. Conversations about Sami the dog and our days all while strolling around the block to a choir of hello's and goodbye's sung by neighboring dogs.(I kept an ear out for the bark from last night, but I think he was finally sleeping.)

Now, I have this conversation, with myself, and the people who read this, and I think, if only all Friday's were like this. Calm, the pace dictated by the conversations and not the clock tick tocking, tick tocking.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

¿Y la Prieta?

My grandma, Ita, called me Prieta. She called me this because my skin is toasted brown. When I was born my mom says I was light skinned, but she knew “que iba ser morena” because the inside of my little baby thighs were already darker than the rest of me. In the sun, I turn a darker brown. I get even more Prieta. It was a term of endearment. My sister, who has a light complexion, was called guera or guerinchi. When I tell people who don’t speak Spanish what Prieta means, dark or the dark one, their eyes open wide and a small gasp escapes. I see the offense they feel for me sprinkled on their faces like the freckles I will never have. When I try to explain, the offense still shadows their eyes. That is the problem with Spanish. Wait, maybe, that is their problem with Spanish. Even when I explain, they are suspicious. Their faces ask, “Is this true?” as if I am setting them up for a joke. But how can I explain the cultural and literal meaning of a word at the same time?

Birthday Blog: 32 Things I've Learned So Far

1. Priorities change as you get older. 2. Family is important and although I tell myself not to take them for granted I sometimes still do, but what's important is I try. 3. Make plans, lots of plans all the time to give yourself something to laugh about later. 4. One good drink is better than ten bad ones. 5. Beer can be good. Bud Light is not one of those beers. Ever. 6.  BFF's are the ones that change/grow with you. Not every person who was a BFF will stay one. That's okay too; you were in each others lives when you needed to be. 7. Smart beats hot. Every time. 8. Being around negative people is like licking a sick person's hand. It's contagious. Stay away. 9. Patience. Patience. Patience. (I'm still learning that one). 10. Life can continue without that MarcKheil'sChanelSevenChantelleDior thing. It can. Really. 11. If you can't have a conversation. Take the hint. 12. It's okay to cry. A lot. 13. Music. Music that you love that you fee

Los Dichos

No hay mal que por bien no venga. Tanto quiere el diablo a su hijo que hasta un ojo le quiere sacar. Mejor sola que mal acompa ñ ada. Tanto pedo para cagar aguado. Lo barato sale caro. Más seguro más amarrado. Para buen entendido muy pocas palabras. Para cada roto un descocido. Hijo pepe mariquita! Para pendeja no se estudia. Limosnero con garrote. Soy como Orozco, cuando como no conozco. La zorra nunca ve su cola ni el zorrillo su fundillo. El muerto y el arrimado al los tres días huelen. Amores de lejos, amores de pendejos. Estaba haciendo chili con la cola. Me  da diarrea con gusanos. Enfermo que come y mea, y el diablo que se le crea. La esperanza es la última que muere. El flojo trabaja doble. De noche todos los gatos son pardos. Una cosa es Juan Domínguez y otra cosa es no la chingues. Es de Don Cuco, entra la bola no se supo. Primero me besa un ciego. Dime con quién andas y te diré quien eres. No porque te levantas más temprano