Wednesday, September 16, 2015


Sopita is a really simple food. It can be found in most ethnic food aisles. Small dry pasta shaped like letritas, semillas de melon, and conchitas, When I was younger, I could never cook it correctly. It always came out under cooked or overcooked, salty or flavorless. Now, I can cook it with minimal effort. I throw onions in a pan and saute it until most of the pieces turn a golden brown. While it's browning, I open a short can of tomato sauce, so it's ready to pour in. I learned to do this after burning the small alphabet and onion pieces so dark I had to thrown them away. It had been a long day, and my last bag of sopita.

Sopita is a simple food. My husband doesn't like it. The one time I did make it, as a side to a thin sirloin steak topped with chile, tomate, and cebolla, he looked at the plate oddly. I didn't understand. Now, I rarely make it. Usually, I only cook it when I know that we are having separate dinners. My favorite meal is picadillo con sopita. I mix the spicy ground beef with sopita, and it becomes a soupy caldio in my bowl. I sit on the couch, legs curled under me, and spoon it in my mouth. Each bite as good as the previous.

Sopita is simple, but I have soft spot for it. It is my comfort food. Today, for example, I'm feeling a little down. The pop in my rock has fizzed out, so I came home a little early and made myself some sopita. I set the timer on the microwave for twenty minutes. As it came to a simmer on the stove, I flipped through the channels trying to find something to watch while it cooked. I sat there, I thought about how much comfort the small little pasta gave me. My favorite have always been letritas or semillas de melon. They remind me of my childhood. The small letters swam on my spoon in a tomato soup as I ate them in the yellow kitchen.

"¿Quieres sopita, Prieta?"

"Si, Ita."  

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Because Life Happens

I like lists. I make them to have the satisfaction of crossing things off once I've completed the task. The lists range from simple tasks like "go to grocery store" to "finish story". I write things down, I have an app called Color Note, which has fallen by the wayside for good old paper and pen, and I have specialized lists for things like the grocery store. Lists make my life complete, at least I think.

For the past month, on my list there has been "post on blog" and each time I think, "I'll do it right now." In this case a list has not helped me. The sad part about it is, that I've missed my posts. I miss my inner Carrie Bradshaw voice talking and mussing about things. So the questions is, why haven't I made time?

1. I had family in from Colombia for three weeks.
2. I took a vacation to Phoenix.
3. I got new wonderful job I'm elated to have.
4. I've been trying to work on my chapbook a (tiny) moment in time and revisions for my manuscript Por Un Amor at the same time.
5. I have read books (Lunch in Paris- Elizabeth Bard, Queen of the Fall-Sonja Livingston, Twitching Heart-Matt Mèndez, Island of Bones-Joy Castro) even though I couldn't complete my summer reading challenge list.
6. I fell on my bike, Sandra Dee.
7. I got a new bike I named Sandra Dee.
8. I have missed my friend Sarah.
9. I have finished a class and started a new semester with 100+ students.
10. I have let life happen.