And then. . .

This weekend I was on  my own, and I noticed two things. 1. My house feels empty with just me and the pets. 2. My house feels empty with just me and the pets. Now, I know those two things are the same, but they mean very different things. See, my house never felt empty to me when I lived by myself, and now, it feels empty as if something was missing. Even Sami, the dog, looked around wandering what was missing before jumping into my arms and snuggling down for a nap. On the other hand, the emptiness felt lovely. Things I had done before living with someone came back to me. Things like lounging in bed longer than usual, not cleaning the kitchen immediately after eating, staying in pajamas, not washing my hair for two days, going to the bathroom with the door open, not brushing my teeth immediately after waking up, and simply just melting into the couch, watching all my shows I never get to watch and becoming a part of the couch for an evening. (For the record I blame this on t...

her Voice was like a warm blanket in a cold room soothing as it surrounded me cuddling against her Voice calms me in this white, sterile, space where she comforts me even after I press buttons play  click rewind click play click on the tape with her   Voice

When I write I don't think about anything else aside from where my story is going. Where will it take me? Do I like where it's going? Does it like where I'm taking it? It's not until much later and many edited drafts past the original that I think about reading it aloud. Last, night I read two pieces I'd never read aloud before. "La Trenza" which I'm excited is about to be published in the latest edition of Cream City Review and "Dimming Lights" which is a small heavy piece I used to divide my memoir into sections of before and after my grandmother Ita's, death. Last night, I read them in front of an author who I read when first figuring out how to write my own work, Rigoberto González. I read his memoir Butterfly Boy: Memoirs of a Chicano Butterfly amongst others when I was still undecided on what shape my book was going to take. It was interesting because I felt as if I knew him, already had a relationship with him, and I wanted to ...

In El Paso, the month of October means fall is here. It seems almost as if from the first of the month the city starts to shake off the summer heat. The snake waves of heat dissipate instead of lingering and multiplying. I love this time of the year because it means winter is coming. And for me, winter means scarves and boots, coats and hats, it means fashion and not burning up with flushed cheeks while simply walking across campus. It means cold nights tucked under heavy blankets, costumes, and holidays with family. Most people complain about the cold in El Paso, because well, it's filled with desert rats that need a sweater when it's 75, but for me it's my favorite time. It feels as if because of the cold we all bundle up and somehow end up closer. Some of us more fashionably than others.

In a week where everything has gone up and down and all around. I want to pause a la Woody Allen and tell you, "This has been a very odd week, indeed." "What are you talking about? What happened?" asked the reader.  I had a visit from my prior life in the shape of an ex-regional manager now friend. I loved talking and seeing my now friend, but moments of surreal flashbacks of my prior life popped in and out. I heard the language I used to speaking fall from her lips, "Yes, we made the day with a 12% increase," only now it sounded foreign. For many years before I moved back to El Paso, my Spanish slowly shrunk down into a tiny space that almost didn't exist because of lack of use. I understood when people spoke in Spanish but couldn't always communicate with them. I felt the same shrink effects on my business language, the phrases she said, "SIM, LY, Decrease, Increase, Rally, were all familiar, I understood, but I couldn't quite comm...

In my prior life, when much of my time was spent in a food court, I used to frequently eat lunch alone. Although, many times I ate lunch with my "work friends," sometimes I just wanted to eat alone, mostly because I needed silence. Towards the end of that life I found I needed a lot of silence. It's hard to be silent in a food court, I know, because the mall people stare at all the options unsure of where to eat and ask each other, "What do you want? I think I want Chick-fil-A, or maybe the Chinese place. What about Snappy Salad? Ooooo , or Tin Star? I love their tah-cos. " Teenagers push and shove, giggle while they try to flirt, but still haven't mastered it, some of the boys may never. Mom  mall walkers push strollers with their crying babies, but still continue to hold conversations over the red-faced hollering bald headed beast strapped into the latest edition stroller as others wince and stare. The cacophony of noise intensified as it echoed off t...

Yesterday, I went for a bike ride. It was the early evening, when the sun is still out, but the nighttime sky is already creeping up to wrap us in its cozy dark blanket. I hadn't been on a bike since my childhood, and until yesterday I wasn't quite sure if I could still ride one well. The well is still debatable. I pushed off on the right peddle, swaying from right to left for a bit like a child first learning to walk, but after a few moments I was zooming down my block. I looked straight ahead, the black asphalt wide open to me, ear buds in my ears with a hint of music so I could still hear cars, and relaxed. Then, I wobbled again. For the rest of the bike ride I tried to remember my form to maintain my balance. As I peddled the crunching sound of ashalt accompanied the noises of my ride. I rode around for about 30mins, and in that time the old saying, "It's like riding a bike," came to me. I was on a bike of course I was going to remember it.  I thought abou...