Dax has been working late because of the legislative session, so I get pretty bored between 4:30 (when I stop working since it's 5:30 Eastern) and 8:30 when he gets home.
So I just decided that I will work out in the afternoons while he's gone. It works out bc I can't workout in the morning anyway since I'm so sick.
Let's see if this "worksout"!!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
New Plan
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Last night Dax and I walked into a nearby Mexican ice cream shop - a Paleteria - and I immediately recognized the mobile ice cream carts and the old, weathered and dark Mexican men who push them around our neighborhood, bells ringing.
There were three of them, dressed in weathered and what I assumed was Goodwill clothing since none of it seemed to fit them right. Eighties stone-washed jeans held up with a belt and longsleeved flannel shirt. They were standing around a small cafe table counting money and leftover popsicles with a woman in an apron who held a handful of singles.
I couldn't believe how this image affected me so fast and so hard. All at once, I felt pathetic for not ever buying their popsicles, proud for the hard hours they put in the grueling Texas sun and occasional sprinkle, and embarrassed for two reasons: that these humble men worked hard, long hours (it was close to 8 pm) just to make a few dollars here and there, and secondly, that I couldn't keep my eyes off of them.
It reminded me of my childhood - how I was raised by a man not unlike these. When I think of him, I think of his dry, cracked and contorted hands. His dark and wrinkly skin - mismatched clothes. That same humility and committment to his work.
He was picked by my wealthy great grandfather to play with my grandmother as a child. Eventually, they grew up together as he was plucked from the impoverished village where they met in order to care for my grandmother's family, eventually raising three future generations, including me.
Even though he and my grandparents lived in the US by the 1980s, he barely spoke English - didn't even know how to read or write - but somehow we always understood him. From breakfast to lunch, baths and naps, he was the one who kept my cousins and I happy every day before we started school. When I look back, I feel that same embarassment knowing that he never lived a life of his own because he was too busy making our lives easier.
I never even knew this until I was about 12 - but he had left a wife, two sons and a daughter back home just to raise my grandmother's family. And with no complaint. In fact, I later learned that when my grandmother tried to force him to go home, he would call and say he wanted to come back. Poor guy didn't know any better.
All of this came back to me in about 2 minutes of being in that Paleteria, so I had to leave. Apparently emotional and staring, I needed to be somewhere else so I went back to the car while Dax ordered and paid for my latest craving.
Elew (pronounced Eeeh-leh-u) died several years ago. Every pew in our church was filled with our family, who he loved so much. It amazed me that the funeral could be so touching and pathetic at the same time. I always wondered if his family resented us. His daughter was there, she was being comforted by my brother who was her favorite of the young children she grew up raising.
I then wondered how the image of these Mexican men triggered a memory so deep and emotional. I rarely think of my childhood, let alone the man who accompanied it. Maybe it's the hormones. I do know that I liked remembering it - the feelings of sympathy, sadness and nostalgia all seemed unreal, like it didn't happen to me, but that I watched it in a really good movie. And that movie made me want to cry!!!
Not sure what the point of this post is, but I think maybe it should be something like -- remember to remember things. Dax told me once he goes through every day and thinks about all the significant moments that led him to where he is now. I'm unable to do that so for now will rely on random observations.
Currently listening to:
Paramore - That's What You Get
Paramore - Misery Business
There were three of them, dressed in weathered and what I assumed was Goodwill clothing since none of it seemed to fit them right. Eighties stone-washed jeans held up with a belt and longsleeved flannel shirt. They were standing around a small cafe table counting money and leftover popsicles with a woman in an apron who held a handful of singles.
I couldn't believe how this image affected me so fast and so hard. All at once, I felt pathetic for not ever buying their popsicles, proud for the hard hours they put in the grueling Texas sun and occasional sprinkle, and embarrassed for two reasons: that these humble men worked hard, long hours (it was close to 8 pm) just to make a few dollars here and there, and secondly, that I couldn't keep my eyes off of them.
It reminded me of my childhood - how I was raised by a man not unlike these. When I think of him, I think of his dry, cracked and contorted hands. His dark and wrinkly skin - mismatched clothes. That same humility and committment to his work.
He was picked by my wealthy great grandfather to play with my grandmother as a child. Eventually, they grew up together as he was plucked from the impoverished village where they met in order to care for my grandmother's family, eventually raising three future generations, including me.
Even though he and my grandparents lived in the US by the 1980s, he barely spoke English - didn't even know how to read or write - but somehow we always understood him. From breakfast to lunch, baths and naps, he was the one who kept my cousins and I happy every day before we started school. When I look back, I feel that same embarassment knowing that he never lived a life of his own because he was too busy making our lives easier.
I never even knew this until I was about 12 - but he had left a wife, two sons and a daughter back home just to raise my grandmother's family. And with no complaint. In fact, I later learned that when my grandmother tried to force him to go home, he would call and say he wanted to come back. Poor guy didn't know any better.
All of this came back to me in about 2 minutes of being in that Paleteria, so I had to leave. Apparently emotional and staring, I needed to be somewhere else so I went back to the car while Dax ordered and paid for my latest craving.
Elew (pronounced Eeeh-leh-u) died several years ago. Every pew in our church was filled with our family, who he loved so much. It amazed me that the funeral could be so touching and pathetic at the same time. I always wondered if his family resented us. His daughter was there, she was being comforted by my brother who was her favorite of the young children she grew up raising.
I then wondered how the image of these Mexican men triggered a memory so deep and emotional. I rarely think of my childhood, let alone the man who accompanied it. Maybe it's the hormones. I do know that I liked remembering it - the feelings of sympathy, sadness and nostalgia all seemed unreal, like it didn't happen to me, but that I watched it in a really good movie. And that movie made me want to cry!!!
Not sure what the point of this post is, but I think maybe it should be something like -- remember to remember things. Dax told me once he goes through every day and thinks about all the significant moments that led him to where he is now. I'm unable to do that so for now will rely on random observations.
Currently listening to:
Paramore - That's What You Get
Paramore - Misery Business
Friday, April 24, 2009
Weeks 4-8 coming soon
I have a hand cramp and can't type. Just wanted to let all of you readers (2 of you) know. :)
Current Playlist: Mini Sirloin Burgers
Current Playlist: Mini Sirloin Burgers
Thanks Jules!
Bring on the gifts - woman with child coming through. :) OF course, Julie gives me the one I actually have to work on!
Here's a snapshot from my pregnancy calendar - bear in mind that this is a rough estimate of how far along we are:
Week 1: Just got back from a business trip to DC. Been taking shorter trips to come home earlier to Dax. :) It worked! (Although we did not know it yet)
Week 2: Apparently had no idea we actually had a real "baby maker". It better have been good.
Week 3: Feeling funny at this point but still had no clue. Had a few celebratory drinks for Sue's wedding - OOPS! :)
Week 4: Decided to go on a trip with Lizzie to CVS. Just happened to pick up a 3-pack test and VOILA! Dax came home to celebrate.
IF you like this, there is more where that came from. Just vote for Pedro.
Here's a snapshot from my pregnancy calendar - bear in mind that this is a rough estimate of how far along we are:
Week 1: Just got back from a business trip to DC. Been taking shorter trips to come home earlier to Dax. :) It worked! (Although we did not know it yet)
Week 2: Apparently had no idea we actually had a real "baby maker". It better have been good.
Week 3: Feeling funny at this point but still had no clue. Had a few celebratory drinks for Sue's wedding - OOPS! :)
Week 4: Decided to go on a trip with Lizzie to CVS. Just happened to pick up a 3-pack test and VOILA! Dax came home to celebrate.
IF you like this, there is more where that came from. Just vote for Pedro.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The song America is singing right now...
It's just so damn catchy. I've woken up several times singing this song out loud, much to Dax's amusement.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
