life

by

I Am One of Many

I like quiet. To be alone. To spend time reflecting. On life. And everything else.

But, then, I find myself, as part of those reflecting moments, to not want to be alone because it may eventually come true. Probably will.

What then?

This morning I was reading in the back room, focused and engaged in a mystery drama.

Suddenly, I paused. Took my eyes off the text. Stared out the window. And listened.

I heard Rudy in the kitchen. Turning on and off the KitchenAid mixer. I heard nothing else. Just the whir of the slowly spinning paddle. Mixing bread dough.

I just listened.

The sound of that mixer fills our home regularly. He’s always making something. The sound of Rudy in the kitchen feels comforting in the same way that being alone soothes my soul.

I want to be quiet, to be alone, and to reflect on everything. And just as important, I want human connection.

by

In Just 5 minutes I Witnessed the Rise and Fall of Life

Life really does present many of us with ups and downs, as if we are on a roller coaster ride. Lots of times the downs can present themselves unexpectedly and we must brace for the worse. We just plummet and must handle it in a positive manner, by getting back up and starting again.

This morning I encountered a young couple, probably in their early 20’s, walking ahead of me up a steep street located in the hills just north of my neighborhood. The girl was petite with long pink hair while the guy was very tall and lanky. She was wearing baggy neon green sweatpants, a black tank-top, and sneakers. Over her shoulders she had slung a small backpack. He wore an oversized dark blue t-shirt and jeans. He also had on a brown baseball cap and a pair of Nikes. Both were holding a skateboard, hers smaller than his. I could hear their chitter chatter but was far enough back that I had no clue what was being said. I heard laughter, watched them embrace, and just before they made it to the top of the hill, I witnessed the guy pluck a rose from a resident’s garden and gently present it to his girl.

Sweet. Innocent. Young. Love.

Our foot pace was rhythmically the same, therefore, I naturally maintained the same distance behind them, until they stopped at the top.

Like many people, due to COVID19, I have been confined to working from home so I took the opportunity to enjoy early morning walks. I have walked enough consistent days that my trek up that super steep climb didn’t faze me nor did it create a huge gap between myself and the young couple. When they stopped at the summit and as I closed the distance between us I noticed pink-haired girl gently swinging her skateboard while looking down the flipside of the street. Steep, but not so much as the incline. I slowed my pace when I heard the guy state, very nicely, “You are going to try this,” not to ask her, rather to remind her that she said she was all in.

I could have mentioned all the bad things that could happen (because, well, I do probably have almost 40 something wise years on them) but the reality is that people want and will do what they choose. Seriously, don’t tell me how to live my life. Let me figure it out and if I need your advice, well, maybe I’ll ask for it.

All I could think was how young and sweet they seemed together. Enjoying their walk and each other. Holding hands. He freed her of the small backpack and gently pocketed the rose while she put her board down on the pavement, ready of fly. Just before she took off he said, “Don’t go in a straight line, instead, zigzag back and forth to slow yourself down.” She smiled, which to me seemed like an ‘OK,’ smile that is full of nerves.

By this point I was just walking over the summit and slowly began jogging downward. I was probably 10 feet down when I heard the spinning wheels of the skateboard and her voice shout, “Watch out!” to me as she sailed on by. Flying pretty fast, trying to maneuver as instructed, zigzagidy, back and forth; though, she seemed unsure how to actually move the skateboard back and forth. Not only was the board wobbly, so was she. Just when I noticed that the girl was possibly going to lose her balance, Lanky dude went zooming passed me on the opposite side and easily boarded down the gravel street. He passed her. Big smile on his face while he looked over at her, seemingly so proud of the balanced bravery she was showing and also seemingly feeling pumped for being such a cool boyfriend.

And then it happened.

He should have been very specific and told her to make wide zigzags, that she should roll from one side of the street to the other. Back and forth.

Pink haired girl flopped forward after losing her grip on the skateboard. She had lost control and simply flew full frontal to the ground. She was hurt. She sat up just as her boyfriend ran up to her, asking if she was ok. I thought about intervening but knew I couldn’t. That she was embarrassed enough and didn’t need a random person to assist. She had her love interest with her and that was enough.

I am going to assume that that small adventure she just experienced was part of her roller coaster ride, a downfall, and with determination she will get back up and move forward. And climb again.

a relationship

f7804-img_1469

long ago, rudy and i met, by a random chance encounter. i mean there i was at a tupperware party (the “in” place to be back then), when i happened to glance to my left. and who do i see?

rudy. checking me out.

(yeah. strange that a guy was there… but there’s a story behind that story as well).

being a girl with not a lot of social knowledge, i was sitting there, on a couch, not talking to anyone – well, not because i couldn’t make the effort to converse, but rather the situation was that everyone was talking to everyone else. because they all knew each other. from work, or somewhere. so, i just sat there, the girl no one knew. the girl who had tagged along with her friend. the social butterfly. the one that was somewhere, socializing.

so, of course, trying not to look awkward while rudy just continued to smile (which, honestly, was very pleasant) and stare, i’d look around the room as if i was doing exactly what an independent person would do. whatever they want. and, well, i know, even though i had slunk lower into the couch, i was pulling that off – looking cool and confident.

maybe.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Fast forward to year 34 of marriage.

it’s been a roller coaster of a ride: ups, downs, and all-arounds.

beginning with:

not wanting to keep our hands off each other.

to:

raising three kids and feeling tired, but wanting to instill good values, “to bring them up right”, no matter what.

then, somewhere in between:

beginning careers that would add to the balancing act of a married relationship.

and wrapped around:

being overwhelmed with how to “handle it all”, while trying to forge a comfortable life. (even when rudy had to live and work outside of california. having had spent a year in honduras, 3 years in arkansas. leaving me to “hold down the fort”.)

unfortunately, leading to both of us:

forgetting the importance of not wanting to keep our hands off each other.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

the other day i began to send rudy morning – memory – texts. simple, quick reminders of us.

how we met.

walks we’d taken.

saying ‘i love you’ for the first time.

our anniversary.

babies that were born.

and so much more.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

ours is a relationship that constantly revolves around evolving.

by

A Broad View

Image 6-21-19 at 7.28 PM

I’ve heard so much about The Broad Museum, everywhere. From people (in person) and people (online) to people (via a phone or text conversation). With each conversation the more I heard the more I wanted to visit this artistic place in Los Angeles.

My youngest son, Brad, (who appreciates art, all kinds, from Jackson Pollack to Basquiat to Andy Warhol to Kaws to Picasso), and I walked passed an extra long line of people (who didn’t purchase  free tickets beforehand, online) and into the tall rectangular structure, anticipating a rewarding experience.

The building is interesting. Simply driving by it seems to be an ordinary structure, nothing much to think about. But if you stand a distance away you can see how art is used to form the shape. Looking towards the entrance, the north side of the building, you will notice that the bottom corners are sliced off, creating a unique design. You will also make note of the complimenting gashes carved all around its surface. Plus, there is a small oval (window?, I think) surrounded with a frame of blue and yellow.

When Brad and I entered the building our first option, if we so chose, was to stand in a line (Yuk! I hate lines!) to sign up to experience the Infinity Mirrors by Yayoi Kusama (2 hours later, from that moment). Line displeasure aside, we concurred, Why not? An interactive piece of artwork should not be bypassed.

We assumed exploring would take a while, a couple hours at least, so we took the escalator to the 3rd floor – the only floor with art displayed – and strolled around the venue, gazing at and contemplating various pieces. Of course, we had to hit the Basquiat works and the Andy Warhol’s, which did not disappoint. I learned that the Barbara Kruger pieces are the color inspiration for the ultra popular clothing store, Supreme. Supreme’s red and white colors, the styling, and the font they use are an imitation of Kruger’s. We walked under the oversized table and chairs created by Robert Therrien, which was supposed to return one to childhood memories of crawling around. For me, I didn’t vibe on that memory – I never crawled under tables. But, the style of the chairs Therrien recreated are a perfect match to a chair I have that belonged to my dad, long ago. A chair that is a staple piece in my home office. Jeff Koons’ colorful balloon-like animals and fruit (made with stainless steel and a mirror-like surface) are fun pieces of art. Reminders of the good things in life. And the black and white photos by Robert Longo make you think. As does the charcoal on canvas drawing by Jenny Saville.  Both artists created a feeling that I have been part of a similar story. And finally, the exhibit Soul of A Nation: Art in the Age of Black Power was extraordinary and thought provoking, showcasing contributions by artists beginning during the civil rights movement.

Heading back to the ground floor, to the Infinity Mirror room. I realized we still had 45 minutes left before Brad and I could even stand in line (Blah!) to enter the space filled with panels of mirrors and strings of lights. We wondered if it was worth the wait.  Right about that time, as we were contemplating leaving (instead of waiting), Brad and a guy – an employee of The Broad – both about the same age, engaged in a conversation about the pants and shoes each was wearing. (Fashionistas are everywhere!) There had to be some kind of bond because when Brad asked, “Is it worth the wait?” pointing toward the Infinity room. Mr. Employee said, “Follow me.” We did. And he graciously guided us to the front of the line.

Wait or no wait, it was worth it.

On the way home, we discussed what we thought about the museum and it was determined that, overall, the works of art were definitely worth taking the time to visit.

Yet, the downfall, was that with so many people given access to The Broad at one time, the noise level was very distracting. Art should be experienced quietly, reflectively, and respectfully, like libraries.

 

by

iphone be gone

yesterday, tuesday, 4pm, the early hours of halloween, i found myself stumped,

due to my lack of focus.

it all started when i had hauled all my teaching gear to my crossover vehicle.

– well, the reading manual, so that i could figure out my next plan for the students, and a big fat AVID book, where i would find info to help me conduct a productive note-taking lesson with the kids –

anyway… i put those two texts onto the back floor of my car,

along with my white jansport backpack, a round fluffy Rugrat (Tommy specific) knapsack, the one i recently reclaimed, one that once belonged roberto, long ago, when he was a rugrat himself, and next to my macbook air,

i’m floundering, unfocused…

this is about my iphone; not my afterwork, parking lot life.

well, actually, the parking lot plays a big role here.

before i sat in the driver’s seat, i realized my phone wasn’t with me.

which, honestly, it isn’t unusual that i didn’t have it because i really don’t carry it with me much… whereby on the other hand, it’s actually amazing that i even noticed i had forgotten it… because i really don’t carry it with me much.

you get what i mean?

well now, after noticing the missing phone, i trekked back to classroom, hunted around for it, but couldn’t find anything remotely resembling my 2 1/2 year old white iphone.

hum.

i walked back to the car, sifted through my stuff, again, only to note that the phone was definitely not there.

once again, i unlocked both gates, walked back to class, lifted every paper and book, and found nothing except more papers and books. i stood there, near my desk and wondered.

hum.

and then i remembered that i had been cutting artwork out to hang up in the window so that the sun’s shine made the oily bones of the kids finger prints glow – which was actually pretty cool, a fun project for sure…

i was cutting the hand shapes, letting the fallen pieces of paper gather on top of my desk and when done i threw the paper in the trash.

no! i thought. no way. i did not throw my iphone away.

did i?

back at the car, i texted brad from my computer – thank goodness the internet was available out in the parking lot – then i walked to the trash can.

this is what i texted him, literally:

can you call my phone… i can’t find it… call a few times… i am outside by the trash then i need to go in the class…. keep calling until i answer it… if i call you good… if i don’t bad… i will message on my computer if i can’t find it… or my phone if i do…

he messaged back, OK.

i lifted out what i knew was my plastic bag of debris. the sprinkles of colored paper gave it away. then i walked back towards my vehicle and i placed the trash bag into the back of my car thinking that maybe i was overlooking the phone. something told me i was on the right track, but my thinking wasn’t concise. so, i decided i’d take the trash home and investigate there, just in case. i surely didn’t want to make a mess right there, at my place of employment.

that’d look odd. right?

seriously, though, no regrets.

that’s my motto, you see.

i heard no Old Phone ringing.

in the meantime, i assumed brad was continuously calling me because i hadn’t called or texted him back.

i walked back to class.

nothing.

i walked back to the car.

nothing.

opened the rover’s hatchback.

rifled through the bag of papers.

and then i heard it. ever so faint. my phone, ringing. coming from the trash bag. i stuck my hand inside. swirled it around. and found ‘the missing link’.

yes!

i answered brad’s call as i was walking the semi-heavy ladened trash to the large receptacle in the school’s parking lot.

 

by

just do it

i have a pile of books to filter through. lessons to lightly write. work to get done. yet. here i sit. unwilling to get on-task. me. a teacher. always reminding my students to stay on task. to concentrate. to get their work done. but, i am finding that the task, though necessary, has not quite found its way into my educator thoughts.

IMG_1354

in a while, i will sit in front of those school books. those teacher’s manuals. and i will review. yes i will. because, review i must. for my own sanity. and to ensure starting the year off right, properly educating students. who will be depending on me to fill their days with classroom ooo’s and aaah’s, and just as important, life lessons.

but first, i need to sit here and think.

“mom, can we talk?” brad asks.
“yeah, sure,” i say, with a smile.

i guess my teacher tasks will have to wait even longer to imprint my brain with information.

by

Un-coloring My World

IMG_8884.jpg

Painting walls in one’s home is big news these days. Be brave, brighten your rooms with color, color, color.

Well, now, I’ve been coloring-up my rooms for years and years. Not just one overall color throughout. But each room was given a personality. Walls dedicated to the person living in each space. Roberto danced in Florescent Green. Brad played Legos in Light Grey. Liz had friends spend the night in Orangesicle Orange. Rudy and I chilled in Olive Green. The living room, a light turquoise blue, matching a very small teapot, wrapped anyone sitting there with comfort. And the kitchen felt happy, alive in Buttercup Yellow.

Everywhere I looked the color spoke to me. Reminded me of milestones, friendships, hardships, laughter, serenity, and so much more. Life happened amongst those walls.

I loved the color. Until I was over it. 

So, I decided to paint every room in my house white.

Not a new concept, I know. I see those walls in buildings, in magazines, on TV.

White. White. White.

And I love it.

I’ve been coating the walls with Crystal Cut white. Soothing. Relaxing. Vibrant.

And the stories live on. Nothing has changed. Color still makes its claim. Among the white it speaks quietly or loudly, depending on its mood.

 

by

Admitting You’re in LOVE has to Begin Somewhere

love note 1984

“I’m hungry,” Rudy confessed when he saw me looking at the few slices of the least-expensive white not the most nutritious bread he could find and a half-empty can of bean dip.

We went out to eat, my treat.

The next day I brought him a bowl – well, a thermos full, really – of hot Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup and some toasted, buttered bread.

Rudy was living in a by the day, week, or month motel room. Number 19. It was all he could afford. Ironically, the Vagabond was located just down the street from Disneyland – The Happiest Place On Earth. Rudy wasn’t feeling too happy during those days. Life was hard and trying to make ends meet wasn’t an easy task for a 21-year-old foreigner. He just wanted to be part of the American Dream.

Doesn’t everyone?

When we first met, before his motel days, Rudy was living with a group of buddies in a three-bedroom apartment. Life was fine. Partying like young guys do, just living it up. One day at a time.

We had been dating for about a month when I stopped by to check in on him because he’d mentioned he was feeling sick. Sick enough that he did not even want to get off the couch, which was so unusual for Rudy. This guy would never just lie on the couch just because he could. Never.

His roommates were gone for the day, which was good because I could take care of him. In a sappy girly way. I put a pillow under his head. Made him tea and toast – good stuff when you don’t feel like eating. Which Rudy didn’t. Eat. He was feverish. I wiped his brow with a cool cloth. He slept. He woke. He dozed some more.

What amazed me though was that when Rudy did wake after a short snooze he was determined to go to work. He needed the pay. Seriously. He would literally sit up. As straight as he could. Then he would struggle to stand. He couldn’t. He was too weak. I convinced him to relax. He needed time to recuperate. I even offered to call his job site, tell them he wasn’t feeling well. And after much convincing, he allowed me to call in his excuse for not showing up to the local Holiday Inn where he worked as a dishwasher, mostly, but helped the chef whenever he could.

Another time, a few weeks or so later, we were sitting on the patio, a small square of cement surrounded by a wood-slated fence, when Rudy began pacing back and forth. I figured something was up because his behavior was again! unusual. “I need to ask you something. I just don’t know how,” he stated rather bluntly, yet with concern. “Anything. Ask me anything,” I honestly answered.

“Oh, this is so hard. But I don’t know who else to ask. Well, I was just wondering if you had any money I could borrow. Just twenty bucks. I do not have a penny to my name…..” He tried to continue. Telling me he was sorry, that he shouldn’t be asking. “No problem,” I said. And I meant it. I knew he really did need the help. I pulled a twenty out of my purse and passed it to Rudy. He just hugged me, not sure what to say. That evening, I’m sure, a bond tightened. A bond we were already developing between us.

It was several months later, after the 20 bucks situation, when I saw the bread and beans in the motel room. By this point I knew how hard it’d been for Rudy, trying to prosper. I had been there with him, when things began to look bleak. The same evening I brought him the chicken noodle soup we decided to take a walk. A walk to the Anaheim Hilton. The hotel had become a place to stroll, to just find some kind of quietness for us. To talk. To get to know each other. We just talked and walked through the lovely hotel.

That particular night, a mid-December night, we had been talking about how most likely Rudy would need to return to his homeland. To Honduras. He just wasn’t seeing a future for himself in the states, particularly in expensive California. As we were talking, and walking very slowly, a what are we going to do? walk, we found ourselves in a small room with tables, note paper and pens. I didn’t think, I just wrote.

I handed the note to him, unembarrassed. Rudy accepted it.

What I didn’t realize was that right after he read my short love note his thoughts began to change. He now had a reason. A reason not to leave. A reason to keep trying, to make a life for himself. And I was the biggest part of that reason.

We embraced. Rudy smiled at me. I smiled back. I sensed something had happened. Did Rudy feel like I did? We had never talked about love before. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. I knew, right then, that he loved me, too.

Relationships all begin somewhere. Ours began in Orange County, CA. In 1984.

by

#tb 5 years ago…

Bradford Ramon Antonio, age 11

brad 2011

There he sleeps, that child of mine. I’m sure he’s dreaming about all the things he wants to do in his young life. His innocent life. His right-now life.

Sunrise to sunset, that kid is on-the-go either physically, or mentally, or (of course) both those things at once.

The minute he hops out of bed, he puts on his favorite baseball cap. Angels! At the same time his feet begin to shuffle. Swish! He slides his left foot across the wooden floor, kicking it straight out in front of him. While that foot dangles in the air he quickly raises his knee, and just as quick he stomps that foot back down. The other foot takes its turn and begins to also stamp. Now both feet are shuffling back and forth. He spins his body, grabs the brim of his cap and twirls it backward, then forward again in a rapid, smoothly-planned motion. His whole body is moving. His feet are gliding, stamping, and being raised high off the ground. The techno music in his head eventually stops, so then does his dancing.

He settles on the couch, waiting for a hot cup of tea. While he waits, his fingers, all ten of them, begin to intertwine. His hands move as if they are dancing. A hand dance. His arms shoot out as his hands continue to twirl, round and round. His arms twist around each other, like slithering snakes; his fingers continue to lace loosely together, then apart, and his arms maintain their own motions, to ensure that the fluidity of the dance is just right. The hand ballet stops when he reaches for the sugar-and-milk-filled cup of tea.

He’s a DJ. He uses the computer to spin a record, to jumble the original music in an interesting way. He adds voice overtones to create definition, character to the song. The techno music adds a certain flavor to the whole effect. He works it, over and over, in various ways. Both his hands are moving rapidly, spinning up, spinning down, spinning to the right, spinning to the left. Then his feet begin to shuffle. All his skills are joined together into one fantastic show. His motions don’t stop until the music does yet, his heart still sings. He knows his skills are working, working the crowd. He knows because they all scream for more.

So sleep well, my son, sleep well. Dream your dreams. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is another day you can move. Another day to perfect your real-life ambitions.

by

When Two Becomes One

Remembering a time when…

tela honduras
The sun was making its way into the blue-grey sky.
Wanting to warm the Honduran shore.
Beckoning to us.
To drown our toes into the soft, moist sand.
To dip our toes into the better than great salty warm water.

Rudy led the way.
Dove into the pristine surface.
And I followed.
Reaching for him.
He held my hand and I held his.
We splashed happily, contently in the ocean blue.
Swimming.
Alone.
Enjoying the moment.

As we returned to shallow water.
We lowered our bodies underneath.
Until the soothing water touched our chins.
While our feet pranced along the sandy bottom.
Allowing us to maintain eye contact.
As we both rotated in a circular motion.
Constantly.
Gently.

We talked.
About our life.
About how we met.
About our relationship.
About our children.
About everything.
As we felt one with the ocean, the sand, the sky.

And especially with each other.