Saturday, December 29, 2012

Sunshine in a Bottle

The more I live in Texas the more I am amused by the fact that people don't know where I come from.  Several times a week (and frequently multiple times a day) I pull out my most recent family photo that sits on my desk at work, and show it to complete strangers to illustrate the fact that I am who my name tag claims me to be, one of many of my children's offspring, half of my Mexican Father and half of my German Mother, and completely myself in every breath I take.  Every day is an adventure at my new job and for the most part I love it. I answer the phone with the line, "Good morning, how may I improve your day?" and I can always tell when people are listening because I can hear them smile.  A few times people have told me how I actually make their day better, and those are always my favorites. 

I scared one of my priests because he saw me at Church and tried to prod me into introducing myself as a new parishioner at a parish that I have been frequenting for just over a year.  When I told him this he asked why he had never seen me.  I was at a loss for words.  I guess I just fly under the radar now. 

Not infrequently I tell my favoritest boss about my life before.  Before I moved to Texas.  Before I was in college.  Before when if people knew me at all, they knew me as one of many. She usually laughs and tells me that I am hilarious and that all my supposed worries of people not liking me are entirely unfounded because everybody likes me. I laughed again.  Imagine, me, the quietest of my mother and father's children, being the social butterfly.  Without thinking I said, "If you think I make friends wherever I go,  you should meet my Mother!"  She smiled and asked me to tell her about the woman who made me and though I still exuded happiness, I was sad.

My Mother makes friends wherever she goes.  My Mother tries to make everyone smile.  My Mother will spend hours talking to complete strangers, listening attentively, and talking excitedly in turn, about topics ranging from politics, to homeschooling (not much of a jump), to music, to religion, but everything she does she does with love.  And when you see that love you know she is thinking of us.  
 
My Mother doesn't recognize cloudy days, and always finds the silver lining.  My Mother rarely has bad days, can always make the best of a bad situation, and is always surprising my Father with her hair brained schemes.  "Gerardo, let's drive to Utah tomorrow! Come on, it will be FUN!" My Mother can turn a day around, make frowns turn upside down, and even when she is driving me crazy it obvious and apparent that what she does, she does in love.  
 
My Mother is sunshine in a bottle.  I wish that I could bottle her up, and take her with me when I'm feeling down.  I love that when people see me, they see just a bit of her as well.  And that way, even when a million miles separate us, I know that she's not alone, and I'm not alone, and we'll never really be apart. 
 
 
 

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

"Life is tough; it's tougher if you're stupid" and other thoughts that are going through my head today because I miss my family

"Life is tough; it's tougher if you're stupid." -John Wayne

Ash Wednesday meals should be penitential, not inedible." -Tia

*At dinner we go around the table asking three questions- "What was your blessing today?" "How did you bless someone else?" and "Did you have a challenge today?" The idea is that you ask the person to your right all the questions (with pauses for answers in between) and then they in turn ask the person to their right, thus going around the entire table.*
"Papa, can I have some more sour cream." -Atilla
"Ask Gabbie your question." -Tio
"Gabbie, can I have some more sour cream." -Atilla

"Gabbie, the train can't go through." -Napoleon
"That's because it's a submarine and submarine's don't go on land." -me
"Gabbie the boat cannot go through." -Napoleon
"That's because it is a submarine and submarine's don't go on land." -me
"Gabbie it won't go on land!" -Napoleon
"That's because it's a boat and it doesn't go on land."-me
"You said it was a submarine." -Napoleon

Attila upon finding a suspect looking thing upon her leg immediately picks it up and puts it in her mound as I scream in protest. "It's okay- it's part of my plum."  I realized she had stopped eating the plum a bit ago but was wondering how long it had been on her leg and was about to ask her as much when she ate it while I squawked.  Tio looked at me and said, "What did you think she was going to do?"

The General's speech therapist is expecting a baby and she just told him that she is expecting a boy.  I was teasing the General that he should recommend his first name to her for her baby.
He sighed and rolled his eyes and said, "Gabbie, I think she should name her baby Luke Skywalker... or Harry Potter."  I knew I liked that kid.

During a conversation on cultures and the foods that come from them.
"What food do they eat in Iceland?" -Napoleon
"Ice Cream!!!!" -The General
"How come Australia doesn't have any special foods?" -The Captain
"Cause haggus doesn't travel well." -Gabbie

"Gabbie, do you know what I found today? Oocha!" -Napoleon, over the phone (Napoleon fell in love with a giant green grasshopper in our front yard a few months ago.  She routinely catches him and carries him around on her head and enjoys this.  A few weeks ago he disappeared.)  
"That's wonderful, baby; he moved to California." -me
"Guess what he did when I tried to get him off my hand?" -Napoleon
"He jumped off?" -me
"No, he jumped on Nana's dog's head!" -Napoleon

This morning Attila summarized the life of Augustus Caesar as follows.
"First he was a citizen, then he was first citizen, then he was a prince, then a king, and then he was dead." 
I don't know what she is learning in that history lesson but you must admit that she is succinct and accurate. 

Before going to Carlsbad Caverns the five smalls were discussing excitedly what they were going to see in the cave.  I resisted the urge to tell them that we should look out for Batman and the Batmobile.   Fortunately they thought of this on their own.

Iri rescues Tio from the cricket.
Iri rescues a grasshopper from the lawnmower.
Iri rescues an anolli from the house.
Iri keeps a geckos tail, a cicada wing, and a cicada exoskeleton.
Iri's favorite Christmas present is a box full of live ladybugs.
 I love my goddaughter.

"Do or do not: there is no try." -Queen Victoria to her siblings, quoting Yoda.

Great ideas that I thought up

"YOU DID WHAT!!!!"

This is the usual response to most of my stories of things I did in California.  I don't know if I am any more wild in California than I am in Texas or I was in Florida but for some reason everyone is surprised.  Really, could you blame them?  I do tell some pretty outlandish stories, but are they all true?  My Father likes to say that the women in my family never let a little thing like truth get in the way of a good story.  I'd say he's embellishing this ideology a little, but only a very little.  In this post I will write on several things I may or may not have done (or said) in California (or on the road to Roswell) in the last three weeks, but I won't tell you if they actually happened or not.  That may not be fair but whoever said life was fair?  Maybe a carnival master.  

Upon arriving in California (via a 747) I procured some black face makeup, black clothing, and a red lightsaber.  I left the terminal with a look that would have sent grown men crying and upon making my way to baggage claim found my next younger brother waiting for me.  In my best Darth Vader voice I extended my lightsaber and said in my best Sith lord voice, "So, we meet again- for the first time, for the last time."   

While in Roswell Sir went to buy a pack of beer.  It's not so unusual.  If he's anywhere for any amount of time he does.  What was unusual was that he was dying of laughter so loud that I could hear him across the store.  Okay, I'll ask.  "I just got carded," he snickered when I inquired as to the reason for his joyous laughter.  What was even more enjoyable was that I had purchased alcohol (and significantly more) last year when we were there and hadn't gotten carded.  77 vs 22.  I win. 

Since last August my grandmother, great aunt, and a friend of theirs, have been trying to set me up.  They are sweet and I like them but I generally don't approve of being "set up." Upon meeting him I pulled him aside and said in a hushed tone, "Wanna make a couple old ladies talk forever!?"  I don't know what I had planned to do next but it would have been fun to say and even more enjoyable to watch his response. 

A good friend asked my friend Koshka (who accompanied me for part of my trip in California) "Are you two together together?"  (Remember this is California.)  Koshka and I both laughed and I told him, "Yes, but not like you are imagining.  Koshka's taken... by a guy."  

A friend asked me why I was heading to Roswell after California.  I told him in my sweetest voice that I was, "Hitching a ride home."  

At my brothers graduation party I tried my best to be sociable.  It didn't work.  I don't know why but people didn't seem to want to talk to me or my friend, Koshka. 

 Strange Creatures

I seriously considered telling someone from Texas to call me singing the lyrics of the Black Eyed Peas "Ohio: Come Back to Texas."  Then I could sing, "California, here I come."  

I went with my grandparents to purchase their new vehicle.  It was lots of fun (I should have brought popcorn) because those two were bickering like an old married couple.  They always do that when they are together, but really I think they reserve it for when there is an audience.  The saleswoman turned to me and was telling me how cute they were and I smiled politely.  She then asked sir, "How long have you two been married?"  With missing a beat Pop answered, "Two weeks."  Nana shook her head with a sigh and added, "No dear, it's been longer than that- more like three."  I was dying. 

When taking a picture with a couple of friends one of them said, "Robert has to be in the center- he's the rose among the thorns." I then informed the group that we were a "thorn in his side."

As I was coming down the stairs for Mass my Mother looked at me and said, "You look very wholesome."  I deadpanned at her and said, "Dang it, I was hoping to look like trouble."


I should not...

One might think that since I have survived to the age of 24 I should know better than to do the following.
1.) I should not attempt to climb the stairs while balancing a thick, hard bound copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula while carrying a large cup of Lemonade and using my cellphone as a flashlight because it is dark.
2.) I should not tell my just introduced dance partner, who is still learning basic swing steps, that my brothers won't kill him, even if he breaks my toes trying this.
3.) I should not laugh out loud when people ask me if I am "Catholic or something?" In case my name, family, university, high school, and church didn't give it away... Also, I should not respond with, "or something."
4.) I should not tell people my full name.  It's long.  They won't remember it anyways.  
5.) I should not say the first thing that comes to mind when meeting attractive men with unusual names, in particular when I think of geeky things like "Sam as in "Samwise?" or "Ken" as in Barbie?"
6.) I should not assume that young looking guys are students when I am in downtown Austin near the university, because chances are they aren't.
7.) I should not be offended when people do not remember me the fifth time that I've introduced myself.  
8.) I should not try to remove the mop head of a steam mop when it is making a hissing sound.   
9.) I should not start conversations without coffee.
10.) I should really avoid wearing new shoes out clubbing... particularly when I'm still breaking them in.  
11.) I shouldn't laugh when people tell me that I'm good at something, nor should I scoff.  I should also not be offended when they tell me that I need practice.  
12.) I should not pick fights with my cat.  He always gets even. 
13.) I shouldn't let people dig themselves in deeper when they make racial slurs around me.  I should not remain silent either.  
14.) I should not wait for the last chance mass.  
15.) I should not leave my alarm clock in places that I cannot find in the dark.
16.) I should not watch scary movies when I'm home alone.
17.) I should write things down because we all know that I will forget them otherwise.  
18.) I should talk to the people... even when I'm afraid, even when I'm shy, and even when I'm alone.  
19.) I should burn the candle once in a while.
20.) When I leave the house I should turn off the loud radio. 
21.) I should eat before I black out.  
22.) I should close the door before Jim gets in the room when I'm sleeping.
23.) I should not compose sad songs because people think I'm sad.  
24.) I should leave the past in the past.  
All these things I should do... but chances are that I won't.





Friday, November 23, 2012

The Great Misunderstanding

My second goddaughter wanted to go as Saint Kateri Tekakwitha for the All Saints Day Festival.  Her mother asked me to help her get her costume together.  Indian looking dress- check! Headpiece- check! Feathers- check! Lily- this is where all the trouble began.

Saint Kateri Tekakwitha was a young Algonquin/Mokawk woman who was recently proclaimed a Saint in the Roman Catholic Church.  Dying a virgin she was converted by her Mother who was converted by French Missionaries.  She was shunned by her Father's people because of her Christian beliefs and because of her deep love of Christ she died a virgin so as to be His spouse.  She was informally known as the Lily of the Mohawks.  Frequently she is pictured with a Lily. 

When I went to the craft store to acquire various pieces to various costumes ranging from Saint Cyril and Saint Methodius to the Crocodile from Peter Pan I found (with some difficulty) a range of fake flowers.  There were lots of flowers but no lilies.  After some searching I managed to find a lily, picked out one that I liked, and brought it home.

Tia went through my stuff and we set to work finishing costumes.  Several hours later she pulled out the lily and asked, "So, why did you get this?"  I gawked.  "It is a lily," I said, and then tried to explain,  "for Saint Kateri; you know, the lily of the Mohawks."  She frowned, "This is a calla lily."  "So?" I asked.  "I meant an Easter Lilly," she shook her head, "not a calla lily."  I tilted my head to one side as I frequently do when I am confused, "There is a difference?" "Yes, did not you know?" she said with a deadpan expression.  "Apparently not," I sighed, "what should I do?"  "Nothing, we will manage." Oh," I replied.

Unfortunately there was not really time to go and replace it so our "Lily of the Mohawks" had a calla lily instead of an Easter lily, thus making this god mommy feel like even more of a schmuck.  Oh well, there is always NEXT year.  On the other hand, I'll never forget that there is a difference between a calla lily and an Easter lily.  You may count on that. 

Tuesday, November 06, 2012

Blue toes

I'm sure you are wondering what in the world I am talking about.  I mean who wouldn't with a title like that.  You must be thinking, "Blue toes?  Really, Gabbie, we don't want to hear about your new nail polish color."  And as much as I'd love to tell you about my new nail polish, I won't.  At least not this morning.  

I like to think that everything in my life is worthy of a really cheesy sitcom.  Of course I think this- after all I have a blog.  I like to say that all the world is a stage and I'm just God's comic relief.  Today was no exception.  

This morning I was awoken (at an ungodly hour) by my computer (who finally loaded the video I was trying to watch before bed) who was playing mens voices... in my room. (Yes, I said "who."  My laptop has a name.)  I harrumphed, opened the computer, closed the computer, shoved my computer back under the bed (the safest place for it in the event of the invading child apocalypse) and then proceeded to pull several warm blankets back over me, grumbling something about the evilness of Aloysius and never naming my computer after a teddy bear from a book ever again.  

Two hours later I was awoken by a couple smalls who were thrown off by the time change and could not figure out why everyone wasn't already awake.  Then I tried to go back to sleep.  That didn't work.  I look at my clock and sighed.  6.20 am.  Well, I told myself with a sigh as I sat up in bed, throwing off the covers, Might as well go vote.  Immediately I plunged after my blankets and wrapped myself in them until I managed to get dressed; it was cold this morning- even the Texans agreed with me.  

Approximately fifteen minutes later I got to the polling location, a local elementary school, and sighed.  This was SOOOO the wrong morning to wear flip flops but thank God I didn't wear a skirt as I was originally planning to do.  At 6.45 in the morning the line to exercise our constitutional rights was wrapped three quarters around the building and extended halfway to the street.  It was 54 degrees outside.  "Well hooray for voting" I mumbled to myself as I buttoned the buttons on the sweater I was thanking my Guardian Angel for leaving in my car and sending prayers to my Mother for giving it to me before I moved here.  There was no sun.  There was lots of wind.  There was no coffee.  I decided I was not going to have a good morning.  

The line was eerily quiet, almost as if all the Williamson County Citizens were waiting to enter a funeral to pay their respects to an unfamiliar but greatly endeared civic leader, an analogy that struck me as amusing considering the dire predicaments of just about everyone in my Facebook feed.  Scratch that.  The line was eerily quiet, with the one small exception of anyone who was within ear shot of me.  Like I said, I was cold.  And we all know that I currently lack a filter... particularly before coffee and especially when I'm in great discomfort.  So I started whining.  I'd like to say there was a reason for it.  There really wasn't.  

I found a kindred spirit in the middle aged gentleman who stood behind me in line.  I named him Bob in my head.  I politely informed him that the more I lived in Texas the more I understood why people moved to California.  He laughed.  I looked at the line as it stretched out farther to the street and commented that it shouldn't be so complicated to exercise our representation rights but perhaps this was the country's way of weeding out the really stupid people, like Darwinism.  He laughed again.  I considered how cold I was and reassessed the cold turn of the weather and dwelled upon my bed.  Two more people in line laughed.  I noted all the signs directing those unfamiliar with the area where to vote and noted that there were still people who were asking for directions- I could see them clearly from where I stood in the cold.  They laughed louder.  I pointed out the great American spirit of a woman who was waving a sign just outside of the 100 feet required.  That was commitment.  No one laughed at that one.  I suggested that the weather was God turning a cold shoulder on Texas as well.  Everyone laughed again.  I looked down at my toes that were steadily turning blue and sighed. 

The sun started to shine down upon us just in time for the line to move and for me to be stuck behind the shadow of a building.  Still I had about two minutes of blissful sunshine.  A couple people gave me odd looks as I entered the building but I decided that maybe I should spend more time on my appearance before I went out in public.  Later I looked in a mirror and decided that I truly have awesome hair.  

Then I voted.  Then I went home, handed off my shiny new sticker to the first child I saw and continued exercising my other rights- like the right of free will.  And then we prayed.  We all prayed.  We'll be praying all day.  I can't wait for tonight.  We'll be praying then too... but my toes won't be unnaturally blue... and there will be alcohol.  Amen.

Thursday, November 01, 2012

So are you going to vote?

It seemed like such a strange question after a long discussion about the upcoming presidential election between President Obama and Romney among my coworkers. Of course I'm going to vote.  I just may be pulling teeth when I do it.

Early voting has been going on for the past week here in Texas and for whatever reason everyone wants to talk about it- at home, on facebook, and in my work place.  Elections may happen every year but this year seems to be more... I don't know... violent than previous years.  

At work I had to read "Faithful Citizenship" and from it I deduced that I am very cynical.  The one thing I did get from it when I read it the second time (yes, I read it before when I went to a talk a few months ago) was this single line. 
Liberty isn't freedom to do whatever you want.  Liberty is the freedom to do what is right. 
I may not agree with anything else that is being said in the media, on facebook, or in any other form of discussion, but I stand by this.  I will vote because anything else would be shirking my responsibility of my stewardship given to me by God.  No one else can make the decision of who I vote for without me.  No amount of media coverage, harassment, or cutesy little signs will alter that.  And I will be held accountable for my decision.  

In a few months when the elections are over I'm sure that much of the drama now will blow over.  I pray that when that happens everyone can accept the decision of the country.  This is not to say go quietly into the night about the issues that seem to make and break friendships.  Rather I would hope that this will spur them on to a greater fight for what is good.  At the same time I hope that people will accept the President whoever he is as he is- human.  Pray for him.  Pray for him as a leader of the people.  Pray that he is guided by God and has the wisdom to accept God's guidance.  I would expect nothing less from the people of the United States.  God bless America. 

The Continued Adventures of the Gabbie Lady Part the Second

Lately I have taken up my second love of swing dancing again.  I found a club in Austin and I have been trying to go a couple times a month.  It really is a great group because the dancers there range from beginners to far more advanced than me.  This means I can mix my time in teaching as well as learning.  This makes me happy.  

I was asked out twice in one week in October (a feet that has not happened since I was graduating from college) and even more surprising is I gave one a chance.  I took him swing dancing with me and he did not really listen to my instructions.  He ended up pulling my arm in a direction God never intended it to go and... let us just say I will not be seeing him again.  (This paragraph is more for the benefit of my parents and grandparents who are no doubt still wondering when I will be supplying them with an endless supply of grandchildren to spoil.)

An opossum got into the garage and was happily sitting in the cat food bin, eating his heart out.   (This is the correct spelling of the word.  Most Americans spell it wrong but the only "possums" live in Australia.)  Steven cleverly closed the case (after carefully sliding the opossums tale into the bin) and then I carried it out.  It took us a minute to get the airtight seal open again and I was beginning to worry that the opossum might perish from asphyxiation.  Luckily for him (and unluckily for us) when we opened the bin he was still quite alive and not "playing possum."  He was not too happy with us but he still did not want to leave.  Some gentle "nudging" convinced him otherwise and we have not seen him since.  Tia cracked some jokes about "how many people does it take to get an opossum out of a cat food box"?  Tio pointed out that she was little help standing on the front porch and taking pictures.  I enjoyed the event thoroughly.  I know.  This makes me weird.  One of these days I am going to introduce myself, "Hi, I'm Gabrielle "I kill my own spiders" Tempest" and wait for the reactions to follow.

I had a birthday.  Captain Lindbergh has been asking me ever since how old I am and what age I would prefer to be.  I have been nice and have not answered.  The day itself was very pleasant but I will probably be celebrating it more next month. 

Halloween recently passed and with it came our annual week of insanity as we tried to get all costumes ready for the All Saints Day Festival as well as entirely different costumes for Halloween itself.  I think part of hell has frozen over because I had the opportunity to wear my sword and did not.  Or maybe this is a sign of personal growth.  I also dressed up as Saint (and not one pre-conversion as I have threatened, Jilana) on the day of Halloween.  Several people warranted a guess as to who I was with guesses ranging from "Joan of Arc" (really?) to a "Flower child" (I glared.)  My favorite incorrect guess was the Princess Bride from the movie.  I think I like that priest more because of his guess.  For the record I was Saint Brigid of Ireland... and no, I did not wear a habit. 

Queen Victoria has taken to repeating her favorite Gabbie quote whenever we are baking or cooking or making something edible.  The line is as follows, "Look, Gabbie!  It is your favorite! Food!"  Sadly, she is remarkably accurate.  I like food... but really I just like good cooking.  My Godmommy is a great cook. 

Looking back over the last few months I realize that I have been dwelling on the past.  I cannot say that this will change in the future but I hope to be better about dealing with it.  Maybe some day I will get to the point where I may laugh about this as well.  Is there more change in my future?  Probably.  Do I know what it is?  Not so much.  All I know for sure is that whatever the future holds for me... will be an adventure. 

The Continued Adventures of The Gabbie Lady Part the First

I really hate remembering to remember things.  I am always forgetting where I left my phone, my shoes, my purse, my mind... but for once I think it is necessary that I update the world on the last few months.

Everyone always tells me that you are not really healed until it does not hurt anymore but I do not think that is true.  If it does not hurt any more it was never really broken.  When I fell off my bike in high school I did not do anything worse than bruise up my left leg and it still hurts when it gets cold.  My toes tingle from where my eldest brother ran a sofa over it my freshman year of college and they still hurt before it rains.  Due to this my definition of "healing" is different than others.  It may never be the same as before but at least I can laugh about it now.

Last summer when I went to Texas many of my family members set me up, with varying degrees of hilarity ensuing.  When I returned to Texas I was still happily (and without regret) single.  Then I ran into an old college friend from Ave and, well, we... talked.  Anyone who has seen me through any relationship knows that I do not rush into things.  I do not take chances and I spend the first few weeks trying to scare him off.  I discuss everything at length before I allow my heart to get involved.  I let him in... and he broke my heart.  I was so upset that I called my Father, a situation I would normally avoid because neither of us enjoy lengthy phone calls.  Anyways, his advice was to let the brigand go (okay, he did not say it that way but I really should not repeat it as he said it).  Maybe this is why I have not been writing as much as I did earlier in the year?  Anyways, I have not spoken to him since and I really believe that if our paths cross ever again it would be the act of an unfeeling God.

Shortly after that I started working at a broker company called 360 Partners.  I worked there just over a month when I was offered a better position closer to home and with better hours.  The broker company and I parted on amicable terms and life continued.  The only real difference was that I was now working at a Church Office.  I jokingly say I run the lives of three priests but really, I spend my days running a parish, and I must say that it agrees with me.  

I have been learning Spanish again.  I admit that this is something that I have missed but I laugh at the setup in the office.  Everyone who is learning English is not allowed to speak in Spanish.  And everyone who is learning Spanish (i.e. me) are not allowed to speak English.  This some times sets the day for very laughable circumstances as we scramble through our Spanish English Dictionaries and more than once I have replied in the wrong language including Russian, French, Italian, and on one occasion Chinese.  I think my brain is wired wrong.

I'll come back and finish this later. 

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Happy Birthday

When I was little I would spend all year waiting for October to come around.  And then when October did come I'd mark down the days until my birthday.  My little heart would be filled with anticipation as I would gaze longingly at the calendar, willing time to go faster.  Then my birthday would come, I'd turn another year older, and inevitably something bad would happen.  Some years it was something little- like no one would come to my birthday party.  Other years it was something big like someone would throw up on me (this one happened a lot.)  

Then I grew up.  And things got worse.  On my fifteenth birthday I was evacuated in a storm of wildfire.  A girl I knew (a friend of a friend) died in the wildfire.  I got older and we found out about another friend that I hadn't seen in years, who was shot in a drive by shooting around my birthday.  We did the math and discovered that my birthday was the day that one of my friends was almost a SIDS victim.  Every time I turned around something was happening.  And then last October a college buddy passed away.  That one was the worst.  

This week was the one year anniversary of Jon's death.  I tried not to let that minor detail affect me but I almost burst into tears at several points throughout the day.  It was bad enough before when I was the only one suffering but when everyone was... I felt so displaced.  I wrote my poem on grief that I've been mulling over and over again in my head this week.  I remember that I felt guilty being alive when he wasn't.  Now I feel guilty feeling happy about anything because he is gone.  I felt even worse feeling sad because things could be so much worse.  And then today I had a revelation.  I shouldn't look at it as Jon's death day... so much as his second birthday... a birthday into heaven.  

Friday, October 12, 2012

The Ugly Girl's Lesson

I am no saint.  I live in and for the world as much as I endeavor to work towards the next.  Yet, every day that I spend being a dedicated member of society I am learning much about the world and things that I'd wish I never had to know.  

I went to the grocery store this week and literally every magazine cover boasted titles as "She got her body back after weight gain!" "New hot young stars!" and "How you can look like her!" (all of them had exclamation points) as they were graced with semi nude women in provocative poses.  I learned that it was direly necessary to sell a magazine centered around parenting, beautiful homes, and recipes.  


I was reading news articles online and I came across Jennifer Lopez wearing nothing but a strategically placed pair of Boxer's gloves.  The article boasted that this was to be an image of strength to women, because Boxers are supposed to be strong, however I came away learning that women had to be semi-nude to be noticed.  


I was watching one of my favorite television shows and the one girl who was the token virgin at her work place was classified (three seasons after she was spawned) as the one lone Christian.  An episode after they explain her reason for being sexually abstinent the writers have her lose her virginity, her mind, and her job in one week, stemming all from her crazy religious ideals.  I learned that religion, of any kind, if it does not allow for free, undiscriminating, non-committal sex (notice that I don't say "love") is offensive and outdated and should be portrayed as such.  

Watching the Olympics I discovered that one can sell everything from toothpaste to tennis shoes by dressing women in their underwear (or less) and putting it in a commercial.  I learned that I will never fit in if I do not wear as little as possible.  I have also learned that I don't want my reason for living to be confined to my youth.  

This could easily turn into a rant about the horribleness of the news media, the sad portrayal of any religious beliefs that don't allow for Hippy Free Love, and how sad the things are that actually make news, but really, I'd just like to ask some questions- Why don't they ever portray women taking the high ground?  Why don't they talk about women making good choices- where they don't put themselves into positions where they could be morally compromised?  Where they aren't valued only for their physical appearance and level of sexual appeal?  Why doesn't anyone show equality of decisions- that some people choose to sleep around and live with the consequences and that some people save themselves for marriage?  Why is my worth as a person only valued by what I can give- by my role as a sex object?  If society cannot respect our decisions (because I know that I am not alone in this) then why can't women like me at least be portrayed as something other than crazy?  

I have learned that it takes inner strength to be resistant to news, networks, society, and peer pressure to keep from being assimilated and lost in the crowd.  I've learned that saying "no" is hard for a few minutes but an infinitely better alternative than waking up with self-loathing.  I've learned that I make mistakes and that I have to pick myself some days to try again.  I've learned to avoid situations that would put me in a position where I might be weak.  I have learned that everyone has a choice and that my choice may be different than almost everyone I come in contact with, but that I should never be ashamed of it.  I've learned that I am not a stereotypical beauty but that I can make anyone laugh, even on their worst days.  I've learned I have so much more to give to the world than a flash in the pan physical beauty and that I want so much more from it than the short lived appreciation of my appearance.  

I don't know if this is a fair statement- the title I mean.  I may be quite pretty.  Then again I may be horridly ugly and I guess that is for others to decide, but really, should it matter?  The most important thing that I have learned is that I'd rather be ugly and unloved than loved for the wrong reasons.  As I said before, I'm not a saint.  I don't think I ever will be one... but I also know that we are all called to try.

Monday, September 24, 2012

A greater purpose

“Before I formed you in the womb I chose you,
    before you were born I set you apart;
    I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.” 
Jeremiah 1:5 

Most people hear the sound of a train whistle and sigh.  Traffic will be coming as railroad bars are lowered to block the road so that the train can go by.  If you have a toddler you wait for the squeals of excitement.  Every small child seems to have an affinity for trains.  When I see or hear trains I am reminded that we all have a greater purpose.

27 years ago my parents were visiting my Aubuelo and Tita and my Dad's prima, or cousin.  They were heading back to my grandparents house after visiting a tortilla bakery that was owned by another of my Dad's cousins when they came to train tracks.  Mother says that they were hurrying back because mi Aubuelo wanted to watch the baseball game at 4.15.  Now back in those days the city of Santa Paula was not as exciting as it is now.  It was still largely a migrant community and was relatively unknown.  Nothing ever happened in this sleepy little town that was not spread quicker by gossip than the newspaper.  I am told it was a better time.


That day my Dad was driving my Mother's old sedan, a big honkin car that I have heard compared to a tank.  My Mother's car had this occasional nasty habit of stalling, usually whenever Mother was not driving.  Mi Aubuelo never rode in a car driven by a woman.  He had never owned a car, rarely drove, and was unfamiliar with cars and my parents did not mind his cultural differences.  Mi Aubuelo had grown up in a different era.  For this reason my Mother never drove her own car when they were visiting my Father's family. 


On the way to the bakery there was a railroad crossing with a stop sign for the next road.  Back then the stop sign required all drivers to stop on the tracks and the bells would warn them if any trains were coming and to get out of the way.  That day the sedan stalled.  As my Father turned the engine over my Mother looked out her window, in the seat directly behind him, and looked down the tracks. Then she saw the train coming.


In moments of impending peril a myriad of things must rush through a person's mind.  My Mother says that she had just enough time to scream while my Father notes that there was not enough time to move.  The bells went off too late and there was no time to act.  I do not know what anyone else in the car did but Tita began to pray, as if there was nothing better to do at a time like that.  My Mother says that she heard Tita screaming for la Dama del San Juan de los Lagos to help them.  Our Lady of Saint John of the Lakes is a famous Mexican icon from the small town that my Aubelita grew up in and that she had an affinity for.  Then time stopped.


My Father says that as the train hit the van everything moved in slow motion- the windows cracked, the horn blew, the wheels and tires were rolled under the vehicle- embedded into the bottom of the train, and the engine crunched in, as they were all thrown into motion.  Trains do not stop on a dime and the van was dragged a hundred yards down the track.  


After what seemed like hours they stopped moving and came to a stop.  There were five fire trucks and eight police cars by the time they stopped moving, which was probably the entire force of Santa Paula in that day and age.  The entire town heard the commotion and a

For a minute no one dared to speak, because what do you say after a moment like that?  Then the train engineer climbed down, picked up the car, and opened the door that had been reshaped by the train, and stared at five shocked faces.  The sedan's engine was still running.  After he stopped staring he said a phrase that is recited like clockwork in my family.  "I expected to find dead bodies," the engineer said in confusion.  

Everyone climbed out of the car with varying degrees of assistance.  My Father ran to the bakery to let his cousin know that they were alright, because by then EVERYONE in town knew about the train wreck and my Father did not want them to worry.  When he tried to return a few minutes later the police would not let him back through the crowd.  It took him several minutes and one very irate wife's intercessions later to talk his way back in.  Then they would not let my Mother sit with them because she was white and they were speaking Spanish and the police did not understand that they were together.  My Mother yelled at them for a few minutes and then showed them that my Father and she wore matching wedding rings.  After a bit my parents, grandparents, and cousin were all transported to the local hospital where my grandparents, my Dad's cousin, my parents, and my unborn sister, were all declared to be in good health and their only injury suffered (aside from a lasting fear of trains) was that my grandmother received a minor neck injury (probably from all that praying).  It should be noted that with the force from the train they should have all been very hurt. Mother says they were cushioned during impact and that divine intervention is the only reason they survived unscathed.  My Mother had not told anyone yet but she was pregnant with my sister, Jeanne Marie. 


My Mother's parents had to drive up to bring my parents back South since their car was totaled.  The next morning when my Father got dressed he pulled shards of glass from the windshield out of his pockets.  He still has them. 

Later they found out that earlier that morning all trains on that line had been halted for several hours by the death of a child on the tracks.  All incidents with trains require police investigations and therefore the train that hit my parents was trying to make up lost time.  At that time trains were legally allowed to go 25 miles per hour within city limits.  The train that hit them was going 50 miles per hour and that is why they did not hear the bells before they went off.  


Now this might have just been a rather unfortunate story from a time before my birth but it had a happy ending, right?  I mean who knows- if they had not gone to visit that day they probably would not have been on the tracks.  If my Mother had been driving the car might not have stalled?  If they had not gone to the bakery then they might not have been on the tracks at that time?  There are endless "what if"s and "maybes" that I could go through so that they would not have been put in harms way.  At the same time I have to consider the other side of the coin.  What if they had been facing differently on the tracks and had been hit harder? What if they had been driving my Father's car, a much smaller vehicle that would never have sustained the beatings that the van did.  What if that child had not died on the tracks?  Would they have been hit at all?  Or would they have been hit at a slower pace that would have caused them all greater injury?  What if my grandmother had not began to pray? It is this question that causes me the most insomnia.  


When I think of this day I think of death.  That morning a child I will never meet died on the tracks.  A few months later my parents lost their first child, the sister I never knew.  Less than a year later they lost mi Aubuelo to a long battle with skin cancer that spread.  Almost two decades later we lost Tita to kidney failure.  So many people died shortly after that accident, but all of these people could have died that day and then I would never have existed.  


I like to think that there is a reason to life- that we are not just a "land where we will",  throw of the dice.  I believe that we were each put on this earth and our time here is worth something, even if we are doomed to die a mortal life with a finite set of days.  If one or both of my parents had died that day my life could have ended before it had begun.  I could never have existed but because they were spared, because they lived I have life.  My parents believe that they were spared because they still had work to do- they had to have five more children, one of whom is me.  I have life and I feel like I am living on borrowed time- God's time.  Not many people can say that God wanted them here enough to stop a speeding train- well not many people outside of my family anyways.  My Mother says that she has always believed that they survived because of their children.  She says that we have a greater purpose and that my life has special meaning.  When I pray I sometimes ask God what He meant when He spared my family, and I've always heard the same answer.  "What will you do with the time you were not supposed to have?" 

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Blast from the Past: Things I didn't expect I would need to learn in college

Once again we are treated to the times before I was the Gabbie Lady and was still delightfully young (and stupid) and in college.  This one comes from my Junior year of college, shortly after I moved in with some complete strangers that I now consider my dearest friends. 

1)  You should not go to bed five times in one day and still expect to get anything productive done in it.  (My only excuse for this one is that I was really sick that day.) 

2)  Roommates are not reliable alarm clocks. (When I got to Florida I couldn't find my phone or my alarm clock so I asked my roommate to wake me up before my first class.  She forgot and I woke up twenty minutes after my last class had started.  Let's just say we were off to a rockin start.)

3)  If one has trouble with something every previous year of college, why should one expect this thing to get easier with time? (I hated taking notes.  Ironic, isn't it?)

4)  Laughter isn't always the best way to react to a problem.  (Laughing after you've spilled all your schoolbooks in front of half the school, forgotten which classroom you are supposed to go to, lost the last remaining copy of one of them, and misplaced your phone charger again doesn't solve anything... but it does help the mood.) 

5)  You are never too tired to unpack your alarm clock. (Yes, this is in response to #2)

6)  With the new found free time you have from sleeping through class, you can unpack alarm clock. (I didn't.) 

7)  It is not wise to put clothes in bed (or roommates bed) until after you have reached the bottom to discover ants. (Yeah, Laura never quite forgave me for that one.  I still don't know why there were ants in there in the first place.) 

8)  One should not get mosquito bites in inappropriate places.  (Yes, I was itchy and no I couldn't scratch them.)  
 
9.)  One should always be prepared for rain in Florida.  (I don't think I owned an umbrella back then.)  
10.)  Never insult a boy holding a half dead fish.  (This one is pretty self explanatory, no?)  

11.)  One shouldn't study anywhere near their professor because he will distract you.  (It happened all the 

12.)  Doing a prank is a bad idea.  Inspiring someone else to do a prank is a grand idea... provided that they cannot trace it back to you.  Also, it would be helpful if they don't blame your big brother as he will seek revenge even if the recipients do not.

 

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

From Russia with Love

I admit that statistics are very entertaining to me.  My favorite math class in college was entirely based on averages, statistics, and likelihoods.  I loved it, largely because this all could be converted to applicable use in poker or betting pools.  (If you ever meet my Mother, please don't tell her I said that.)  Therefore it stands to reason that my love of math would follow me in all aspects of my life, but what really amuses me is that my blog keeps track of statistics.  

No, I did not start a blog just so I could look at the numbers... or watch the self counter tick off the number of people who read it (but I was very depressed the day I learned that it had been largely counting *my* views of my blog).  I was actually tickled pink when I added the page view counter (even more so when I realized that it wasn't just me rereading my own words in print over and over again) and then I discovered the stats page.  To be fair I could care less what operating system or browser people read my blog by (especially when they are accompanied by pie graphs).  Then I discovered that I could see where people were reading my blog.  *see the Gabbie lady grin like a two-year-old who just figured out how to override the child safety lock*

Again I was disappointed when I realized that I couldn't see which state people were in (really, I just wanted to make sure that no one in Boston was keeping tabs on me), and then I discovered the awesomeness of ambiguity.  Until I found the stats page I fully believed that only people who *know* me in person read my blog.  Oh the joy of knowing you are reaching other people.  Of course they may be reading my words because a) "Look at the stupid American?" or b) "How could she be so wrong?"  I try not to think of that possibility anymore.  Or maybe it's just some computer system that is hacking away at my blog?  I try not to think about that either.

I know people who have traveled to various countries in the last two and a half years and I have some friends from college that moved to/are from other countries and that explains most of my foreign blog traffic, which is still very cool.  That being said, you cannot understand my surprise when I realized that the second most popular country to read my blog in is Russia.  

Three years ago Russia was some place in Asia that won the Olympics every year.  It was the country that kicked Napoleon's little French backside and produced such awesome music from my childhood such as Peter and the Wolf (seriously, still one of my favorite pieces to listen to.)  Russia produced such amazing artists as Igor Stravinsky, composer of Rite of Spring as well as Fyodor Dostoevsky, author of Crime and Punishment (and no, I didn't have to look up those spellings).  Russia was where Matryoshka dolls come from.  Russia was 
where the Romanov Dynasty ended.  Russia was where Fiddler on the Roof took place.  Russia was where Santa Clause lived and where Bengal Tigers ate lost travelers.  Russia was where people spoke Russian and sounded very, very beautiful.  Russia was where Peter and Pavel from Willa Cather's My Antonia came from.  Russia was where Saints Cyril and Methodius composed the Cyrillic Alphabet (I think that is correct). Russia was some place very, very far away and very, very cold.  (I very much hope that I have not offended anyone with my cultural ignorance.  I promise, I've been working on learning more about Russia since then.)


Then Tia and Tio went to Ukraine (which is not Russia, says my goddaughter) and everyone took Russian lessons.  I cannot tell you how cool it is to meet people who you cannot understand no matter how hard you try.  Also, I will never be able explain how big a headache I got trying to understand.  And then the Gabbie lady got a taste for Russian.  Okay, maybe I didn't have much interest in it until Tia made Borscht (seriously, the stuff is purple ambrosia.)  Now, I can say a few things in Russian (which is till very beautiful, even if I mangle it) but I've also learned not try.  I've also learned that "Babushka" does not mean baby in Russian.  Also along the lines of embarrassing myself greatly I have learned that Google Translate is great... but it's also evil.  I've met some very lovely Russian people here in Austin (thanks mostly to Tia) and I've also learned more about the Russian culture (albeit, there is still a LOT that I need to/would like to learn.)  The more I look at other countries the more I realize how miserably ignorant I am.

I finally brought up my concerns about my Russian blog readers to my friend that I affectionately call Bunny.  I also call him Georgia... not because he's from there or anything. Pfft!  (And yes, we really do talk this way.)


       Georgia: Yeah.  Girls. Girls be crazy.
       TGL: Some days yes.  On a totally unrelated note my blog count is at exactly 4599; how cool is that?
       Georgia: *Nice!*       
       TGL: I love my blog.  Have I mentioned this?  It makes me so happy- it makes me happier when I actually get to work on it, but ya know...              
       Georgia: hahaha- I hear ya
       TGL: Tee-hee-- wait for it --hee.  On another strange note...
       Georgia: mhmm?
       TGL: Someone in Russia is actively reading my blog.Russia is the second most popular country to read my blog.  And this week actually the score is Russia 40 and US 25.  On an unrelated note, Philippines 3.  (All of which were this week)       
       Georgia: Nice!
       TGL: Should I be worried?
       Georgia: About what?
       TGL: That someone in Russia is crushing on my blog?
       Georgia: I don't think they use that word.  
       TGL: I wonder if whoever it is is just trying to learn English?  I hope he isn't trying to     learn it from my blog?  
       Georgia: *shrug* Don't look too much into it-it's nothing.
       TGL: I'm really just curious.  Maybe it's a tall, handsome stranger with a crazily awesome Russian name like Sergei or Grigoriovich?
       Georgia: Sure, keep telling yourself that, Gabbie.  

Do you see now why I hope people are not learning English from me?  See my blog post about socks. So after that conversation with Georgia, during which he SMOTHERED my dreams, I've decided not to worry about it anymore.  Besides, I've wasted far too much time thinking about the possibilities of people I don't know and will never meet and really should focus on things that I should do- like put away my laundry or wash my car.  Oh, well.  I hope I haven't made anyone terribly self conscious.  Like I said, I think it's pretty cool that someone in Russia is reading my blog. Even if your name isn't Sergei (but that would be really cool too!)   Spasiba! 

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Never Forget, yet already forgotten

I was driving the daughters of a friend recently and the song came on and one of my favorite songs from High School came on.  It was country artist' Alan Jackson's "Where were you when the world stopped turning?" The song went through possible scenarios of where you might have been when you heard the news about the Terrorist Attacks that occurred on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, and it reminded us that God was with us and that faith, hope, and love come from God but the greatest of these is and always will be love.  The song made me cry but also reminded me of the past.  One of the girls asked me what it was about and I answered what I thought was the obvious response, "It's about the Terrorist Attacks."  She nodded and then said, "Yeah, I don't remember that."  I was in shock which was only further added to when her sister said, "I wasn't born when that happened."  Their eldest sister interjected, "It's okay, Miss Gabbie.  I remember."  I sighed a sigh of relief until she added, "I was like four."  All was silent in the car as I did the math of how old they are versus how long it has been and shuddered.  Then one of them asked very softly, very politely, very innocently as only a child can ask, "What was it like?"  And just liked that I was swept away with memory.

I remember listening to the radio as Mama drove us to school and hearing Sean Hannity screaming about something none of us understood.  Mama had shook her head and turned off the radio, a rarity for her.  He had only come on the air on the West Coast the day before and already had a reputation for screaming a lot so we discounted much of what he said.  I remember when we finally got word what had happened and the shock that followed.  Mama took us all home and we missed school that day- an unprecedented act.
I remember the weeks following were a time of great fear.  I remember when they dug up the the ammunition stores that you could see from the highway at the joint forces military base near our house.  I remember as friends of mine said goodbye to their fathers and brothers as they prepared to go to war.  I remember going on vacation away from Los Angeles around any American holidays because my parents were afraid of another attack.  I remember the state of panic because everyone was on edge.  I remember the day I realized that every one of the planes that were hijacked were en route to California, flights that people I knew took regularly.  I remember that in many ways that was the day I grew up and stopped being a child.

"We call it Patriot Day at school," one of the girls informed me, "but it doesn't really mean much."  I began to feel very old.  "It's in the past," another said, "Why do we need to remember?"  At this point I began to lecture pretty sternly.
"Do you know what Memorial Day signifies?  How bout Labor Day or the Fourth of July?  Have you ever heard of the attack on Pearl Harbor that brought the U.S. World War II or the sinking of the Lusitania that started our fight in World War I?  Or the bomb shelters during the Cold War?"  My lecture continued on and on as I recalled events that sparked war for our nation and was nearly in tears by the time we reached our destination.  It occurred to me that like "the day that will live in infamy" we had already forgotten what we swore we would never forget.

I may try to explain to future generations what it felt like to live in fear- that we didn't know if or when there would be another attack and what it felt like being left behind to remember.  Someday I will grow old and my memory will fade.  I may not remember important dates or figures from the past and I probably won't always be this beautiful.  I may forget a lot of things, but I promise that I will never forget where I was when the Twin Towers fell, or when I saw the hole in the pentagon, or when the heroes on flight 93 brought down the plane in Pennsylvania.  I will never forget.  And for as long as I live, I will tell my stories so that others can remember through them as well.

File:911 Tribute (perspective fixed).jpg

Monday, September 10, 2012

Fearless

Six years ago I had a lot of weird phobias.  I was afraid of bugs.  I was afraid of reptiles and amphibians.  I was afraid of horses.  I was afraid of seminarians.  I was afraid of priests.  I was afraid of heights.  I was afraid of tall shoes.  I was afraid of shorts.  I was afraid of baggy anything.  I was afraid of loud noises, most especially vacuums.  I was afraid of all kinds of wildlife.  I was afraid of guns.  I was afraid of driving. I was afraid of sharp knives.  I was afraid of being in a car with certain drivers.  I was afraid of long road trips.  I was afraid of failing.  I was afraid of blending in.  I was afraid of standing out.  I was afraid of getting lost.  I was afraid of relationships and men and pretty much everything.  I can't say that any of my fears were deeply rooted in anything that had ever happened to me but where most people collected stamps or pins, I collected fears from others.  I told a friend in school that I was afraid of horses but terrified of men.  He smiled kindly and said he hoped I'd get over my fear of horses.  Another friend said at least all my fears were in my head.  Finally one of my roommates in college told me the best way to get over fears was to embrace them, and it was this advice that changed my life.

I will never forget the first time I caught my first frog- we both screamed when I touched him and I dropped him and he got away.  The next time I tried something smaller- slowly- I caught a gecko that had gotten into my room who was going to die at the hands of my roommate if I didn't rescue him.  Bugs, lizards, snakes, and frogs followed- some of which were more dangerous that I'd care to admit on a blog that my mother reads.  And all at once I was that 17-year-old freshman who was known for catching the creepy things that no one wanted to touch.  I made a 350 lb, 6'4" seminarian scream when I showed him a gecko I had caught.  After the fact he called me I was a strange girl.  My only response was to show him the gecko again.  Later a Junior girl asked me why I wasn't afraid oft he gecko.  With eyes wide open I stared back- was not being afraid anymore a weird thing?  And then I realized that I wasn't- I wasn't afraid anymore.  

Now I'm not afraid of very much.  I still don't care for horses or vacuums, but everything else I've sort of gotten over.  I guess it isn't fair to say that I am unafraid now- nor is it exactly honest to say that I am brave.  It's just that now I realize that there are more important things to worry about than what good or bad thing I might come across.  Now I embrace life.