Salad

"I was raised in what I consider to be not a melting pot, but a salad bowl.  The onion stayed the onion, the tomato stayed the tomato, the lettuce stayed the lettuce, with maybe a little Russian or Italian dressing.  And it tasted real good.  no one lost their identity, and I thought that was what life was like."
                                                              - Edward James Olmos

When I was a kid studying immigration/Ellis Island the term, “The Great Melting Pot” came up a lot.  I use to be proud to be a part of that theory.  In my mind it meant that all these different races of people came together, mixed and made America a stronger country.

However, as I grow, learn and find myself I realize I’m not so proud of that term anymore.  If you’ve ever seen metals being melted you know that as the metals become hot and liquefy they blend together, gold, silver, copper lose their identity, their unique beauty and become nothing but a molten glob. 

I’m a multiracial person.  My mother was white and my father was Mexican-American.  My mother learned to cook Mexican dishes and my father learned to eat “American” food.  There were a lot of times that they just didn’t understand each other’s cultures but they tried to teach us to be proud of our various heritages.  It was the outside world that really gave us the most trouble. 

Some people who saw our family were confused and others were pissed off.  White people saw my mother as a traitor to her race.  Latinos believed my father though he was too good to marry a woman of his own race. 

When I listen to people talk about making English the official language of the U.S. or that when you come to this country you’re an American and need to act like one I’m bothered.  I believe that people who come to this country are looking for a better life which includes contributing to this country, i.e., working, paying taxes, voting, etc.  However, just because they become American citizens does not mean they should give up family ties and they should not be expected or required to do so. 

I also believe that just because they come to this country it doesn’t mean they should give up their culture/heritage.  Our culture is part of our identity and without it who would we be?  I spent a decade denying my Latina heritage because I thought it was easier to be white but the truth is it wasn’t because I denied part of who I am as a person. 
 
I want to be part of a salad where everything is its own thing but when mixed together it works.  So, I’ll be the lettuce if someone else is the tomatoes.

A Beverage Review by Josh

My friend Josh wrote a great review on the various beverages he's tried and placed it on his Facebook page.  I asked him if he'd let me post it to my blog and he agreed.  Remember these are his thoughts and opinions based on his personal tastes and experiences.  
 
Wolf's Den Presents...

Lap It Up-  A Drink Guide to Thirst Quenching Soda, Sports Drinks, Tea, & Others.

Drink 1 -- Gatorade Series 02-Perform: Fierce Strawberry
Container: Plastic
The “Fierce” part caught my eye early on when I was standing before the large glass doors of one of the local gas stations. Arrays of colors catch you eye when you're looking through the glass and to pick out the pinkest drink you can find doesn't do much for your masculinity, but I do enjoy strawberry's when I get the chance. To be honest it's not the best of the drinks you could try, but there is a sweetness to it, very bland strawberry, but slightly tangy and sharp. All drinks feel fresh and refreshing when they're cold but I did enjoy the time spent writing this and draining the 32fl oz container. The aftertaste isn't anything to write home about but I can see, much with any electrolyte infusing drink, a sense of refreshment after a hard days work. So in conclusion the Gatorade Perform 02 called “Fierce Strawberry”, the pink powerhouse, seems a bit bland but does the job.

Adventures with Arty: The Great Chase

Pear shaped body
This is Arthur, Arty for short.  He was named after King Arthur.  He's far from being a King unless you count King of Trouble.  None of the other cats in the house like him much.  They mostly just tolerate him and wish he'd go away.  He's the youngest and the only adopted cat in the bunch.  My other cats all came from the same mother and father, so they've grown up together.  He's a stout little cat with the the strangest body shape, tiny front end, large back end.  You would think his heft would slow him down but it doesn't.     

And this is DMC floss.  I have a lot of this stuff.  I'm pretty good about keeping it out of the reach of cats.  One of my hobbies is cross stitch.  It's something I picked up from my mother and do when I don't have more important things to do.  The floss is sewn into a design on cross stitch canvas following a pattern.  Normal DMC floss is fairly inexpensive.  You can usually get a skein of the stuff for about 25 to 30 cents each.  The more specialized stuff can run you anywhere from $1.25 to $3 depending on what you're getting. 

A few nights ago while looking for my extra Ipod USB cord I pulled out 3 skeins of DMC floss out of my "catch-all" desk drawer.  One is a regular skein of floss and the other two are white iridescent.  I laid them on my desk, with the idea to put them with the rest of my floss collection but of course, I forgot and never tossed them back in.

Big mistake.

So, last night I'm sitting on my couch watching the GOP debates, actually I was rolling my eyes a lot and refraining from throwing things at the television, but that's another story.

Anyway, I'm sitting on my couch and Arty is sitting on the desk.  I can see him out of the corner of my eye fiddling around, pulling his paw to his mouth, something dropping, him scooting back to pick the object up again and then a flash of buttery yellow, then white drops to the floor and I realize what he's doing.  He's playing with the floss.   

I jump up shouting, "Arty stop that.  Leave those alone."  His eyes spark with delight, it's time to play.  He crouches, I reach for the floss, he lifts the white bundle, clamps his little mouth around it and flies out of the room towards the kitchen.

I chase after him, trying not to laugh as I see his big butt bouncing away from me as I scream, "Arty you little shit!  Come back here!"  He stops at the table, drops the floss as I reach him and looks up at me giving me his most adorable mischievous smile.  "Don't smile at me, you brat," I say.  He keeps his gold eyes on me and swishes his tail a few times before bounding back into the living room to look for more trouble.  

A Quick Review of X-Men First Class ***No Spoilers***

So, I just got back from watching X-Men First Class and I feel like I need to get my thoughts out before I completely over think it which I have a tendency to do.  This is a first draft so please forgive me for typos/grammar issues.  Also, I'm going by memory on the background information so if something is incorrect I apologize and my interpretation of X-Men = Civil Rights Movement is my opinion so if you don't agree I understand. 



Opening a Door to See the Future

A few days ago my friend/student Jenifer was telling me about a conversation she’d had with another friend/student of mine, Andres. He posed the question, “If you could open a door and see what your life would be like in the end, would you?” We talked a little about the question and she said that she wouldn’t because if she knew the outcome then she wouldn’t bother with the struggle/journey and that’s the point of life.

I always get a swell of pride and admiration when Jenifer says something so perceptive. She’s one of the few twenty year olds I know that thinks this deeply on a daily basis. Hell she’s one of the only people I know who thinks this way. Perhaps, part of my pride comes from the fact that I see her as more of a younger sister than I do as a student or friend.


I thought about my answer and decided that it would depend on the circumstances. Barring all scientific/sci-fi theories, if I could open the door and change certain parts of my life that I didn’t like then I’d open the door. However, if I could only look but not touch then I would leave the door shut. For me, I don’t see the point in knowing my future if I can’t change it. Perhaps, there would be some comfort in knowing, for sure, that “everything will be all right” but on some level I already know that, regardless of the outcome, I will be okay.



So, if you could open a door and see what your life would be like in the end, would you?

Poetry


About a year ago I took a poetry writing workshop where I learned a lot about rhythm, line breaks, word choice, etc., and it helped me with my writing but I've never fancied myself a poet.  I admire friends like Chris and professors who can weave so few words together into an intricate tapestry of ideas, places and feelings.  However, it's not a form I'm comfortable working in and I spend too much time second, third and fourth guessing myself.

All that being said, I've decided to go ahead a post a few of my poems for my friends who have heard of them but never gotten to read them and want to read them.  Please keep in mind that because I'm working in a smaller space"Cat's Breath" the line breaks are a little off, unfortunately, there's no way for me to fix it. 

***************************************************
 
I am Gatsby

I long to be Nick
the country mouse to their city mouse
small, fragile pink tail and ears
downy white fur
scent of cedar and pine
 
But I’m not.

I stare out across
green plains of liquid
Promise, hope, renewal
for others but not for me.

I try to hide
behind yellow cars
behind blond tresses
Behind fur, one size too small.

I am large;
thick muddy tail and a flash of scarlet eyes
oily grey wires prickly to the touch
my nails scratch and tear to survive
scent of sweat and desperation linger
a rat in a mouse suit

I balance on precarious fence
between two worlds.
I shrink back from the inky truth,
the dark abyss of murky emptiness.
I step into the false brightness,
the shining crystal fragments of light.

Blush champagne tickles
my nose while
roses of garnet, amethyst violets,
and an opulent pearly daisy
dance across my path, swirl, twirl and catch
sunlight in each creamy petal,
perfume wafts
into my quivering nostrils and
tiptoes over my sensitive tongue.
 
My ears fill with airy laughter;
tantalizing
my desire,
Daisy takes me
in her arms
and we spin.

Swaying while I wait,
knowing,
everything will come
crashing down –
one hunter’s gun,
one bullet shot
in the end.

Reboot

  Lately, I’ve missed writing.   I used to write all the time.   Hell, I got a master’s degree in English with an emphasis in creative nonfi...