Laugh me Simplicity

“God and I have become like two giant fat people living on a tiny boat.

We keep bumping into each other and laughing.”

-       Hafiz

What simple things make you laugh?

Good Confident Driver... Not!

Photo source

You are a good confident driver. You rule this road. Look at you… you even look cool.

Last summer my sister began learning how to drive. Being the one with the most flexibility and free time, I had the pleasure of being in the passenger’s seat, gripping the door, eyes, wide, teeth clenched, often reverting to saying words on repeat simply to get my message across. Stop            Stop            Stop   Stop  Stop. Go right go right go right. Slowdownslowdownslowdown! 

Every time she got behind the wheel she would fervently say her mantra, 

You are a good confident driver. You rule this road. Look at you… you even look cool

sometimes going on with variations of it for five minutes or more. Not only was it entertaining to hear, but it was pretty darn true. She was confident. She was safe. She was aware. She looked cool. I’m sure I had a much more stress-free time being a driving coach than my poor mama did with me.

Let me be honest here,

Me + car = 70% disaster + 30% success

Putting me in a car to drive is not the best idea. I’m tensed up the whole time freaked out that something’s going to happen because more often than not, it does. It’s a ravenous cycle. Thinking about it, I partially credit that to never wanting to get behind the wheel in the first place. One of my cousins was killed by a drunk driver, I had a scarring nightmare one night where my grandmother and I crashed off a bridge and died, and right before I learned how to drive, the mother of my brother’s friend was walking one evening and was hit by a car. She died. Needless to say cars petrified me… I had no desire to unintentionally kill or be killed. I should also mention at this time that

1)    I got to learn how to drive a stick shift which increased the amount of stall outs and running into things like poles and other cars and…

2)    The New Mexican driving system sucks. I never took a road tes,t yet they sent me a certificate saying I passed it with a 100%. That was probably a poor poor mistake on their part.

I mean, my first year of driving, I was called out of class a couple of times because one time I left the car running and another time I forgot to put the emergency brake on and it rolled across the parking lot and hit another girl’s snazzy car. Then of course there was college where I had an annual holiday-time record of losing a side mirror on my dad’s property. One time I backed out into the pole in my dad’s shed and the other time I slid on some ice into a tree. Fortunately but unfortunately, my brother broke that streak the third winter when his band’s speakers shattered the back window.

I’ve gotten a speeding ticket for trying to get from Ithaca, NY to Chicopee, MA in 4 hours instead of 6 hours. I’ve slid violently into a guardrail driving through a snowstorm on shitty tires. I’ve gotten a flat tire driving in a borrowed car to Starbucks. Those are all stories unto themselves, but the point is, I should never have a car. Unlike my sister, I‘m a shitty, unconfident, cursed by my own fault driver.  

What was your experience like learning how to drive?

Quisqueya

This Caribbean beat cascades into my body, 


entraps it,


forcing figure-eight hip motion as I move slowly, 


deliberately,


through sun soaked, water weighted air

unbreathable to my New Mexican lungs 


eager for mountainous desert, luke-warm waves. 


Gua-guas, obese with human beings 


fly like hummingbirds past the concrete street I stand on 


the squeaking honk of the vehicle melding 


with street vendor friendly exchanges 


as people grasp the steaming, oil-drenched empanadas in napkins, 


the fleshy aguacates, guanabanas, cajuil 


in yellow synthetic bags 


and machete-hacked coconuts in their empty hands 


to drive away thirst 


or allow for sweet milk to flow down the drinking tube into an awaiting belly. 


Reaching yet another corner colmado I sit on a red plastic chair, 


sip a ½ liter Presidente

allowing the emerald glass to touch my lips 


just as I have allowed this near jungle island to seep into my soul 


unexpectedly.

Wee Bit Wednesday I

I’ve always enjoyed answering peculiar questions about myself (and trust me, I enjoy asking them just as much) so I thought I would partake in “Wee Bit Wednesdays” along with some other folks in the Blogsphere. The leading lady in this weekly shenanigans is Leigh Ashley, you can visit her blog or join up in the fun by going here. Anyhow, here's my “Wee Bit Wednesday” post.

{one} have you ever milked a cow or a goat?

Yes. I grew up on a ranch, so sometimes we’d have to milk the cows if the calves weren’t nursing properly.

{two} what sound does your alarm make when it goes off in the morning?

I try to wake up naturally, but for a long time it was a jazz version of “Every Breath You Take”

{three} chocolate milk or hot chocolate?

Mexican hot chocolate hands down.

{four} what is one of the quirkiest things about you?

I can speak backwards.

{five} are you more like your mom or your dad?

Hmm. Hmmmm. I’m like both of them. I have my mother’s contemplative introversion, my father’s persistence & intense emotions, and I inherited the creativity that they both posess.

{six} do you sleep with the tv on?

No. I don’t have a tv.

{seven} if you were a crayon, what color would you be?

Cerulean blue.

{eight} ross, joey, or chandler?

I’d be awesome having Joey and Chandler in my life, they’d make great pals.

{nine} do you play any musical instruments?

I have played the recorder, clarinet, piano and doumbek. I can still play the latter two.

  

I miss my doumbek! photo source

{ten} what’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked/baked?

I used to think scrambled eggs were made with water mixed in with the eggs… until I made them like that. They were atrocious.

Speak me an Andrea Gibson Poem

Tonight, Andrea Gibson is performing in NYC... and I’m not there. This woman is the most phenomenal poet I have ever come across in my entire 23-year existence. Her words conjure up tears, laughter, heart smiles, epiphanies, and subconscious emotions. 

Andrea Gibson’s Poetry: Emotion:: Rock climbing: Muscles.

That is my analogy. By listening to her poetry you will discover emotions you never thought you had, just like if you go rock climbing, you will discover muscles you never knew existed.

I mean, how can you not feel something when you hear the lines:

“…A doctor once told me I feel too much

 I said so does God

that’s why you can see the Grand Canyon from the moon…”

from “Jellyfish” … or

“...I am generations of daughters sisters mothers

our bodies battlefields

war grounds

beneath the weapons of your brother’s hands

do you know they’ve found land mines

in broken women’s souls

black holes in the parts of their hearts

that once sang symphonies of creation

bright as the light on infinity’s halo...”

from “Blue Blanket”… or

“...sing me lullabies at dawn

when I’ve been up all night painting the wind

to remind myself that things are moving...”

from “Stay”… or

“…the leaves have all fallen

 and fell like they were falling in love with the ground…”

from “Photograph”

So, really, listen to this woman’s poems. If she’s in your area, see her. If you love her as much as I do, please, LET’S TALK because I can speak about the awesomeness that is Andrea for days. I can speak to the moon and back non stop about her knack for intertwining words to create images that represent life, to rip my soul apart and fill it with tears right before allowing my Bridge of Sighs sunrise, to inspire me to continue writing my poetry, and to love and continue to love.

What artist speaks to you?