Dishwater hands

If this were a real fancy blog, I would have posted a picture of a sink full of dishes (before and after) with my hands somewhere in view, and a song by Marta Gomez called manos de mujeres all linked up for your listening pleasure. It's not a fancy blog, well, it's barely a blog, so I'll be happy if one or two of you are reading it at all.

So it's been a couple of years since I have lived in a home that doesn't have a dishwasher. (gasp!) it's almost unheard of these days, but no big deal. I grew up in a home with 7 people. We were the dishwashers. Emphasize dish, my brothers were not pots and pans washers. I didn't know how convenient one could be! In fact, I didn't even really know how to use one properly. I may or may not have needed the maintenance guy to come look at our leaky dishwasher the first week I was married.

I eventually became very dependent! Now I'm back to daily dishwashing and my hands are ever dirty dishwater hands. I am not complaining, however, I am reflective on how little we actually need(by we I mean me).  I'm in a less is more place in my life right now. Firstly, out of necesssity, secondly, because I figure I might as well learn something while I'm here.

I have plenty to think about while I stand over the sink. In my mind's eye I think of all the hands that have served me. The hands that rolled out the masa for fresh homemade tortillas. The hands that would iron freshly washed and dried clothes. The ones that would wipe away my tears. The hands that would clasp together at the end of the day to give thanks and pray.. The hands that would braid my hair. The hands that would be placed on my head for blessings of health and comfort. The hands that placed my children in my arms as soon as they were born.  The hands that caress my face. The hands that effortlessly slip in to mine, and suddenly the dishes are washed, rinsed, dried and carefully put away. It isn't that way every time I wash dishes, but I am reminded often of how much I have, even when it seems that I have little.

Haircuts

I have curly hair. I hated it when I was young. I begged my Mom to let me cut it. She gave in. I had a demimexiafro in the 70's. 

I have had all hair lengths and some crazy hairstyles along the way. If there had been the kind of hair product there is now, maybe someone wouldn't have told me I had Pauly Shore hair. (rude) I can laugh now...just a little.

Today, I let go of a little bit of length.  I've been evolving in these past few months. Letting go of things here and there. Letting go of past hurts. Letting go of feeling like I am in control. Letting go of things that have sat idly in boxes.

It was a scary. The stylist said, "If I had free reign, this is what I would do, and this is why." I said, "Let's do it." Imagine that. Allowing someone with the skill and expertise to get into my hair and cut away all the excess, all the weight, all the fuss. It was liberating. It was symbolic.

I have some things going on in my life. I will need courage, I will need faith, I will need strength.  My Mom has cancer again. The last thing I need is excess, weight, and fuss holding me down. I have a son who has been battling a health condition for the past 2 years. 2 years. I have a marriage that needs some attention. I have 2 other children that need me. I need to be more of me, the girl with dreams, ideals, and passion. Not the girl who survives her life day to day. Life is complicated and sometimes hard. I get that, i'm living it. I'm ready to be present again. 

Today I started with a haircut.

Here's to you Ally!

Sleep didn't come easily last night. I was up at 6:30 am anyway. Looking for stamps that were misplaced and started to get ready for the day.  I have a part-part-time job.  It's a little J to the O to the B, that helps out a little (very little) but every little bit counts. 

So about this job, I'm on the SLC school district assessment team.  That means I go to all the Elementary schools to do a reading assessment 3 times a year, and a language proficiency test for all grades once a year.  We are on the tail end of a 4-5 week testing schedule. It's a fine little job.  Today, I left early hoping to get Joe to the Dr. His cast is falling apart and he's ready to get it off...anyway...this little post is not about my job or the cast really. Just a little background info on why I found myself a little stranded at Highland Park Elementary school. 

I walked out to my car, and the car remote didn't work. I'm thinking, "great, I'm locked out, what else can happen to me", and then, "this little bugger needs a battery".  I'm too far to walk to a grocery store, pharmacy, or big box store to make it worth having left early (though I am not adverse to walking, and frankly, it wouldn't kill me to walk a little).  I call Jeff to ask if he can help me. He tells me he wouldn't be able to come help me for another 20 minutes. I told him I would figure it out. I called one of my friends hoping she might be home, but no answer. I call another friend and luckily for me she answers! I tell her my predicament and she is willing and ready to come to my aid.  She left her job for a little while to come help me. We drove to the pharmacy found the battery I needed, and she allowed me to get a couple of things off my chest. No judgement, no fixing, just listening.  Gotta love a friend like that.  Thanks Ally! I love you a lot, for today and more!

Did I say little too much? A little.

I have a horrible memory. I blame it on pregnancy, children and the past 18 years since I became a we and not just me, (however, dang was just me fun).  Yet, I do have a vivid recollection of all my teachers in elementary school! This post is for them.

Midvale Elementary
Kindergarten. Miss Vigil. She liked reminding me that I was nothing special in very subtle ways. It's amazing I loved to go to school anyway. Who couldn't love it? Who from Midvale Elementary could not love the long slide that was clearly dangerous even before Jesse fell off of it, from the top.

1st grade. Miss Acosta. (shoot Midvale Elementary, you were progressive before your time.) She smiled. She was smart. She was fair. She taught us about American History. I was certain I was Navajo after that section. I was so in love with Joe M., he is Navajo.

2nd grade. Mrs. Miller. She read funny stories about a dolphin named Duso. He was a puppet who helped children with life lessons. When she gave an answer to anyone's questions, like," Mrs. Miller,
do I put my books in my desk?" She would respond, "yes, please do so." It would always make me laugh. We painted with that chalky paint like it was nobody's business too. I loved her class.

3rd grade. Mrs. Conder. She was patient. A little older like Mrs. Miller. She was probably as old as I am now.  Ancient. She let us bring almost anything to show and tell.  Patient, I tell you.

East Midvale Elementary
4th grade. Ms. Curly. She wore funny glasses. She introduced me to poetry in a more meaningful way. Every week we had a new poem to copy from the board. She would let us decorate those poems anyway we wanted.  She was also the teacher I ran to after discovering that my cat had died, but I was already on the bus. By the time I made it to her class she let me fall into her arms and cry my little 4th grade heart out. She consoled me, and let me grieve long enough until the bell was about to ring. It's making me tear up now! A teacher hugging it out with a child in the most innocent way. 

5th grade. Mr. ummm...hmmm...tall guy, balding, skinny, and then came Ms. Lisonbee. Young, hip, Farrah Faucett hair, only dark brown, and blue, blue eyes. She liked the girls that wore trendy clothes. I wore cute clothes, just not expensive ones. I once told her that the cinnamon gum I was chewing was aspirin gum just in spite of her.  She dismissed me,often, and once made me go to the library to write 100 times that I was sorry for whatever infraction she thought I had caused. It wasn't me. I went to the library and wrote 100 times ' I will not be sorry for something I didn't do' left the sheets of paper on the library table, walked strait out the door and went home a whole hour or so before school even was out. Rebel. I never was reprimanded for that.

Then I went to the cruel world of middle school for 4 long years. 

I learned many things academically at school. It fascinates me that what I learned I grasped not just because of the daily lesson, but because of how my teachers made me feel;  safe, trusted, and validated. In the end, it's in that environment that I learned the most, and still do.

A small insight

Here is my short analysis to the little girl's comment about why I should be a teacher. I think it is because she and so many other little girls like her can relate to me, to the color and texture of my hair (good thing I took care of that a couple of weeks ago, no noticeable root growth yet), the color of my eyes, my skin, and even my ability to speak Spanish. I was her. K-12. It's too late to delve into that perspective. I have more to say, but it's percolating somewhere inside my head and heart. Hopefully I will be able to express it one day.

Writing down my thoughts for others to read is a little scary after all! Yikes. Hang in there with me...

I forgot about this blog...

I said...

Let's try this again.

I have things to share