…the almost right word

The other day I was told that a friend had been deported by la migra. I had known him for three years — he was the badass dishwasher at my old restaurant job. He had worked there for almost a decade, in the back of the kitchen. He worked hard and never complained. “Asi es la vida,” he would tell me. I always agreed, despite the fact that my life was drastically different from his.

One night he was mopping the floor and the next he was hauled off to jail and, presumably, back to Mexico. I find myself wondering what, exactly, made him deserve this. Granted, he was an “illegal immigrant.” However, he held a steady job in a popular local restaurant for years. He showed up on time. He made a contribution to our society — he did the job that you can hardly hire Americans for. In this Southwest, every kitchen, in every restaurant, is comprised of Latin American workers. They prepare our meals (and they do it damn well) and wash our dishes. They refill our water and bring us clean silverware. And we? We deport them. We send them back home, which is hardly home anymore, with no money and, I imagine, with little sense of pride. They come here to work hard and we disregard them as “illegal.”

It’s easy to forget that these things happen. If I were still living in Northern California, I wouldn’t see it as often as I do here. I wouldn’t even dwell on a concept like “la migra.” Hell, if I hadn’t decided to study Politics and Latin America in undergraduate, I may not even know much about la migra at all.

Yet here I am, learning that someone I considered a friend, a familiar face, someone who made me laugh and smile, has essentially disappeared from my life. In all likelihood, I will never see him again. Why? Because he wasn’t born here. Because his parents weren’t born here.

The border is a vague line that so many cross everyday, with such great difficulty. And I can easily go on, eating my spaghetti and sipping my Cabernet (or Tequila) like nothing is happening around me. But something is happening and it is only now that I cannot ignore it.

The title translates to “La migra comes to triumph.”

(warning: not the most uplifting post)

a guy i knew was found dead yesterday. i worked with him when i first moved to santa fe. and we spent many evenings drinking together, running into each other at bars, etc. he was one of those guys that everyone seemed to know. his brother found him. he died alone, on his couch. he was, by far, one of the loneliest people i have ever known.

things to remember, so as not to forget:

• he had a great laugh, a memorable laugh. he laughed loudly and awkwardly.
• he referred to every girl as “baby,” but somehow it was always endearing.
• he talked endlessly. he had stories to tell and always wanted to draw laughter out of everyone.
• he laughed with you at his own stories.
• he wrote poetry. i never got to read any.
• he was thoughtful. considerate. insecure with beautiful women.
• he sat next to me at the first strip club i ever went to. he talked in my ear and we laughed together.
• he was always talking.

For what is it to die,
But to stand in the sun and melt into the wind?
~Kahlil Gibran, from “The Prophet”

· for the past week, a church bell has rung every morning at 6:00 a.m. on sunday and monday, i was startled awake, confused and pissed off. eventually i stopped hearing it, and slept through the chiming.

· i’ve listened to ‘the album leaf’ all day. even on my short bike ride to meet friends for lunch, i put my headphones on and smiled.

· and when i returned from lunch, the neighbor’s yippy dogs barked at me while i pulled my bike in.

· i remember hearing coyotes, and occasionally peacocks, when i lived in tesuque.

· in the mornings, i make coffee and the sound of the percolating begins. a wonderful smell follows.

· last night, everytime i went outside for a smoke, i could hear loud hip hop music coming from a house party.

· sometimes, while sitting on the front porch, we can hear the hamburger joint a few blocks over calling out order numbers over their loud speaker.

· and in the afternoons, while the sun is setting, you can hear the breeze blowing through the australian-like trees. i imagine that we’re in australia, or africa, and animals are climbing in their leaves. i often trick myself into seeing a koala bear.

afterthought: crickets chirping. dogs barking.

it’s officially summer here.
and thanks to the challenge of national blog posting month, i will be posting everyday (yes, you read that correctly) this month. so be sure to check in everyday (yes, everyday!) and read the latest musings from my addled mind. who knows, maybe something wonderful and amazing will appear.

i could’ve slept all day today. i settled at sleeping until 11:30. i would hate myself if i spent my one true day off in bed. i believe this to be a result of waitressing, in all honesty. it’s as if, somehow, waiting tables and being on your feet for eight hours (yes, you read that correctly — i was working last night until almost midnight) completely destroys any sense of wanting to live, wanting to do. i used to wake up on a day off, and spend the majority of it in pajamas, watching television. i admit, i still spend many hours in my pajamas, but the television-watching has been reduced to a bare minimum. and i am thankful for that.

conclusion: working at a restaurant any more than two nights a week is self-destruction.

just when my tan lines were beginning sun burn was turning into a tan…

for some strange reason, the last theme/layout i used seemed to show up in bold print on some computers and regular print on my own. so, it’s back we go to the original layout. perhaps some future tweaking will be in order.

second hike of the summer today. gorgeous weather. beautiful waterfall. it’s amazing the things you can find, hidden in this never-ending desert.

the house was a no-go, no surprise.
so i return to craigslist.

in less than an hour i will go look at a house for rent. i have yet to actually do this in santa fe. when i first moved here, i was lucky enough to have a beautiful, modern studio waiting for me (more or less). and when i was ready to leave the cottage-in-the-woods, everything worked out seamlessly and i wound up here, in a cozy cabin. perhaps i sometimes feel it’s too cozy.

so, back to craigslist i go, right?

the last time i “house-hunted,” i was living in berkeley, calif., horribly depressed, completely without confidence and hardly capable of having a conversation without wanting to burst into tears. let’s just say, it was a very inactive effort on my part, to find a new place to live. a friend of mine basically did all the hard work, and i benefited with hardwood floors, big windows and lot’s of space. of course, the depression just got worse and eventually i decided that oakland was not the place for me. i packed up my little toyota echo and drove to l.a., to home. i recuperated. i sat in my father’s house and watched television with my dog. i caught up with old friends. i felt like a teenager again, home for winter break.

two months later, i packed up my echo again and came out to santa fe (my mother lives here). it was the best decision i have ever made (that and going to santiago, chile).

so, today it begins. a search for a new house (possibly). i just want to see what’s out there, see if i can’t find something perfect and comfortable. who knows, maybe it’ll be another good decision i will look back on.

“inclusive” is not the word that i think of, when i think of santa fe, nm. in fact, santa fe is one of the most separated, segregated communities i have seen. all the white richies live in the downtown area, or the vast adobe homes spanning across the desert. meanwhile, you have to travel down the worst street in town (constant construction, constant traffic) to find any diversity. and don’t forget that diversity, here, means latinos (remember them? they’re the ones who cook our food at that fancy restaurant and refill our pelligrino) — seeing an african american in santa fe is like seeing a house that doesn’t have an adobe facade — it’s unheard of, trust me.

let’s get together and talk about the modern age
all of our friends were gathered there with their pets just talking shit
about how we’re all so upset about the dissapearing ground
as we watch it melt

it’s all of the good that won’t come out of us
and how eventually our hands will just turn to dust
if we keep shaking them, standing here on this frozen lake

i do this thing where i think i’m real sick
but i won’t go to the doctor to find out about it
’cause they make you stand real still in a real small place
as they chartup your insides and put them on display
they’d see all of it, all of me, all of it

all of the good that won’t come out of me
and all the stupid lies i hide behind
it’s such a big mistake, lying here in your warm embrace

oh, you’re almost home
i’ve been waiting for you to come in
dancing around in your old suits going crazy in your room again
i think i’ll go out and embarrass myself by getting drunk and falling down in the street
you say i choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me
maybe you’re right

let’s talk about all of our friends who lost the war
and all of the novels that had yet to be written about them

it’s all of the good that won’t come out of them
and all the stupid lies they hide behind
it’s such a big mistake, standing here on this frozen lake
it’s all the good that won’t come out of me
and how eventually my mouth will just turn to dust
if i don’t tell you quick
standing here on this frozen lake

‘good that won’t come out’
– rilo kiley

this song played today, while i drove around santa fe, shopping. i quickly found two things that i really liked — both on sale — bought them, and turned to leave. i am a wham-bam-thank-you-m’aam kinda girl when it comes to shopping. in fact, i think i would prefer to leave the act of shopping entirely behind in the dust. if it weren’t for the hassle of returning things, i would buy everything online.

the point is, while driving to buy us burritos for lunch, we listened to this song. i turned it up a bit. we enjoyed the moment, despite driving down the ugliest street in santa fe. i’m taking us to tegan and sara in albuquerque in a week and a half. i wish i could take us to see rilo kiley too.

i opened the shade by the bed this morning to see the snow falling outside the window. yes, more snow…in april. i had coffee. i ran outside in my pajamas and let the cool flakes cover my messy hair. i snapped a few pictures. i made spaghetti.

it was a productive morning. i caught up on work. i read a bit.
i seem to be wanting to read and write more. watch t.v. less. it’s quite wonderful, actually. i don’t think i’ve watched a stupid t.v. show in three weeks now. at that point, i was watching whatever i could get my hands on — anything to avoid not knowing what else to do. anything to avoid the feeling like i should read. the feeling like i should write. the feeling like i should anything and everything. what a terrible word.

it comes from a separate part of my brain. the part full of self-doubt in which all i can see are my faults.

the sun comes out, peeks through the clouds for a matter of minutes, only to resume it’s hiding place. the snow falls intermittently and i cozy up inside. happy.

listening to:

i rode my bike to the cowgirl on monday. i ordered hefeweizen with an orange and a buffalo burger, medium rare, with jack cheese. no, i am definitely not a vegetarian anymore. it was delicious and enjoyable. whenever we get onto our bikes together, i think of that scene in the goonies when cyndi lauper is singing. i smile. the sun shines on my face. and i feel like we’re out for an adventure.

my mood undulates like wind blowing through the trees outside. some of them are starting to blossom here, and i sit in the heat, reading and feeling my skin change colors.