Spanish ~ In My Grandmother’s Kitchen

A memory rises from my grandmother’s kitchen. I saw a little bird outside, through the sliding glass door. I pointed and said, “mira, un pájaro.” My grandmother scolded me in the nicest way and even made me laugh. “No! No es pah-ha-doh. Se dice pájaro” (“No! It’s not pah-ha-doh. You say pájaro”), and she would say the word for bird in her perfect Spanish. The j and the d pronounced properly, blending with the other letters to create one beautiful word.

I had no problem with Yo quiero comer, porfavor, I want to eat, please; or Tengo hambre, I’m hungry. As an adult I still say and feel the English versions of these phrases—I’m always eating and I’m hungry often. Some things don’t change. And my grandmother would always have me say aloud a simple prayer in Spanish after I was done with my meal…gracias a Dios que me dio un pan para comer. Amen. Thank you God for giving me this bread to eat. Amen. The sense of thankfulness that my grandmother instilled in me also hasn’t change. There are many beauties in the world that remind me of all there is to be thankful of—even when I forget.

I was first exposed to Spanish as a young girl through my grandparents. My grandmother didn’t speak English, only Spanish; my grandfather spoke both English and Spanish; and my language memories with my mother are fuzzy. I don’t recall her speaking to me in Spanish, but it’s very possible she did.

I wish that I could say that I was bilingual or fluent in Spanish. It used to be one of my life goals to become fluent. I wanted to become fluent before my grandmother passed. I know that I will continue learning at my slow pace.

After my grandmother passed away, I stopped speaking Spanish. Before that I wasn’t always able to understand all of her stories. When I would visit her in her older age, her stories became longer and more detailed, but my comprehension couldn’t keep up. I had to rely on the words I could decipher, filling in the blanks with her expressions and body language. I was only able to communicate simple phrases. By this time I was in my mid-twenties and my comprehension had dwindled.

On a few other occasions I tried speaking Spanish with other Spanish-speaking people, but I became too self-conscious, knowing I didn’t sound like an authentic Mexican. I felt like an imposter.

When I was in my early thirties, I had planned on getting a bachelor’s degree in English. I hadn’t fulfilled the foreign language requirement and had a choice: Take a Spanish class—I didn’t have the patience for five months of textbook Spanish—or take a Spanish translation test. I figured I didn’t have anything to lose in attempting to translate a short excerpt from Spanish to English.

I remember finally finding the small office at the college campus where I would take the test. I was told I could bring a Spanish/English dictionary and something to write with. I had a choice of three different one-page passages. Settling on one that I believe was about history, I had one hour to complete the translation. I was surprised at how much the sentences made sense. I felt giddy at not being completely in the dark. There were several words that I had to look up in my dictionary, but it didn’t slow me down. I felt surprisingly comfortable with grammar for the most part.

When I completed my translation, I felt good, but knew there might be a few small grammar errors. I handed the pages, the original and mine, back to the assistant. I would have to wait a week or so before I knew how I did.

The results came back and I passed. I felt so proud of myself beyond words.

All of my slow progress fed into this one moment. What that experience did for me—even though I didn’t end up pursing an English degree—is that it provided the space for me to reflect on where and how I had learned to read Spanish. I took French and Spanish in high school, but I don’t recall doing well in either because I wasn’t interested in school at the time. There weren’t Spanish books in my childhood home and no one read to me in Spanish or showed me Spanish language books.

The only thing I could connect is that I had remembered what little I soaked in from my grandmother and I was able to recognize the written words by sound. As I read the words, I could hear them and it was then that I realized that though I couldn’t speak Spanish very well, and at times if someone speaks too fast in Spanish I can’t follow, I could actually read it. Of course my reading fluency is not where I’d like it to be. I have two books of fiction in Spanish that sit on my shelf. One day I hope to get through them.

Over the years, I’ve picked up a book here and there to learn more Spanish and to reinforce what I know. I took a class in Asian literature that was taught by a Chinese-Mexican-American professor. This class opened me up to further explore my second language and Mexican-ness. And since then, I’ve continued in small chunks.

Language is fascinating and it still fascinates me. I admire those that can learn several languages fluently or even one language really well. When it comes to certain tasks in life, I simply don’t have the patience unless I’m immersed—Immersion seems the best way to learn a foreign language.

At times I think and write in my Spanish, especially if I’m speaking to my grandmother in my mind; occasionally I will write a simple poem in Spanish and then translate it into English. My Spanish writing skills are limited for now, but I do feel as though I have another soul when I write in Spanish—I’m like a different expression of myself when I think and write in my grandmother’s tongue. I cherish that. That is my connection to the Spanish language, to my Mexican heritage, and it begins in my grandmother’s kitchen.

A Few Bits

10-11-12

Today is a good numbers day. It’s a day of order: 10, 11, 12, and each of the two digit pairs becomes 1, 2, 3. These little things tickle me.

October has brought cooler weather, which I welcome. As I was preparing dinner yesterday, out of the corner of my eye I could see the sky changing to deep ruby. I walked over to the bedroom window and admired the view. The clouds looked full and gray. Later that evening, I smelled the first rain. It wasn’t much, but it was something. At last!

Something led me to dust off my astrology chart and take a look at it. I do tend to do this every few years, sometimes each year. I think I’ll be spending more time re-exploring astrology, going deeper. I have several books that I’ve used, cookbook style books, and some that deal with certain areas of astrology. I’ve also unloaded plenty and kept those that I thought would be most useful at the time.

The other night I dreamt of a space. It was dirt and kids were flattening out the dirt, as someone would do when they are getting the land ready for building. I was at the outskirts watching and behind me, as if it was the most natural thing were boxes built into the dirt of stones and crystals of all shapes and sizes. Mostly earth toned stones—deep reds, oranges, browns, and plum purple—and there was a section of boxes with white crystals—flat, diamond shaped, round—I picked one up and held it to the sun so that I could see rainbows.

On top of my many visits to the library, the last few days I’ve felt guilty because I’ve purchased a handful of books, real books and Kindle books. Today, I took myself to the metaphysical store and purchased two more astrology books and a tiger’s eye stone. I’ve long been a student of astrology—slowly and in spurts—and I’ve recently felt that I want to go back to the basics, to get reacquainted with all of the signs, as well as the planets, and to become more familiar with the twelve houses. I still struggle with aspects, but with a little more persistence, I’m sure it will fall into place.

Thinking about it…I think it was three days ago when I took my chart out and while I was reading from two books that I chose allowing myself to land where my intuition guided me, I was amazed how much I can still learn about myself each time I re-examine my chart. It leads me to see things that may make sense and that I couldn’t quite put a face to. I also had a report from many years ago that was prepared for me. I skimmed some of what it said. Even though I’ve spent time with my chart, have had it read by an astrologer on a few occasions, there is always something that opens my eyes and that’s just looking at my natal chart without looking at current transits and happenings. We are such cyclical creatures and astrology feeds into that. It’s wonderful that there are many different tools out there for our use toward self-reflection and self-discovery.

I was slightly disappointed with how workshop week has gone in the online short story writing class. We were placed into groups for workshop, which is fine. It turns out I’m in the group where only one other person has provided feedback on our stories. Apparently all the other groups have gone back and forth on feedback and have had a productive week.

There are four other group members in my group besides myself. The deadline has passed, so now we’re on to a new week. We have one more week of workshop where we’ll post our revised stories or a new story for critique. I prefer when we do the whole class postings. It seems classmates tend to respond to what interests them. I think what I miss is that with the whole class critiques, we have the opportunity of peeking in and seeing the scenes and feedback that others leave. This time, it’s like I’m in a void. There is nothing much happening for this week. Onto next week and looking forward to getting back to the whole class format.

Well, I’m off to read my new astrology books and hopefully I’ll also have time for the other books I’ve been dipping in and out of!

Una flor de luz

Una flor de luz
para mi abuelita
en el cielo
en este día.

**

A flower of light
for my grandmother
in heaven
on this day.

Evening Pages

Today was a good day. Work was productive. It felt as though people that I passed on the streets were in a good mood, and the office was in good cheer.

When I looked out the window this morning while I was getting ready to start the day, the clouds were a nice tone of deep gray. The cool air was a refreshing welcome to the past few hot days. Fifteen minutes later, the gray was breaking and white clouds were mingling with blue skies. Outside, walking to my car, I felt a lift in my step.

I have until tomorrow to put the finishing touches on my short story. I was glad that its rough beginnings were well received. A part of me though feels that I may have trapped my characters in their world. I feel on one hand glad that a few classmates were intrigued by the story; on the other hand, I don’t want to disappoint, but I may have to completely reshape the story because as it stands there are too many loose ends that don’t work together. It might turn out to be a very different story, possibly less interesting than my first free write.

Interestingly, the tarot card that I drew this morning turned out to provide inspiration for my story. I felt it this morning and was able to think it out in my mind on my way to work. I’ll have to see if I’m able to bring the insights to the story’s page.

Mostly, I’m happy it was a good day. 

 

Friday Thoughts

Have you been closed off in some way?

She stops. She doesn’t know the answer. It draws her completely blank.

She has settled for her job, appreciative that she has one, yet knowing that much of the time her energies feel drained, her creative juices curtailed. She clings to the cloth of appreciation, thankful to have a job, thankful to have flexibility and a little extra time. But is she fully utilizing that extra time? She has sought out meaningful activities that involve doing some good. Even with those, there is an expectation on her part of wanting to make a difference, yet knowing and learning that a part of making a difference in her chosen way is by just being there. Said out loud, it makes sense. Put into practice, the challenges rise, of not knowing how to gauge her usefulness. Not knowing…Being useful. That is what she wants most to be, but she wants to be useful in a meaningful way.

This is the answer to her question: Patience, perseverance, intention, trust.

A man shared with her that he had a friend from his college days that was successful. I don’t know how he defined success. I suspect it was in the traditional fashion but also I think the man followed his passion. The man that shared with her said he regretted not following a different route. He wished he had taken drama, writing—any liberal arts courses. He lacked focus, he said. Never really knew what he wanted to be when he grew up; instead, he followed a practical route. She told him he could still take those classes. She said that it would be better to at least get a taste before he has later regrets when it’s too late—too late to satisfy his passion and curiosity in some small way. That would be regretful.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I have a feeling I will always work in a small office setting in some administrative capacity. I’ve often fantasized about what I would do if I won the lottery—say a million dollars. Would I change anything? I used to imagine giving money to my brother and uncle, a few charities, buy a house. I even wondered if I would quit my job given the chance. Hey, I won the lottery! Why not? My co-worker was a bit surprised when I actually had to think about it. For him, there was no question.

I have to admit that more recently when I’ve run this fantasy through my mind, I’m just as stuck as any normal day. I don’t know what I’d do, except maybe set aside money for a day when I may need to go into an assisted living facility. It’s a ways out there, but these are things I think about sometimes.

She found that it was time to draw a single card for the day from the Tarot deck. It had been a while. She fanned cards out on the table, closed her eyes…IV Trumps – The Emperor. A powerful card. (She uses the Aleister Crowley deck).

Whenever I post the card I choose for the day, I feel that the card is also for whomever may land here. I may have pulled it, but perhaps it also speaks to someone on someday.

A concise summary for the card from the Angeles Arrien Tarot Handbook to mull over is this:

The Emperor as an Outer Mirror

When you are drawn to the Emperor symbol or pull it from the deck, he represents the power of your owning and demonstrating your own leadership and paternal gifts. The Emperor indicates your ability to take care of yourself mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically, and financially.

He represents your ability to be responsible for your life style, career, and personal life. Basically, it is a good time to move, travel, resolve fatherhood issues or issues with Aries or paternal people in your life, to start new ventures, and to be open to new opportunities. It is an important time to stay in your power and not abandon yourself in anyway, yet experience new opportunity.

**

~To transformation and new beginnings with purity of heart~

~Peace & Love to all~

Rebb

p.s. (The POV shifts couldn’t be helped. They felt natural and I kept them as the words decided to come out.)

Finger Painting ~ Small gift to my Mother

Yesterday I went to my bookshelves and selected The Nine Muses: A Mythological Path to Creativity by Angeles Arrien. I opened to a random page and landed on Erato: Muse of Love Poetry.

 

I love this quote that she has in the margin of the page to begin this section:

 

Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination

—Voltaire

 

Nature’s canvas is stenciled into my being, and if I could wander the hills everyday for hours and lose myself in Nature and my imagination, I would turn into a bumblebee or a butterfly. But I take every bit I can stuff into my imaginary pockets. The long slender pods that hang from trees that I don’t know the name of; the bees buzzing from flower to flower in search of nectar; the small cracks in the street where small lakes of grass have nestled themselves into the pavement. This isn’t just a regular linear crack. It’s a miniature square patch and it could easily be a pendant for a necklace. When the rains come, I know just where that particular crack is and I will be sure to walk to where it is near the gas station at the intersection. It’s not my usual path any longer, so I’ll have to make a special trip. And last night I heard the honk of the Canadian Geese. I don’t usually hear them at night. It was the most comforting sound, like a church bell that had caused me to take pause, to breathe, to smile, to feel at home.

 

I’ve had a desire to make an “artist’s date”—a paint date—with myself for several months now. I’ve wanted to take the acrylic paints out of their box, buy a new canvas, and paint away. I want to feel the brush in my hands, squeeze the paints out of their tubes, smell them, feel the textures from the brush to the canvas, and watch the colors interact. I want to become the paint.

 

When I was a little girl, I always wanted to play with my finger paints. Mother wouldn’t let me finger paint as often as I would have liked. I understand that it was probably a bother, the process of setting up the paper, watching that I didn’t make a mess and then she would have to help me clean up.

 

The combination of landing on Erato, thinking of painting, and my memory of finger painting as a child, this morning I was pulled to doodle a finger drawing using an App called Doodle Buddy. That’s the photo that you see here.

 

A small gift to my mother, filled with love, sent to her during the month of October, the anniversary month of her death.

I almost missed The Secret Garden

I shared previously about the book that Anita Silvey edited, Everything I Need to Know I Learned from a Children’s book, and also shared a video of her discussing the book. Toward the end of the video, she shares a story from a conference that took place in Texas. An 11-year-old girl walked up to her and said, “The Secret Garden is my favorite book too.” Anita then asked the girl, “Well, what did you learn in it?” The girl replied, “I learned that no matter how broken you are or how difficult things seem, you can be healed some day and you can be made whole.” Anita said to the girl, “You really understand the message behind that book. It’s a very powerful message."

I related to those words. That exchange—the girl’s experience and what she gained from the story was enough to make me want to read the book—a book that I have long known about only by title, yet hadn’t entered the world that lay beyond. I started with a sample copy on my Kindle and after reaching the end of the sample, clicked the purchase button without hesitation.

When I began reading the story, I had no idea how or where it began or that young Mary Lennox was such a sour puss of a child because of her upbringing. From the beginning until the end, I was pasted to the pages. I loved being a part of the transformation that Mary and those around her went through. Great beauty developed within the garden and in the hearts and souls of the children. This is now a book that I can include amongst other treasured stories—a truly magical book.