SMELL: A smell down Memory Lane

So I haven't written in a while. Life after the holidays tends to be, for me, kind of like the smell of a restaurant kitchen at the end of the night. You know what I'm talking about. That steam-cleaned and empty smell that makes you gag and swear you'll finish school and get a dull desk job. I know that it is the time of year when just one week back at work or school after the holidays and you already want to call out sick because its too cold outside, you don't live in NJ (where people stand in the cold and pump your gas for you), and you are suddenly really curious as about whether or not Reggis will be on the Reggis&Kelly show, or whether or not your across the hall neighbors actually exsist.

And of course with the new year comes new resolutions. Mine are to eat vitamins everyday (day 13 and I haven't eaten one yet), and get involved in a local community of believers. And not to smell eggs or smoke if I can help it.

I read in an article a few days ago about how smells are the strongest triggers of memory and this facinates me. I thought about this at lunch when I was eating arroz con pollo (rice & chicken). I mixed the seasoning from the chicken in my rice like I have since I was three, and the smell of the food sent me back to my paternal grandmother's kitchen. I haven't thought of my early childhood in a while, but a couple things stick out from that era and they all have to do with smells or noses.

1. The car accident where Aggie went under the seat and came up with a black nose. The details are kind of blurry, but her sooty nose makes me laugh to this day.

2. The birthday party I or my sister had at McDonald's. I was in kindergarden or Pre-K, but I remember Andy and Josh sitting on rocking toys in the toy room while eating burgers. They were teenagers, so I imagine the party wasn't much fun for them.

3. I ate cereal at my paternal grandfather's table when we went to visit him. He was quite possibly the only one (besides relatives in Colombia) who could get me to eat cereal, since I hate cereal. But he would teach me where to put the accents in the stories I wrote for him and Abuela with my Spanish vocab words.

Smell is a very interesting trigger. I looked up all the instances the word "smell" was in the Bible, and its used like 4 times. The best verse was this one: "As dead flies give perfume a bad smell, so a little folly outweighs wisdom and honor." Ecclesiastes 10:1. That's a great visual.


P.S. when are we ever going to have smell-vision? Didn't Willy Wonka invent that in the 70s?

TOUCH: Muscle Relaxer

SO I went to my doctor yesterday and she told me that I should get a muscle relaxer. I told her I hate pills and I don't even take vitamins because I can't keep them down. It was only pride that kept me from asking if there were cherry flavored syrup muscle relaxers, because I'm good with liquids. Anyway, after much discussion she wrote me out two prescriptions and gave me the sample for one. I went about my day, worked late, then went home. After a while I decided to put on some music, get my journal, write out recent events in my life, and take the sample muscle relaxer. The rest is kind of a blur after that. Alison was there, then she wasn't, then she was talking to Amber, then it was quiet. At one point I thought Brad Pitt was marching his children who where (in my delusion) an Olympic Team (from what country??) through my kitchen. I can tell you for sure that much didn't happen.

Through this whole experience, I just wanted to be picked up and carried to bed, and tucked in and read to like I was when I was a little girl.

I hate that disoriented feeling. I hate not feeling connected to a given place. That is the take-home lesson of muscle relaxers. While I didn't feel any painful tightness in my shoulder or knee for those twelve hours, I also didn't feel connected to anyone. It is absolutely silly but the event of earlier in the day left me feeling kind of one minute you know where you are going to be in eight months, and in the next minute, you are immobilized on your sofa, waiting for someone to carry you to bed.

In the same way, it is true that many people isolate themselves from God and people that love them because all they see is rules. I believe that we were created to live in community with one another and God. That life isn't about rules and lists, but about truly learning how to be connected with each other and God. Why are so many people against chasing after God and healthy circles of friends? I don't see how trying to do life on your own terms, away from loved ones, and God-things (prayer, Bible reading, worship) are good for you.

The muscle relaxer has worn off by now, and I feel a bit of the pain of my injury, but I also feel more alert and able to speak coherent sentences. Carry that thought over to spiritual things, blows my mind a little.

HEARD: Do words calm your soul?

HEAR: WHAT CALMS YOUR SOUL?

So a few days ago I found my self seated in a circle of citizens from el barrio. There was one baby among them, but the majority of the people were older than I. I sat with a couple co-workers and in my lap was a book I had read countless times as I teenager. After a brief advertisement for an agency event, and an introduction I began to read. It was the story of a Mexican-American girl’s experiences in the inner city.

I’ve always loved reading. I remember how I used to hear the words of the Bible every night before bed. My father used to read to us out of an illustrated Bible. It was read so often that the binding came off and we had to use paper glue to re-bind the Bible. One night when my father read to us, I remember reading one of the words, and my father stopped, looked at us, and said that since I knew how to read, I would now have the privilege of reading the words of God for myself.

And I have. I don’t know what its like to not be able to read those words. Over the years I have found unbelievable comfort in the words of a prophet named Jeremiah in his book of Lamentations, courage in the book of Esther, and fortitude in the story of Jael and Deborah in the book of Judges. I’ve felt my soul soar when I encountered the poetry of the first chapter of John.

I know that most young people today are unfamiliar with the Bible. They think that being spiritual is nothing more than chanting a few foreign words, or reading a horoscope. They think they know all of the stories and so they don’t bother to open it. However so many today are unaware of the poetry contained in the Bible. They think they know everything simply because it is easily accessible to them. But the truth is, my generation and the ones following it, are more biblically ignorant than any generation that has lived on this earth. Scholars say that for all of our technology and speed, we are ignorant of the very words that give us life.

I know that when public schools were founded years ago, it was founded with the idea that people needed to be able to read and comprehend what they were reading. Their leadership wanted them to be able to read so that they might even read the words of the Bible and determine its truth for themselves. That the yeoman’s failure to read it, and willingness to follow leaders blindly has lead to wars all across the globe. For if people read the words written there, there would be more compassion and less contention.

I could go on and on and talk about the Bible ad nausea, but I think that even watching The Book of Eli or picking up an audio Bible would better serve you. I believe it to be the most important book ever put to paper. I love how it was the first book ever printed. There are many lesser books, and I get to read them to others often. I even wrote a book, a mystery, that people would be able to read soon. But I don’t think any story had the rhythm, the depth or the variety that the Bible has. As a single woman living in this post-modern era, I still get my inspiration and subsistence from the words of life carried down through generations.

SEEN: Gloria & Emilio Estefan

Sometimes when you’re in the mall, do you smile at the older couples that walking through the mall holding hands? Not to write yet another post about relationships, but, I find myself fascinated by couples that have been together for multiple decades. I feel the need to cheer them on.

The other night I was watching biography with my sister and our roommate. Well really, it bored them to sleep, but I found it very encouraging. Despite the fact that Gloria’s wedding dress was strange, they have had an amazing love story. First of all, he is the only man she’s ever been with. The commentators said that as though it was a bad thing, but I don’t see anything wrong with him being her only lover. I actually admire this example of love and I hope to one day have a similar story. I’m sure with their public careers Gloria could have been with other men, but she hasn’t, and they have been married since 1978. 38 years. That’s amazing. That’s like eternity in Hollywood years.

Looking at this I wonder what are the ingredients of a successful marriage? I look at them and I see that they are both Catholic, and so I’m sure being the same religion helps. Also, they both care about the lack of freedom in Cuba. From this I see that caring about the same political issues helps strengthen that bond. From their example I see that sometimes its good to have difference, especially if they compliment each other. For example, she is quiet and strong, and he is more of what people call a “mover and a shaker.” And these are just things I’ve observed from the biography.

My own parents celebrated 25 years of marriage this summer, and I love it. I love them. My grandparents have been married for about 48 years, and that is so cool. I’ve been thinking about this since watching that documentary on Tuesday. I think its examples like these that make me hold out for something I can’t yet see. My single friends and I make jokes (as single women are apt to do), but I am not a part of and have no desire to be part of the “hook up” culture.

My favorite Gloria Estefan song is “Con los anos que me quedan” from her “Mi Tierra” album, the lyrics say this:

Sé que aún me queda una oportunidad

Sé que aún no es tarde para recapacitar

Sé que nuestro amor es verdadero

Con los años que me quedan por vivir

Demostraré cuánto te quiero

Con los años que me quedan
Yo viviré por darte amor.

Borrando cada dolor

Con besos llenos de pasión

Como te amé por vez primera

Con los años que me quedan

Te haré olvidar cualquier error.

No quise herirte, mi amor

Sabes que eres mi adoración

Y lo serás mi vida entera

No puedo imaginar vivir sin ti

No quiero recordar como te perdí

Quizás fue inmadurez de mi parte

No te supe querer

Te aseguro que los años que me quedan

Los voy a dedicar a ti

Hacerte tan feliz

Que te enamores más de mí

Yo te amaré hasta que muera

¿Cómo comprobar que no soy quien fui?

El tiempo te dirá, si tienes fe en mí

Que como yo te amé

Más nadie

Te podrá amar jamás.

Dime que no es el final

{Primer verso}Sé que nuestro amor es verdadero

Y con los años que me quedan por vivir

Demostraré cuánto te quiero

Cuánto te quiero

It’s a song about promising to love and care for each other for life, despite arguments in the past. And I see this willingness to move forward as the sercret staying-power in long lasting relationships. But what do I know? Anyway, what examples have you seen of long lasting love stories? I’d love to hear them.

4 Awkward Reactions

This single girl’s 4 reactions to getting hit on.

So I don’t know about you, but I get hit on in the most absurd places. Walking from my car to the main building of my office, gassing up my car, and once, stopping my car at a red light. I don’t know if it’s the water of North Philly, or maybe it’s the proximity to my new car (new car + high heels = success?) but its happened four times recently and I never react like a normal person. Observe:

#1: “You’re hot, can I have your number?” “No, but why don’t you say a prayer for me”

I don’t know why, but when I was in line to get gas yesterday, some guy was commenting on my appearance to another guy in Spanish. I could have let it go, but I turned to them and said, “Deben ser respetosos.” Or something to that affect. They took that as an invitation to ask for my number, to which I replied, “No, but tell you what? Why don’t you say a prayer for me?”

Who says that to someone who’s hitting on her? Apparently this girl right here. Although as I think back on my reaction yesterday, I think it may have been a healthy one from a spiritual standpoint. If you want to call me, why don’t you ask my Devine Matchmaker if that’s ok?

#2. “Um, I just wanted to know if you’d like to call me some time.” “Huh? You’re old.”

I think we all know that I constantly put my foot in my mouth. Sometimes I think a story is super funny, and everyone else thinks its kind of accidentally inappropriate. Since my high school days I’ve realized that in situations like these, the correct response would be to smile and keep my mouth shut. Unfortunately my mouth doesn’t listen to the rational part of my brain. And when old people hand me their number on a sticky note, I tend to act like a blonde and say whatever I’m thinking at the moment. Sorry Geezer.

#3. “Honey you should call me some time.” “Get a license. Don’t you think you should wear a helmet?”

I love North Philly. It’s the type of neighborhood where men have cojones enough to speak to someone they think is attractive. But did you know that this starts young? North Philly wastes no time on teaching their boys on relating to women. And I don’t know if you know this, but traditionally in Philly, the guys have the cars and the girls ride in them. Not the other way around. We are not living in traditional times. And sometimes I feel the need to school kids on the ways of our city.

One such educational experience was when I was enjoying the music of Michelle Branch while at a stoplight. Mr. I-can’t-shave-yet rode up next to my car and attempted to talk to me. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, and I think it’s a requirement for anyone under 12. So I told him as much. I think this is a reverse case of number 2 actually, because why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut and roll up my window like a normal person? Did I think the kid was going to run out to Rite Aid and buy a helmet with his milk money?

#4. “Can’t I talk to you?” Me: Laughter.

Sometimes I’m having a bad day. Sometimes I’m having a good day. In either situation I’m not expecting any hood off the street or any delivery guy, security guard or cop to attempt to talk to me. I’m just not. About the only place I’m contented enough to be hit on is maybe at my apartment or New Jersey and you know either location is really not conducive to meeting people I’m not related to.

I mean in any given moment I’m thinking 50 different things. The only place my mind slows down and relaxes is when I’m with loved ones. Anywhere else and I’m crazy awkward. One gentleman just couldn’t grasp this. “Want to go out?” Laughter. “Want to see a movie?” Laughter. “Can’t I talk to you?” Laughter. “Why the hell are you always laughing?” If I weren’t laughing this is what I would say: “I forgot deodorant today, I’m late on turning in reports, my contacts are sticky, I have no gas in my car, I have to pick up my sister, and you want to go out with me? I'm a mess.” More laughter.

So now that I’ve exposed my awkwardness for all to see, tell me your funny reactions to being hit on in unsuspecting places. And while your at it, why don’t you gather together with some geezers and some young’ins and pray for me while I laugh?

A Writing Warm Up Exercise

Occasionally, I'm restless and after prayer, I often sit to write. Since I am dreading revising my novel, I often write little expositions such as this one about things that catch my eye:

He wears a straw hat that only hipsters and those prone to nostalgia would like. The reality is that he wears it out of necessity, not as a fashion statement. You might have guessed that it keeps the sun out of his eyes, and that is true. However it also keeps his enemies from knowing that it is he there in the coffee fields.

His shirt is neither gray nor white nor blue, but a combination of the three. Once upon a time it was striped all of these colors, but the sun and his sweat has blurred the lines that used to keep him sharp. The shirt is cotton, and keeps him covered and is still cool in the heat of the Caribbean sun. Rich kids in New York and L.A. will wear shirts like his, but they won’t have the stories behind the worn cloth. The truth is, he wouldn’t mind trying that life on for a day, if it wouldn’t mean leaving behind his plot of land, and his family.

His pants look like black denim, but the true story is that long ago they were his church pants. He wore those to say prayers for a successful season, and when the success did not come, he wore these pants out in the fields. He shrugs and says that the pants remind him to keep praying.

His arms tell us that he had woken up and gone to work, and that he will get up and go to work tomorrow. He wonders what it would have been like had he had the money to go to the medical school he had been accepted to, but he believes his children will enjoy that opportunity.

The coffee bag at his feet will be used to cover some chair in an urban coffee shop. The coffee shops that cater to those young and unmarried varones that joke about marriage but do not know what that sacrament means to a man like The Coffee Maker. He has been married since a birthday in his twenties to the same woman and has never actually cheated on her. He seeks to provide for her, even though she is talented enough to support her self and their children. His every step equals their security.

Who knows if he can read, or even if he enjoys that hobby? What you can know for sure is that he is up every day, tired or well rested, ill or healthy, a failure or a success. He does not waste his daylight hours. He doesn’t have time to waste. I’m sure he relaxes since all people find hobbies and interests. I couldn’t tell you what those were. Not even if I wanted to attempt to guess. Such men do this or that as they see fit and life goes on. But life is not always what you do in your free time. Like the wise men say, “Life is made up by days, how you spend your days is how you spend your life.”

352 words about a hymnal

My grandfather’s hymnal.

I’m not sure how I ended up with my grandfather’s hymnal. You might be thinking to yourself, “Oh Amanda, did you get that when Hermano Lima died?” No, it’s not that grandfather’s hymnal. It belonged to my living grandfather. I think he gave it to my mother when she played the piano, but my grandfather’s name is in it. And as a teenager I wrote my name under his. Anyway, after my prayers tonight, I glanced up and the hymnal caught my eye. Now, my room’s pretty dark, but it did anyway. I opened it up to page one and there before me is the one hymn I know by heart in Spanish:

“Santo! Santo! Santo! Senor Omnipotente, Siempre el labio mio lores te dara; Santo! Santo! Santo! Te adoro reverente, Dios en tres Personas, bendita Trinidad.”

There you have it. And even though this hymnal is from my living grandfather, it reminds me of time spent with the other one. Instantly I’m eleven again in my other grandfather’s church with the hard wooden pews singing this hymn, and looking around to see how Bergenfield Bautistas worshiped. Its funny how a song can transport you back to a different time in your life. I remember the meals in that basement, and the women all dressed up, and the tension in the air, and coffee. And I only went to that church a couple of times.

My sister says she loves hymns. I’m more of a charismatic arm-waver honestly, and sometimes hymns are lost to me. But as I flip through this book, I’m just in awe of the beautiful sentiment behind the words, and it makes me curious about the person who either wrote or translated these hymns. If they wrote it, what heavenly moment inspired the event? And if they translated it, did were they happy to do so and did they feel that their message was understood and received by the listener?

“Santo! Santo! Santo! Por mas que estes velado, e imposible sea tu Gloria contemplar, Santo tu eres solo y nada hay a tu lado, en poder perfecto, pureza y caridad.”