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.”

3 things every single girl must know about Car Accident Survival

I swear if one more person at CVS makes a face at my arm and my bruised knees, I'm going to them look them in the eye and say, "Rough Sex, jealous much?" Just so they stop looking. Because the truth is less fun (not that I would know to compare sex to a car accident, since I'm still doing the True-Love-Waits thing). The truth is I was merrily driving home from work, well under the speed limit because my baby Honda (born this year) got hit by a monster SUV from outer space. Ok, it wasn't from outerspace, it was from the left lane. It was tramatizing because, although I've had experience enough to know USAA's auto claim number, I've never been involved in the mating of two vehicles. Any way, I don't want to dish up the details on the world wide web since its a public domain, however I would like to offer up some advice for mis primitas and all of the other single ladies out there.

Tip Numero 1: Always always always take the ambulance.

My treasure, chances are you will be tramatized. You might be shouting, "The light was green the light was green" for hours before you realize you have been saying that for an hour. You just got hit by a Beast. No driving for you until hott EMT men look you over. Don't worry, the hot EMT's have seen women cry before. That mascara thats running? They think its endearing. And once you get to the hospital, you'll be glad you at least had the pleasure of their company, because (and I don't want to make generalizations here, but I'm right) the triage nurse is a bitch. Just sayin'. You might ask the EMTs if they could stop and bring B. T. N. (bitchy triage nurse) some flowers and coffee, but chances are, they just want to focus on you. (oh the beginnings of a beautiful relationship).

Tip Numero 2: Always always always keep a list of people who can drive you home.

Nothings worse than having a hotty EMT holding your hand while you climb down from the ambulance at the ER entrance and you realizing you're leaving the EMTs to the lonliness of the ER. If you have a list with you, you will be able to reach someone who can sit with you while you deal with the BTN. You should never face the BTN alone. She'll ask you stupid questions like "On a scale of one to ten. . . " Trust me, write the list. Now. Pick up that ancient thing called a pen, make a list and stick it in your wallet. Your cell phone will most likely die somewhere on the bottom of you purse before you find it.

Tip Numero 3: Don't flirt with the Rental Car Guy, he didn't graduate high school.

Once the BTN lets you go home, you'll want to get back out there and start living again. You'll need a rental car for this. Some rental cars will come and pick you up and take you to their place. Do not confuse this for a date. You may be tempted to pick out a nice outfit from your walk-in-closet, and straighten your hair, and leave your glasses at home. But don't. The burn on your arm stinks like sun screen and roasted pig, you need to read the contract before you sign it, and honey, he's selling cars to pay for high school. When he says he didn't go to college around-here, don't press to find out the answer. He didn't go to college any where, yet. In the words of Lady Gaga, "he's just a baby."

There you have it! Those are my tips! Have a nice weekend everyone!

2 weeks in, 2 questions to ask.

OK, so my beloved sister Aggie and I are settling in pretty well over here on our second floor apt. We have our Mr. Cafecito painting ready to be hung on our dining room wall, and we are fundraising (yard saling) for our target bistro table, and dark wood book shelves.

One thing I'm learning about apartment living is that you don't really know your neighbors. We moved from a block where all of our neighbors went to mass together, and were up-to-date on each others lives, and children's lives. The type of neighborhood where you knew that so-and-so was single and so-and-so-was dating and so-and-so played softball for the town. It was sweet. Here, in young-professional/young-family-world we know no one. I saw our downstairs neighbor smoking one day when I was coming home from work, and Aggie says they have a kid. I over heard our next door neighbor say to another neighbor that they think we're Mexicans, but besides that, no neighbor-to-neighbor contact. I think its kind of weird, but maybe that is how America is now, and our old neighborhood was a relic of the past?

I think there are pros and cons of being friendly with your neighbors. On the plus side, knowing the types of people who inhabit your apartment can make you feel more at ease, and if you're friendly enough with them, you might get to re-live Friends (remember that show? Its replaced by the even better How I Met Your Mother). On the negative side, knowing your neighbors means more potential for drama, favors (can I borrow an egg?) and nosiness (although I can out snoop them any day of the week).

I've also been hearing a lot of sermons on the radio/ my ipod about community. It seems you're not expected to be in community with your physical neighbors. Although I wonder where the lot of them go to church? I'd like some suggestions of ones that are within walking distance.

Are you friends/friendly with your neighbors? Do you want to be?

Firsts

So the other day Aggie gave me her portion of the rent. It was the first time she had to pay rent. You should have seen the smile on her face. She's lived on her own before, when she was growing in her faith in the Honor Academy in Texas, but this is the first time she's had any part of supporting herself. Can I tell you a secret, me too. I've never lived outside of my parents home, except on that month long mission trip to Eastern Europe (best. experience. ever. btw).

I think its interesting how God orchestrates our lives. I'm mean look at this little list of firsts for me: My first time riding my bike alone was in a North Philly playground. My first journal was filled while I was in third grade. (I thought about it this morning, and I laughed over the 3rd grade politics, and where everyone is now). My first date was in Windsor, England at a McDonalds (I was 13 and it was awkward). My first mission trip was to Mexico. My first kiss was in college. My first mystery book is due out at the end of this year, by Wine Press...

I think this first year of living on our own will teach us a lot of things. Not only about getting along(Aggie and I are both very strong personailities so we have heated debates...a lot); but also about money management, time management and faith in God.

That last one makes me nervous a little bit. Because God is unpredictable, and thinks bigger than we do. His ways are not our ways. So I have to ask you, when's the first time you thought about allowing God to have some say in your life? What are some other first's you've experienced?

Beginning my Adventure

When I turned an innocent 15 years old some years ago, I thought that by the time I was 23, I'd be planning a wedding, signing copies of my latest bestseller in the grocery store, and having weekly luncheons with my BBFs from high school.

Well, I when I turned 23, I was single, unemployeed, unpublished, and my two bestfriends were married and settled in their own hometowns, three hours away from my parents humble abode. So, My sisters (pictured here) and Mama took me to see "Bye Bye Birdy" in the Big Apple, and I decided began my job search in earnest.

Fastforward six months, and I was hired as a temp at a predominately Spanish Speaking Latino Community Organization. We fell for each other. I'm now official, and I love it, and so far they love me. So, there I was begining life at 23 and 6 months as a Career Girl. Thank God Marie Claire has a column devoted to us.

Good thing I'm a saver, not a spender, because mis padres said they were moving to Miami, with my younger siblings. After much debate, prayer, and trips to the cinema, we decided that I would focus on my career, live here, and get my own apartment with my younger, college-aged sister.

So, we found an apartment in the shadow of the King of Prussia Mall, and move in together in four weeks. Today is her 21st birthday, so I thought it fitting that I celebrate by beginning this record of our Christian, Latina, bacherlotte experience together. Who knows, maybe it will serve as the inspiration for that best seller I've been meaning to write. (Doubtful).

Bendiciones y Besitos,

Mandie.