cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (jack skellington)

Last night, over candlelit dinner, Tweetie suggested we end the evening with a Christmas movie. Since Fast and Furious 6 just became available for rent, we proposed that.

"How is that a Christmas movie?" she asked me.

"Because Vin Diesel and his body are a gift to all of humanity," I said.

She looked at me like I'd drunk more wine than she'd realized.

JJ said, "Because it has car chases and explosions and what could be more festive than that?"

Tweetie kindly said, "Well, because it's Christmas and it will make you two happy, we can watch it. But I may not pay much attention."

After the first big chase scene, Tweetie, who was curled up against me said, "I can't believe I'm actually watching this."

"It's good, right?" I said.

"Yeah," she said, sounding surprised.

About midway through the movie, I noticed her eyelids drooping and asked if she wanted to go to bed or stay up and watch the whole movie.

"Whole movie," she said, too tired for complete sentences.

And she did watch the whole thing.

cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (jack skellington)
I considered skipping the ofrenda for this year's Día de los Muertos. As busy as I've been, I just wasn't feeling it, the connection to Grampa, the memories, the desire to collect items that remind me of him. But I've decided to try. Maybe it's important to put myself in a position to remember. And because it's an effort this year, I've decided against using all the same items that I've used in years past, lest the ofrenda become a mindless ritual.

Ofrenda 1

Making a comeback are the lotería cards, the photo of Grampa that I love, and the glass calavera candle holder. New items include: a bottle of dry roasted peanuts, which was a favorite snack of Grampa's and the traditional birthday, Father's Day, every holiday gift from us kids to Grampa; a Hostess fruit pie, because he bought three for us kids every week on his grocery trip, long after we cared for the sugary treats; a glass bingo-printed tray, because Grampa played bingo so much that his car was littered with old, marked cards and dried-out or used-up bingo markers, and sometimes he won; and a couple of battery-op'd tea-light candles so I can have candles without worrying about the cats getting curious and burning the house down.

Some things I am still thinking about/looking for: a small plastic donkey; Marlboro cigarettes; a toy barber's pole; a piece of denim; Barbicide; cowboy boot salt & pepper shakers. Tweetie has also offered to make a collage, which Grampa and I would love.

Another thing I've been doing to feel festive is watching horror movies: The Lost Boys; Nightmare before Christmas; House; Scream; Scream 2; Scream 3. I'd never watched Scream 3 before last night, and was pleasantly surprised. It's a lot better than the second installment, though my favorite remains the original.

As a trilogy, Scream is an incredibly depressing story. Our Final Girl Sidney is continually victimized by the consequences of her mother's past. Her agency seems to be limited to the choice of whether to trust others or build her walls, with the correlative choice of whether to confront the horror or run from it. Which is so fundamental it's easy to depreciate. But looking again, we actually get a Final Trio, three survivors who make it from beginning to end of the trilogy, and they're a cobbled together family that replaces the illusory family Sidney started with. So that development is heartening. Also, the trilogy says some interesting things about race and feminism and male entitlement. And I love how Craven uses windows and doors throughout the movies, and Nick Cave's "Red Right Hand" in each soundtrack.

But the first film is still my favorite because it has Billy and Stu, and they were treated as free agents, acting out their own murderous impulses rather than being manipulated by adults. And they were pretty and stood really close to each other. ;D

cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (sugar in my coffee)
I keep mentally patting myself down, unable to believe I've not somehow forgotten something. Just getting Tweetie out the door this morning was a colossal effort: snow pants, snow boots, sneakers in her bag, snow mitts, valentines, lollies, library books, lunch, teacher's Valentine gift... Poor girl looked like a pack horse, even though I helped carry stuff. 

Last week, Tweetie participated in her first science fair. All the kids in science club did projects, and Tweetie's group demonstrated how  pencils under a load of heavy books will roll and function as wheels. She knew the Egyptians relied on this method to move materials for the pyramids. We talked about how that's the basic premise for tank movement, too. Normally I need a stiff drink before school events and I feel sick the entire time and then flee as soon as I can, but the science fair was a lot of fun: so much to see and do and share, I didn't have time to panic.

I sent my fungus story out this morning (*crosses fingers*) and I'm working on an epic poem now. I've got about 200 lines so far, and I believe I'm halfway through. My progress is impeded, however, by a repetitive stress injury where my right devil wing hooks up to my back. (More technically, it's an upper trapezius strain that causes a burning ache around my scapula.) Computer time is thus limited.

Later today I will trek out into the snow to procure Valentine gifts for J and Tweetie. I failed to send out Valentines for any of my friends this year. :(  The bum wing has been a serious impediment. Many humble thanks to [livejournal.com profile] ambelies, who gave me the sparkly v-gift!

http://www.dragoart.com/artist/dawn

Cartoon devil boy by Dawn at DragoArt.com 

cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (jack skellington)

Do you remember Golden Super Shape Books? We have Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in that form. Here's a photo from an etsy seller's site:



The shape is pretty much the best part of this book, aside from the idea that one of the reindeer is charged with playing with the Christmas kittens in the lead-up to Christmas night.

Somehow, we got three media tie-in books in this batch of advent books: Plain and Peanut and the Missing Christmas Present (Yes, the M&Ms), The Care Bears' Night before Christmas, and Elmo Saves Christmas. Also in this batch, a weird board book: The Teddy Bears' Christmas Cake, which was so short and seemingly random, the three of us sat staring at the last page in bafflement.

The cream of the crop, IMO, were A Gift from Grandpa by David Mazel (Weekly Reader Books, 1981) and Little Benjamin and the First Christmas by Betty Forrell (Concordia Publishing House, Arch Books, 1964). I'm certain I've written about A Gift from Grandpa before, because I absolutely love it, and it is so sweet, it even brings a tear to JJ's eye. Grandpa Zalman Podkovnik, a garbage collector for 30-some years, takes his grandson Davie out on his route one morning, asking "How would you like to see me lift the world?" Grandpa describes a clothesline of sheets and shirts and socks as dancing together to keep warm, and Davie asks, "Are you a poet?" Grandpa says, "How else could I lift the world? Muscles alone aren't enough." At the end, Grandpa gives Davie a beautiful violin he found in the trash. His explanation about lifting the world is priceless, and because the author's name is David, I like to think that this is a true story.

Little Benjamin and the First Christmas is a retelling of Luke 2:1-18, but it's done with such a light touch and such mythic illos by Betty Wind, that I'm happy to share it with Tweetie, regardless of my atheism. For one thing, the story is told from the point of view of the innkeeper's son, who has long heard promises about the coming Prince of Peace--so long, in fact, he's become incredulous. When Benjamin is told by one of the visiting shepherds that the newborn in the stable is the long-awaited prince, Benjamin's first reaction is "O rly?" Unmentioned in the text but constantly at Benjamin's side in the illos is the family dog, who is not thrilled about all these new arrivals (presumably unpaying), especially not the "rough-looking" shepherds. As a side benefit, this book helped Tweetie contextualize the live nativity she saw at a local church, where she'd mistaken the angels for fairies.

Right now, she's watching ThunderCats. Sometimes I wonder how kids juggle all the stories they hear all day long...

 


cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (jack skellington)
We've been bad at getting Tweetie to bed on time, but we've been good about remembering the Advent books.

Last night, we read The Poky Little Puppy's First Christmas, which really has nothing going for it except readers' fond feelings for the titular character. The roly-poly, pell-mell language is near nonexistent in this Little Golden Book. I don't much care for Clifford's Christmas, either, but it's a holdover from Tweetie's toddler years, and I believe she's still got a soft spot for the big red dog, so it will probably stay in rotation.

Two very simple books that went over well were The Gingerbread Man with pics by Ed Arno (1967 paperback from Scholastic) and Santa's Crash-Bang Christmas by Steven Kroll and illustrated by Tomie De Paola (1977 paperback from Weekly Reader). Tweetie and I really love the bad gingerbread man and his merciless death in the jaws of the fox. The illos are two-tone ink drawings, deceptively primitive until one looks closer and sees how much of a character Arno seems to have drawn without lifting his pen from the paper once. And as graceful as this family isn't, it was funny to read in Kroll's book how Santa blunders his way through one Christmas.

The more challenging reads were The Fright Before Christmas by James Howe, pics by Leslie Morrill, which features the family from the Bunnicula books, and Winter Hut by Cynthia Jameson and illustrated by Ray Cruz (1973 hardcover from Weekly Reader). Winter Hut is described as a retelling of a Russian tale, but it reminds me in the first half of The Little Red Hen, as Bull goes around trying to convince his fellow runaway farm animals to build a shelter before winter, and in the second half of The Brementown Musicians, with a bear and wolf trying to break into the shelter and getting attacked by a weird chimera-like creature, which is, of course, the amalgamation of the farm animals fighting for their lives.

As I write up these summaries, I am more and more grateful to publishers like Scholastic and Weekly Reader. When I was in grade school, my mother (bless her) always scrounged up a few dollars to buy me a book or two from the paper catalogs, and those books were passed down to my brother and sister, then probably donated to the Children's Home. Now that I'm an adult (yes I am, shut up!), I've inherited a lot of these books, which were cheap enough to enter homes like ours and then to be passed on without much thought, but also sturdy enough to last through the years. Many of them relied on two-color illos and simple line drawings, no doubt for stylistic reasons, but also for economy. I get misty-eyed thinking of how many hands have held these books, and how much good these cheap things have done for so many.


cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (Default)
Our winter book advent tradition continued with The Christmas Cub by Justine Fontes, illustrated by Lucinda McQueen. This treacly sweet book features a cub who refuses to hibernate over the winter and thus discovers Christmas. <digression> What is it with these books that validate kids' resistance to bedtime? I swear, Tweetie's going to get the idea that the grownups are having a blast after her bedtime and sneak into the living room to find out. But instead of a merry Christmas adventure she's going to get an eyeful of zombie-movie gore and traumatize herself forever. </digression>

Next up was Petunia's Christmas by Roger Duvoisin. This is one of my favorites! Petunia, a pet goose, discovers a handsome gander being fattened up for Christmas at the neighbor's farm. Using paints, she transforms herself into a fantastic monster and orchestrates the gander's rescue. When her love is recaptured, Petunia vows to earn enough money to pay his ransom. She gets outrageously crafty and gets a good business going, allowing her to pay the ransom and then some (just in case, to cover his price per pound). The neighbors relent and the lovers get married and live happily ever after. Go, Petunia!

Then we read The Nightmare Before Christmas: The 13 Days of Christmas by lots of people. Safely offbeat, and a nice alternative to the song that might be driving you crazy.

And last night we got to Bialosky's Christmas by Leslie McGuire, a slightly less saccharine teddy bear book in which Bialosky is so busy being Martha Stewart and doing ALL THE THINGS all by himself for the holiday that he forgets to invite his friends. Apparently familiar with Bialosky's neurotic ways, his friends appear at the book, noting, "We were worried. We didn't see you all day." All day, people. I sometimes go without speaking to my friends in town for months. Nobody's on my doorstep Intervention style--and thank goodness for that.

Fa la la la la....

ETA: Relevant video: Flyleaf's cover of "What's This?" from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Because why should Facebook have all the fun?


Gift Books

Dec. 5th, 2011 01:47 pm
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (jack skellington)
Sometimes I lose sight of how awesome my life is. This weekend I met [livejournal.com profile] sarah_prineas and [livejournal.com profile] christophereast for coffee at a bookshop cafe. I hadn't had been to the store, or had a latte, for a LONG time. Chris gave me a load of sf/f magazines, and Sarah helped me pick gift books for my husband's niece and nephew. Had you told me when I was a kid that one day I'd be book-shopping with a famous children's author, I'd have said, "Well, duh! I will be a famous writer, too, and I will be surrounded by artists of all types." And while the fame thing hasn't come to fruition (understatement of the decade), I am indeed surrounded by writers and artists. Getting to shop with them is like icing on a cake I keep forgetting is in the fridge.

So the books...I bought four books for the niece and nephew, two for Tweetie (who was being very patient among all the adults), and one for me (50 Cent, published author? I couldn't help myself!). The gift books were The Boy at the End of the World by Greg van Eekhout, Hoot by Carl Hiaasen, The Sisters Grimm Book 1 by Michael Buckley, and Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat by Lynne Jonell. A couple of books I wanted were out of stock or not released yet. I hope I picked books the kids haven't read yet. They are good readers and their parents push their habit. I wrapped the books this afternoon, but I didn't put to/from labels on them. I figure, they should each read them all. :)

Tweetie begged for Diary of a Wimpy Kid book, arguing that they are so popular she has a hard time getting them from her skool library. (She's a good negotiator. Her teachers hate it.) I know she can read the Diaries, but they're a little beyond her emotional/experiential range, so I also bought her the first of [livejournal.com profile] dorihbutler's Buddy Files mysteries. Dogs plus mysteries? How could she ask for anything more?

And for myself--as if I need any more books!--I got Playground by 50 Cent. The cover copy was really good, and I skimmed a few pages, SOLD.

Are you buying books for people for Christmas? Which ones?

~~


 
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (jack skellington)

Our family's advent tradition is for Tweetie to unwrap a book every night until Christmas. Some of them are winter books, others are holiday-related, most are secondhand and rewrapped every year until Tweetie ages out of them. Then we donate them and search for a replacement to keep our stock at 24.

This year our first book was A Silly, Snowy Day by Michael Coleman and Gwyneth Williamson. This book, about a young turtle who refuses to hibernate when winter comes, has happy memories associated with it, since it was a gift from Tweetie's preschool. I get a soft, fuzzy feeling every time I see the "Happy Holidays!" sticker with the school name on it. Tweetie likes it because of the refrain: we each get to scoff "Ridiculous!" at some point in the story.

Our second book was The Animals' Christmas Carol by Jerry Smath, a fairly tepid retelling of the Dickens' tale. What's marvelous about the book, though, is the illustrations, which are quite detailed and endearing. I like making up stories about the background characters in the pictures, such as the very proper panda or the clumsy kangaroo who don't get speaking roles but nevertheless seem to be characters living their own stories.

The third book was The Yule Lads by Brian Pilkington. This book was a gift from [livejournal.com profile] sarah_create and reminds me of the old Gnomes book by Wil Huygen. The book profiles each of the Yule Lads of Icelandic folklore, as well as their mother Grylla, her spouses, and even a Yule Cat. Speculative sidenotes ponder how the Lads have adapted to modern times: What does the Bowl Licker do now, when few families leave their dishes on the floor, and most homes have dishwashers? The illustrations are wonderfully grotesque, as befits old fairy tales. Tweetie found them unnerving the first year, but now pores over them with fascination.  

I wonder what we'll unwrap tonight!

~~

cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (jack skellington)
Today we have enlisted Tweetie's fairy godmother to babysit for three hours while we go shopping for Tweetie's gifts. One drawback to not playing at Santa is that Tweetie knows exactly what we're doing. But at least she doesn't know where we're going or what she might be getting. *I* don't even know what she's getting. We have a catalog and her wish list to work from, but I've been pleasantly surprised to find out what she's really interested in these days. She zeroed in on robotics and engineering stuff, rather than the cutesy fluffy animal toys. Given her recent purchase of Barbie dolls from a secondhand shop, I think she'd like some doll clothes, too, even if it's not on the list. You can't expect her to think of *everything*! 
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (xmas)
What a fine day it's been. Actually, two very fine days in a row.

I got my fairy tale Thanksgiving, with jazz and big band and international music playing and matching plates and coordinating linens and most of my chosen tribe and delicious food: bok choy & romaine salad, wild rice and fruit salad, garlic bread, vegetarian lasagna, peach cobbler, chocolate-raspberry cake, plus wine and cider and so many snacky goodies. (We got the lasagna and bread from a local restaurant, so there was a lot more relaxation than usual.) Tweetie and I watched the parade and then some of the dog show. I teared up during a Chevy commercial, and J was disgusted: "You're only crying because it was a car, a Chevy Impala." The weather was nice enough I could go out without a coat and stroll through the neighborhood while sipping from my mug of spiked mulled cider. We played Apples to Apples and Uno and talked about movies (I'd just rewatched The Shining the night before) and of course we laughed a lot.

And today, the gloomy weather has been perfect for snuggling and sleeping in and eating leftovers and watching old, feel-good movies. I watched Never Been Kissed and maybe half of Ten Inch Hero before the innuendo was eclipsed by nudity and I had to turn it off for Tweetie's sake. (Oh but Jensen Ackles looks good with neck tats and eyeliner and a green mohawk and kilt!) Then I watched People Will Talk, one of my all-time favorite black-and-white films. I teared up again, and this time J was considerate. (I suspect he got misty-eyed the first time we watched it, too. Hee!)

I've been very happy, and grateful for every moment of it. I hope all my LJ friends are doin' good, too. :)


cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (so tired)

Whenever I think about summarizing this week's shitscape, my brain shrivels in its case and tries to hide. So instead, in the following spirit

Attention: Shit could be worse (you're not dead)


I shall post Happy-Making Things.

1. I watched The Lost Boys again last night. Hilarious as always. This time I noticed how handsy Michael is with his little brother Sammy while Grandpa's laying down the house rules, and I caught the pedo vibe from Max: just how did he end up with a pack of teenage boys in need of a mother...?

2. Feminist Ryan Gosling. And this one is my favorite so far:



3. Tis the season for pan de muerto. We're invited to a dinner for Dia de los Muertos, so I'm thinking I'll bake a practice loaf this weekend and a fresh one for the party.

Or maybe I'll just sit here staring at Ryan...

4. I wrote yesterday (about 1K). And I'll write today. 

5. And what the hell, this song always cheers me up: Caress Me Down, by Sublime (lyrics NSFW)

Yell Fire

Jul. 4th, 2011 10:53 am
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (chevy)
 
On Fireworks, by Suzanne Buffam

Radiant pitchforks thunder in the now
Trailing specters of is

~~

Our city's fireworks were last night. I enjoy fireworks, but I grew up out in the sticks and we blew things up ourselves. It was close and immediate and interactive. If it got too hot or buggy, we went inside for a bit. We were our only company, with the possible exception of the roadhouse across the railroad tracks, which sometimes got competitive in its displays. So this city's fireworks shows feel pretty tedious to me: arriving hours before dark to stake out a good spot, killing time with fidgety child and husband, enduring the music from the jazz festival (I'm not a jazz fan), being overrun by strangers as dusk falls, then the hour and a half to get out of traffic and back home. I try to be a good sport for J and Tweetie's sake, but I'd just as soon stay home.

~~

Yesterday I watched Spirited Away with Tweetie. As it so happens, I find this an ideal movie for Independence Day. To me it is so much the immigrant's story, specifically the child immigrant's. Chihiro finds herself in a strange new world where she is reviled for being human. She must sign away her name to get a job. She does disgusting work no one else wants so she can earn her parents' freedom. She is constantly at the mercy of people she's just met and whose motivations she can only guess at. The food is strange, nutritious perhaps but not comforting. She's told she stinks, that she's lazy and ungrateful and stupid. She perseveres and, thankfully, she gets a happy ending.
 
It is difficult to participate in a patriotic holiday when one feels marginalized, even obliterated, by the common notion of patriotism. As in so many other situations, I find myself searching for an "in" I can live with. Independence Day as metaphor for the immigrant's dream is my "in" here.
 
I suggested to J that The Godfather could also be a part of our Independence Day traditions--"The first line is 'I believe in America,'" I said.--but he demurred. "Do we really want to teach Tweetie that the American dream is to make it in America by killing other people?" he said. To which I had to say, "Oh all right, fine, be that way." ;)
 
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (saint dean)
 
This morning, [livejournal.com profile] hominysnark retweeted an Easter joke that had me snorfling my coffee. Of course, then Tweetie wanted to know what was so funny, so I told her, then I had to give her a clean version of the Easter story by way of explanation.

"See, Christians believe that Jesus Christ died and then a couple days later on Easter, he CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD!"

Tweetie frowned. "That's odd."

"The weird thing," added J, "is they don't consider him a zombie or a vampire."

Tweetie looked thunderstruck. "What?! They don't?! What?!"

"Finish your yogurt, honey. You'll be late for school."

~~
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (hola)
We had friends over yesterday to help us celebrate Pi Day. We made apple and cherry pies. Our friends took home the apple pie. When J came home from work, we had pecan pie, too. Dinner music was a youtube Pi playlist.

My buddy (also a poet) and I vaguely planned to do some pi-related poetry. I'd been thinking of three lines, fourteen syllables each. My friend had a better idea to do with the kids--although the kids were too busy doing their own thing to pay pi any mind: three lines with the syllable counts 3, 1, 4, and for added panache, a "point" or period at the end of the first line.

Your circle.
Closed,
though I reach out

~
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (love)

I went through our movie collection, wondering what JJ and I could watch all cozied up together with my box of chocolates. Now, my go-to is My Bloody Valentine 3-D, but I thought it would be nicer if I didn't spend all night perving over Jensen Ackles with JJ sitting uncomfortably beside me. So I came up empty and told J, "We just don't watch a lot of romances, do we?"

JJ beamed at the fortuitous segue. RedBox was having a free-movie special tonight, he explained. So he'd thought long and hard about what we could watch for date night on this most romantic evening (as dictated by the Hallmark Mafia).

"Thus," he said, whipping out a DVD, "tonight's viewing is Machete!"

He knows me so well. <3

cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (so tired)
squirrel with arms raised in Lloyd Dobler pose



Day 9: Two smileys that describe your life right now.

Too sick to bother searching for appropriate smileys. So instead I offer you appropriate icons.

which is to say, I feel bad.


but I still have my Christmas spirit. It's just a little twisted right now.

cafenowhere: abby from TV show NCIS, eyes closed, listening to music (abby dreaming)

First, a couple of links:

[livejournal.com profile] pgdudda righteously castigates NetFlix for its failure to provide captioning for its internet movie-viewing. NetFlix's decision not only inconveniences families like mine--in which parents try to watch scream-filled flicks, but quietly, after the kids have gone to bed--but also clearly violates the ADA.

And perhaps because we've entered the holiday season, when many of us contemplate stabbing our loved ones with Christmas trees or strangling them with twinkle lights, [livejournal.com profile] toddalcott has posted his analysis of Kubrick's The Shining, asking the all-important questions, Who is the protagonist? and What does the protagonist want?

Now, a couple of lists:

I am thankful for my family, books, music, my cats, coffee, chocolate, art, the moon, movies, Tweetie's skool, the seasons, my friends, Livejournal, Woodpecker Cider, Jack Daniels, my bed, museums, electricity, candle light, my glasses, trees, tofu, and sertraline...

Tweetie is thankful for her best friends, books, her house, her mom and dad, toys, movies, her skool, food, drinks, day and night, several of her stuffed animals, cats, art class, flowers, dogs, and trees...

cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (dancing bones)

Last night JJ surprised me by bringing home a loaf of pan de muerto from a local restaurant/bodega, La Reyna. It's adorable! It's shaped like a round person with their hands clasped in front of them, sort of like those goddess images, or a chubby Virgin Mary. It's dusted with red sugar. Alas, we cannot put it out on the ofrenda because the cats will maul it. So we shall probably gobble it up tonight!

JJ ate lunch at La Reyna and saw that they had botanas on the menu. Of course, he had to take me back there for dinner, because I grew up eating botanas and he'd never heard of them before I raved about their gooey goodness.

A botana, as I understand it, is a platter of tortilla chips smothered under beans, fajitas, peppers, onions, jalapenos, and cheese, with quesadillas on top and dollops of sour cream and guacamole. Kind of like nachos that have been so drowned you'd never know the chips were once crunchy.

I have missed botanas SO MUCH--it's been 17 years, people--that I ordered a plate without the meat, even though it felt sacrilegious. The waiter looked dubious and convinced me to add fajita-style veggies. The owner came over to talk to us and she seemed excited to find someone who knew botanas from childhood. And when the plate finally came, it was so good I could've cried. It was like going home, but better, because I didn't have to eat meat and nobody gave me any crap about it. I also had a Coke from a glass bottle, which I swear tastes better than from a can, plastic, or the machine.

I have leftovers for lunch today. I am ecstatic.

What foods take you home? Do you have to doctor them? What are your once-a-year foods, the kind you only have for special occasions?

My Ofrenda

Oct. 26th, 2010 05:11 pm
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (dancing bones)
This year, the ofrenda I've made for my grandpa includes
  • a photo of my grandpa and grandma (I'm still at odds with Gram, but Grampa wouldn't want to be without her)
  • a loteria card and the calling cards for el sol, el mundo, el corazon, el borracho (a family joke), and la muerte
  • American bingo cards and tokens
  • a sugar-skull-styled candle holder holding a pair of barber shears and a comb, and a slip of paper quoting Rick Barot ("When he died, he left behind a room full of nouns and adjectives.")
  • a postcard of Jose Guadalupe Posada's dancing skeletons
  • two Cubees I made last year, one of Michael Myers, one of the Wolfman
  • an egg-shaped white pumpkin
  • a tiny old-fashioned telephone
  • half a grapefruit
No candles yet, as the materials are so flammable. I'd also like to find some pesos (he always had so much change in his pockets, maybe on purpose because his children and then grandchildren liked to steal coins from his change jar after he fell asleep on the couch). A marranito would be nice, too. I still have time.
I'd be happy to talk about the ofrenda and its elements. If you're curious, feel free to ask.

:)

Remains

Jul. 8th, 2010 02:01 pm
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (Default)


~

scorched taffeta, smelted bitterness
The wedding dress deflates in the firepit
like an over-roasted marshmallow.
Black-bubbled satin and blistered pearls
puddle in the cooling coals.
slow asphyxiation to soothe
the burn of betrayal

~

The Inspiration )

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