Juan of Words

Pomp and Circumstance: The Day our Dog knocked us back down into Reality

The Snob

We had never lived in a neighborhood like this one before.  There were rules about almost everything: how high your grass could get before you’d get one of those friendly little reminders in the mail, where you could park your car, obviously not on the lawn as we soon found out, before somebody would show up at your door asking you to move your vehicle to a less unsightly spot on your driveway, how many people could park up and down your street when you were having a party, and how exactly it was you could gain access to the community pool in the middle of the neighborhood.

Deed restrictions they called them, and they were meant to maintain the integrity of our subdivision, or so the bill said every year end when it would come in the mail.  In all honesty, though, we didn’t really care too much for the integrity of our neighborhood.  This was the first place we lived where we actually had two restrooms!  And that was way more important to us than anything else.  Before that, all eight of us – my eldest sister had already married and moved out – had to take turns showering and relieving ourselves in the one restroom we had in the little bitty first house my parents had been able to purchase.  As you can imagine, mornings and anytime we had to be somewhere, our house was especially a stressful place to be.

How my sister managed to get ready at that little house for her wedding, as well as the rest of us, and still make it to the church on time is still a mystery to me, but those were different times and we were all used to sharing our space, and everything else about ourselves, with each other.

So no!  We didn’t care much about the deed restrictions in our new neighborhood, and considered them more of a bother than anything else.  My mother in particular loathed the fact that she couldn’t raise her chickens and other livestock in our backyard.  Nobody in our old neighborhood had ever complained about our jumbo-sized pig, Joaquina in the backyard!  Still, the one thing we were all excited about was the fact that we had an actual community pool where we could spend our summer days if we wanted to, and not just anyone was allowed in it.  You had to have an official homeowners association issued identification card in order to be granted swimming pool access, which meant that in order to get one of those green-laminated ID’s you had to be current with your annual fees.

We wanted in, so we paid our dues on time for the first time that year.

There we went, all six of us, my three sisters and two brothers, with our two dollars each to pay for our pool access cards and ready to have our pictures taken in order to prove later we were in fact the people we said we were when we’d want to get in the pool.  I know… it was all very bureaucratic.

Once we had the ID cards we did frequent the pool quite a bit.  Not all of us together all of the time, but usually at least three or four of us at a time.  I was out of high school and probably about 18 or 19 years old at the time, with my youngest sister in elementary school and my eldest sister who still lived with us a full fledged professional in the real world.

Which brings me to our dog at the time… no me acuerdo ni siquiera como se llamaba, but he was a stocky little furry fellow, about half the size of a full grown lab probably, a mut like the rest of all of the other dogs we ever owned, and a dirty blonde color all over.  Anyhow, this particular lazy summer day we were in the mood to do just that: be lazy and do nothing besides swim in our community pool.  By this time we had already gotten used to showing up at the piscina, that was the proper word for it in Spanish, and weren’t as embarrassed as we were at the beginning to just sign in and claim our own area of the poolside deck.  I’d say we were even a little cocky about our community pool.  No me acuerdo cuantos ibamos, but there we went, sporting our most presentable swimwear, each with our own personal towel from the stack mamá had just finished washing, and ready to act “all fancy” in our private neighborhood pool.  Only we hadn’t noticed that when we’d left the house our mut of a dog had trailed right behind us.

As soon as we jumped in and started splashing around we heard the terrifying screams.  The pool bouncer, a Caucasian woman in her late forties, was racing around the pool screaming at the top of her lungs, the lifeguards, first caught off guard and then springing into action, were, some of them, trying to calm startled children, even some adults, the others running around, grabbing whatever they could to pull our dog out of the water, and there smack in the middle of the crystal blue pool, our perro, swimming around like he was just another properly-identified-member of the community.  He tried swimming in our direction and thought it was all fun and games, but we were much too quick for his dog paddling.  As soon as we realized it was our dog we all jumped out of the pool, grabbed whosever towel we could get to first from our pile, and bolted out of the community pool and parking lot.  We hadn’t even made it to the stop sign at the end of the street when we heard our dog barking behind us.

It was embarrassing beyond belief, and there was no way that anyone had not made the connection, that the mut in the pool belonged to the Mexicans, but all the way home we couldn’t help but crack up about what had just happened.

Nope.  We definitely weren’t fancy pool people!

Blogger vs. Blogger – Juan of Words vs. Latinaish

Remember the comic strip Spy vs. Spy?  Well this is the Blogger version of it, and who better to help me inaugurate this very fun and virtual challenge than the one and only Latinaish.  I couldn’t have asked for a better or fiercer competitor than Tracy, because aside from being mi hermana del alma and a great friend, she’s one hell of a luchadora… and can “smack talk” like you wouldn’t believe.  Seriously!

So, in this corner, carrying the Mexican flag and wearing his favorite pair of chanclas, drinking a bottle of pure Valentina… un servidor, ready to rumble.  And in that corner, La Gringa Bien Latina, Tracy herself, accompanied by her husband, children, and her coach, La Suegra, who’s waving the Salvadoran flag in the air, pumping up her nuera for the battle royale!  The rules were simple.  Take pictures of the same 10 items, post them on the same date, link to each other’s blogs, and let the people make their choice over whose blog entry they like best.

Here’s my humble submission:

Los pelioneros

1. Silliest Photo with Your Family: Think Family of Ninjas gone bad, LOL!  We had way too much fun trying to take a presentable picture for this category.  Several of the images really looked like we were hurting each other.

Quesadilla Grande de Taqueria el Alteño

2. Favorite Local Dish: There are so many good places to eat around here, but hands down, my favorite dish is, of course, Mexican, and from one of the most authentic Taquerías I’ve ever been to.  The number four (quesadilla grande), which is how I always order it at Taquería Alteño every time we go.  For a while they even took my order without me even saying anything.

El Trono

3. Favorite Outdoor Spot for Brainstorming: Cada rey tiene su trono, and well, this one is mine!  Whether it’s from Writer’s Block, stress, or just life in general, when I need to sit down for a minute and just relax, regroup my thoughts, or clear my mind, nothing works better than this little lawn chair outside of my house.  It’s on the porch and also gives me a great view of all of the neighbors, jajaja… ¡chismoso!

Mi camita

4. Favorite Nook of your House: My side of the bed.  It’s comfortable, relaxing, soft, cushiony, and “my side!”  We’ve had that argument on more than one occasion!  “It’s my side of the bed!  Go to bed on your side.”  The main reason why I don’t ever want to switch sides is the alarm next to my bed.  I’m not a morning person and without that alarm would sleep till noon.

Downtown Houston

5. Favorite Family Spot: We’re always in Downtown.  Usually in the car, driving somewhere else, or just driving through to avoid the traffic on the freeways.  Still, every time we’re in Downtown, especially at night, we always seem to be having a good time.  I also work in this area and most of the big events that take place here take place in Downtown… so that’s another reason we’re always there.

The Washburn Tunnel in Galena Park

6. Best Kept Secret in your Area: Maybe it’s that I’m not a native Houstonian, but until a couple of years ago I didn’t even know we had an actual tunnel in the area.  We do, and it’s The Washburn Tunnel in Galena Park, just outside of Houston.  The first time we drove through the 3,791 foot underwater tunnel I was ecstatic, like we had just discovered the best thing since sliced bread!

Gato de Oro (Faux)

7. Most Random Item in your House: In all honesty, I don’t know the story behind this faux gold cat at all.  One day I just showed up at home and it was sitting on the bookshelf next to the TV, looking in my direction and kind of freaking me out, so I try to keep it faced away from me.  Me imagino que fue una compra de mi esposa. Otherwise it just showed up on its own, which is even scarier!

Mi Valentina Sauce!

8. If the sky were falling, what would be the first item you’d grab, after people: This one was just too easy.  My Valentina sauce, of course!  Wherever we’d end up we’re going to need to spice up whatever it is that we’re eating… Right?

Le' Edgar

9. Favorite piece of Art Work in your Home: No competition.  My wife, Anjelica took this picture of Edgar several years ago in her mother’s front yard, and since then it’s been my favorite piece of art in the house.  My suegra yelled at her for having uprooted the savila (aloe) in the picture from her yard, and so, we then had the image enlarged and framed.

Chanclas para los chancletazos

10. Favorite Pair of Shoes: Had we done this competition a few weeks earlier my real favorite shoes would have been in the picture.  They were chanclas too, only the kind that covered more of my feet and could be secured around my foot with a back strap.  The only problem, they were literally falling apart and despite Anjelica telling me to get rid of them, I refused.  One day I just could not find them anymore… I knew what had happened, so I immediately went to the store and bought more chanclas!  These are extra comfortable and cushiony as you can see by how worn they are already.

So that’s it folks!  My complete and full entry for Blogger vs. Blogger – Juan of Words vs. Latinaish.  Make sure and stop by Tracy’s Latinaish to check out her response to these images, and let me know what you think… if there were a prize who would you give it to?

Acknowledgements:
A special thanks to Tracy Lopez of Latinaish for accepting my invitation to participate in this first Blogger vs. Blogger challenge.  Also, a huge thanks to my wife, Anjelica for being the creative force behind this competition, and for taking all the wonderful pictures for me.  We had a lot of fun putting this together.

Happy Birthday, Bikini!

Evolution of the Bikini

Eeny, weeny, teeny, weeny… little polka dot bikini! Well actually it could be any design or color, so long as one part “covers the breasts and the other part covers the crotch and part of or the entire buttocks, leaving an uncovered area between the two,” as Wikipedia so eloquently puts it, jajaja!

Why am I blogging about bikinis?  Because it’s their birthday!

According to the deejay on the radio this morning, the modern day bikini turns 65 years old this month.  That seems kind of young for such a staple of the American fashion fiber, but apparently it’s true… after reading more about it online, it turns out, in fact, the bikini turns that age today!  Even more bizarre, that the bikini was created by French engineer Louis Réard in 1946.  He was running his mother’s lingerie boutique at the time and designed the bikini as the world’s “smallest bathing suit,” only to find that once it was done nobody would wear it!

Models refused to sport the bikini because it was too small and revealed too much… clearly he wouldn’t have had that problem today, so the first woman to wear the bikini was actually a nude dancer named Michelle Bernardini.

Así es que Happy Birthday Bikini!

May you have many, many more years to come in the future!

I want to know more about the bikini

Did I ever tell you about the day I was born? – A Guest Post

Secundino Guerrero, wife Dora, and children Patsy and Dolores (L)

I was very fond of my Dad and we were very close.  For several years on my birthday, he would tell me this story about the day I was born.  My Dad was tall and thin.  His name fit him well.  He was dark olive complected with very black hair.  He was very handsome.  He was a happy go lucky man.  He always appeared to be happy.  He was the kind of man who would come in dancing or singing.  He always seemed to live in the now.  He lived life the way we all should live life, in the present.  It is said living in the now means “that yesterday is gone, so don’t worry about it and tomorrow is not yet a reality so don’t worry about that either.”  I think my Dad had some deep seated emotions from his past that he held inside, yet he never let anyone know.

His character was one we should all learn from.  They also say that laughter can cure anything.  He was always happy.  That’s why I loved him so much.

So on my birthday, my Dad would call me and say “Did I ever tell you about the day you were born?”  I would say “Dad”, and he would go on with his story:

It was winter, January 1948.  It had been snowing and it was very early in the morning, still dark.  Four or five in the morning.  Your mom, wakes me and says, “Seco,” short for Secundino, “the baby’s coming.”  I then jumped out of bed and told her I would go start the car.  Because it was winter, everything frozen at night in Colorado.  As I got dressed, she got her things together.  I went out through the snow and started the car.  I wanted to heat it up before she got in.  Well, he would say, I was driving down the road very fast.  I’m so worried that she might have the baby in the car so I decide to drive faster.  As we’re going down the road, a motorcycle cop comes after me.  He stops me and says “Seco, why are you speeding?”

Rocky Ford Colorado was a very small town.  Everyone knew each other by first names, even the police.  My Dad loved that little town.  It’s where he grew up.  It’s where he married, had children and enjoyed his youth with happiness and joy.

It was the late twenties and early thirties.

It was also where he met my mom and fell in love.  It’s where he had me, his favorite daughter.  No matter what mistakes my Dad made, I loved him very much.

Seco was born in Guantajanto, Mexico.  He came to the United States when he was 6 to 8 years old.  They had migrated to this small town during the early 20’s when the United States had developed a program called the Prasedo Program, which allowed immigrant farm workers to enter the United States for a while and do farm labor.  My grandfather came first and several months later sent for my grandmother, Dolores and his three children, Seco being the oldest.

Now imagine Seco, this jolly man saying to the cop, “my wife’s having a baby.  I got to get her to the hospital.” The cop says “Oh, okay Seco, lets go”, gets in front of him and turns on the siren and takes off with Seco in his car, behind him, speeding down the road with sirens.  Seco would say “that’s how we got you to the hospital and that was the night you were born.”

Year after year my beloved Dad would tell the same story.

I took my Dad to the emergency room on my 48^th birthday.  He told me the same story as we waited for the doctor.

My Dad would never go home again.

So now on my birthday, I share this story with anyone who wants to hear it.  It’s become a tradition.

About Guest Blog
It is said that sometimes the universe connects you to others with purpose.  That randomly, for reasons you may not even understand, you cross paths, and are inspired, to do something different, try something new, or even just to continue on the path you’re already on.  Such is the case with my guest blogger today, the gifted and wonderfully inspiring Dolores Guerrero.  We met online recently, talking summer heat and memories, her in the mountains of California, me in the humidity of Texas, and what resulted from that initial conversation, and subsequent others, was her granting me permission to share with you this very touching and poignant personal story about her father.  I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

About the Author
Dolores Guerrero is an artist and writer living in California, whose artwork has been exhibited at The Museum of Modern Art in New York, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Loyal Marymount University Gallery, The Mexican American Museum in Chicago, as well as featured in several books such as Triumph of Our Communities, Four Decades of Mexican American Art, Chicano Art of Our Millennium and Contemporary Chicana and Chicano Art.