The cositas we carry...

Those who follow my blog know, or have figured out, that I am of Bolivian descent. Papi came to the states in the early 1960s, and brought my Mami over on their wedding day in 1966. I know that they both brought cositas (small things) with them to give a Bolivian toquecito (touch) to their new American home. These familiar items - among them an aguayo, a monolito, pictures of the cantuta and the city of La Paz, and many, many record albums of Bolivian music - were how I came to learn about my ethnicity.

My love for Bolivia grew during my childhood, kindled by my father's determination to take my siblings and me there every summer. The months of July and August were an endless adventure of cousins, day trips, family celebrations, music, succulent foods, sunshine, Sunday mass with the abuelitos (grandparents), and every eye-popping color of the rainbow. My childhood was rich for those experiences.

The Ekeko, pictured here, was also an object of "Bolivian-ness" I recall seeing now and then while growing up. Relatives would give these small dolls to my family as we left to come home to New Jersey. This little guy carries tiny possessions, miniature foods, and paper money - all symbols for the things we hope to never have to do without.

My parents recently returned from a trip to Bolivia, and brought back my very own Ekeko. Only this time, it's the female version of the small god - an Ekeka. She carries of course food, clothing, money, as well as kitchen tools, and a cell phone. She also rides a bike, holds her baby under one arm, and carries her husband on her back. A small dog runs by her side.

I love this cosita and place her on my bookshelf. She makes me smile. I imagine she's also lugging a laptop somewhere in her bundle, a bunch of books, bread and chocolate, and of course an iPod loaded with the heart-filling music of Bolivia.

Realizing what you have...

... when your thoughts are crowded with work, obligations, daily routines, and the wish that you could do what you want to do...

... is difficult.

But once someone or something gets through, and shakes you a bit, you see more clearly, or at least you begin to.

Tuneful Tuesday - "Closer to Fine"

The Indigo Girls' Closer to Fine was a hit in the late 1980s. I distinctly remember my teenage cousins singing along a todo dar (with all their heart) and how lovely they looked and sounded. Unfortunately, I didn't pay much attention to the song back then, nor to my cousins.

More than 20 years later, I came across this song again, and discovered how happy it makes me feel. Songs do that to us. Sometimes it's the lyrics, or the melody, or the memory attached to a song, that makes it linger, heal, or please.

I placed Closer to Fine in my iPod this past weekend. While I set up my son's iPod, he asked me to place it in his as well, and said "That one makes you smile."

Here's to songs that just plain feel good.

Times Like These

Why, when you think you have it together, do you start rethinking everything?

Words fail me tonight. I can't find them when I'd most like to. I'm thinking of do-overs and looking ahead, some kind of change. Maybe I just need to go for a long walk in the sunshine.

Here is Dave Grohl of Foo Fighters singing "Times Like These". I believe he is singing what I'm feeling.

Canciones que calman

Certain songs and sounds reach me in a way that is difficult to put in words. I've found that, were my life a movie or a play, specific melodies would have to be in the background. When I replay the events of my life, they come accompanied by songs.

While I was having one of those weeks at school, I discovered Fleet Foxes, thanks to "Ms. Cornelius" at A Shrewdness of Apes. I'm finding an indescribable kind of comfort in songs like "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song", "Mykonos", "Blue Ridge Mountains", and "White Winter Hymnal".

You can see Fleet Foxes' January 17 performance on Saturday Night Live here. And here is a short but beautiful video for "White Winter Hymnal". I loved it the first time I heard it.

Rocking out with José

My dad took us out last night to see José Feliciano. What a show! José sang old and new hits, among them his awesome rendition of the Beatles’ In My Life, his own Porque te tengo que olvidar, his ever-popular Doors' hit Light My Fire, and the one that makes my heart ache, Chico and the Man. My husband got the chills when José sang Elvis’ Suspicious Minds.

I’m used to singing out loud and dancing through concerts, but last night the crowd was made up of older, low-key folks, in other words viejitos. People stayed put in their seats. But I felt myself chair-dancing, I couldn’t help it. Especially when José played his version of Clapton’s Lay Down Sally, and Sergio Mendez’ signature song Mais que nada. I was totally feeling the music. I wanted to get up and DANCE!

My son was mesmerized by the effortless way José’s fingers traveled up and down the guitar, creating the most soul-filled melodies. The artist told jokes and shared short stories between songs, about growing up in New York, about friends and family, and memories of his teachers. Even at this time in his life, when he has enjoyed success and basks in the love of his fans around the world, José spoke of his teachers. That meant the world to me.

Toward the end of the evening, José played a deeply-felt Drummer Boy… reminding me (the doubter, the questioner) about humility. It’s etched in my mind, nudging me to adjust my attitude. I wish you could have heard it.

José closed the show with Feliz Navidad, one of the most popular holiday songs in the United States, and the #1 downloaded Latino song on iTunes. Everyone in the house was clapping and singing along in Spanish, and for me, the world was just about perfect.

Gracias papi – por el hermoso regalo.

An afternoon swim

Rainy day weekends command naps
and she is more than willing to oblige
once the clock shows 2 or 3
or after lunch, when her insides are full and warm.
She bids farewell to the others, and calls up to her bed
“I’m on my way!”
gathering up her book as she climbs to her room,
her quiet heaven.
She slips off her daily clothes, folds them neatly and places them
on a nearby chair, for later,
then reaches under her pillow for the softest nightshirt,
stretching her arms as the comforting worn cotton falls around her shoulders.
Pulling the covers away, she wants to jump in,
but won’t disturb the cat, already blissfully asleep.
Carefully, precisely, she climbs in, and lays down,
opening her book to the part where the boy and his horse
ride into the ocean and swim with the dolphins.
While she reads
her feet rub against each other rhythmically
remnants of a child’s self-soothing habit
and after two or three pages
her eyes begin to grow heavy
and the rain calls her to sleep
the book falls away,
and the breeze lifts the curtains.
The rains sing and soothe
as she swims away.

Viva la vida y los momentos que compartimos

Last Sunday night, a week ago, we surprised our son with a Coldplay concert. We tricked him in to thinking we were going to his grandparents’ house for a late dinner, and on the way he fell asleep in the car. Perfect! My husband drove while we rocked out to our favorite music and the boy slept in the back.

When we finally made it to the concert, we blasted the radio, playing “Viva la Vida”, waking the boy up. His eyes were wide, alarmed. “Wake up! Wake up! Let’s go man! We’re at the Coldplay concert!” My husband was having fun with this.

“Yeeeeaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” my son roared. He was clearly psyched.

We had an awesome time. I kept looking over at my little boy, now as tall as me, singing, clapping, cheering, feeling the emotions that one feels when totally surrounded by music and people. People from all over were there, yet everyone seemed to be from the same place, feeling the same joy. There’s nothing like music to make you feel like the world will be OK.

On the way home, 1:00 in the morning, my son said, “I’ll never forget this night.” Me neither, kid. You, me, and the music.