Monday, May 21, 2012

Don't be a quitter!

I said I didn’t care, maybe I didn’t. I slid my hands inside the pockets of my hand-woven poncho and walked away, mad. Occasionally kicking a pebble or ant hill, I weaved my way through the scrub brush and yucca; back to the old metal shed we called a clubhouse. I threw myself down on the old tire seat inside. My butt hit the hard earth underneath causing me to arch my back in pain as I lifted off of the dirt, rubbing my 8-year-old jean clad bottom. “Damn it!” I yelled. I quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard me swear. But I was alone.

Everyone else had stayed behind on the bank of the dried-up river bed shooting BB guns at the Mexican kids across on the other side. Why hadn’t I stayed? Was it because I knew what we were doing was wrong? I turned my pistol over in my dirty hands, inspecting it. Opening the chamber, I poured in dozens of silver BB’s and slid the dusty chamber closed. I knew why I hadn’t stayed; I thought, as I raised the barrel to the sky, elbows bent in an armed pose I’d seen on TV. It was this worthless weapon I held in my hands. It couldn’t shoot ten feet, let alone the 50 or so feet it would take to cross the Burrendo River. In anger, I aimed the gun at the opening in the wall and pulled the trigger, sending a speeding orb away with my wrath.

I learned a valuable lesson that day as I sat alone in that chicken coop turned clubhouse. It’s one that has served me well all these years. For you see, that lonesome BB I sent soaring, hit the tin metal wall and returned to my unsuspecting face with much more force than I realized it possessed.
I was grateful for the tender skin beneath my right eye which caught the BB, sparing me the spanking I knew I’d get when I got home had it lodged in the eyeball it was closest to.

The incident taught me a couple of things. 1. Never haphazardly shoot when angry, and 2. Never walk away from a gun fight, regardless of how much or how little faith you have in your firearm.

Sunday, May 13, 2012


I know it's been a while, but I haven't had anything to write about. Or so I thought.
After speaking to my older brother by phone yesterday, I realized something dreadful. I have allowed  living to get in the way of life.

Making excuses for why I can't go here or attend that, I sink into my own world of busy "to do's" that won't change history if they have to wait. I rush to this meeting or that group, only to think about what has to be done before tomorrow; never really enjoying where I am at the moment.

I catch myself, eyes glazing over, listening to my husband talk about his work. I hear what my son is saying, but before his point is made my mind is elsewhere. My friend is telling me her dad is ill, but I hold up a finger for her to wait as I interupt her to take an "important" phone call.

One of these days, no one will be here for me to ignore. I'll have no one.

Maybe I'll change. Maybe I'll stop putting everything and everyone that doesn't really matter in front of the only ones who truly do.