reunion

friday afternoon, my parents and i loaded their car with weekend luggage and embarked on a 3 1/2 hour journey north, from bakersfield to watsonville.

it seems that most of the highways in central california that head west are small and curve--sometimes gently, sometimes dramatically--through the mountains. the summer heat begins to break somewhere north of paso robles. and we noticed that right around salinas, a herd of grey clouds completely absorbed the sun.

i'm amazed at how different the northern california coast is from the central valley. the crisp air, the chill after sunset, the gray overscast mornings. i was glad that i had dug through my boxes of clothes for jeans and a couple of sweatshirts (items of clothing that i would never wear during this time of year in bakersfield!). it was a welcome relief from the valley's relentless summer heat and haziness.

i hadn't seen my sister in six months, since her wedding. i had been in texas all that time, while she and her husband had been settling into their new home and their new life together.

we shared meals, watched movies, toured beautiful capitola village and santa cruz. my brother drove over from modesto on saturday, so we found ourselves enjoying a kind of family reunion. just catching up, enjoying each other's company.

if i'd had more foresight, i would have planned to stay another couple of days with my sister and her husband. but i realize that, now that i'm back in california, there will be plenty of opportunities to visit. watsonville is a short (and inexpensive southwest airlines) plane ride away from southern california.

this past weekend reminded me why i've always coveted the jobs at california universities--because of their proximity to my family.

and now i don't have to covet any more. :)

@>-->>---

disorientation

i jumped in my car yesterday, ascended into the mountainous terrain of the grapevine, and finally descended into the smoggy los angeles basin, to touch base at my new job.

i got a late start and arrived just before lunch. rather than pester the administrative staff into helping me run my errands right before their lunch, i decided to wait. i'd find a quaint place for lunch around campus and be at the department door by 1PM.

everywhere i drove in the campus vicinity was packed, and there was no parking anywhere. i thought to find the local california pizza kitchen (yum), called and got directions. it turned out that the CPK worker who got my call misdirected me. i ended up back in the neighborhood where i had been apartment hunting the week before. determined, i pulled over, pulled out my map, and tried to figure out where i had gone wrong.

i found my way on the map, but decided that i no longer had time for a restaurant lunch. instead i pulled into a shopping center and saw a taquería. i parked illegally at vons (vons customers only!) since there was no parking anywhere else and had a satisfying lunch--un taco de carne asada y un taco al pastor, por favor.

back on campus, the administrative staff gave me a laundry list of things to do:

move books (that i had previously shipped to the department) to my office
check out office!
get keys
go to parking services for a permit
get university faculty (!) ID card
consult with IT guru who would assess my computer needs

i drove and walked around campus all afternoon. my final trip was to the library, where i needed to find books for the course i'm planning and an article i'm writing. though it was a hassle to check out the books since i am only semi-in the system, i was pleased when the student worker mistook me for a student. i have to confess that even i am having a difficult time wrapping my mind around the idea that i'm now a professor.

everyone keeps telling me how exciting it is to be moving to a new city, working at this university.
it is exciting. but it's kind of overwhelming, too. to be the new girl. to not know where i'm going. to constantly ask for directions. to be turned around. to not really know anyone. i suppose the enormity of southern california, with all of its pollution and crisscrossing highways and traffic, doesn't help much.

but i have to remind myself that, at one time, i was the new girl in austin. and i didn't know a soul. i was completely disoriented, having moved to a new state (!), a new city, and a new university. but that worked out pretty well.

and though it's difficult to imagine loving any place like i do austin, i guess i need to go into this new place with an open mind. and probably an open heart, too.

@>-->>--

being mexican american

when i was an undergraduate, it was an ongoing joke among my family that i was a "born again mexican."

it was true. in college, at the urging of a boy on whom i had a crush, i read my first chicana novel (the house on mango street) and was shocked to find--along with that book--an entire section of chicano/latino studies at the stanford bookstore. there were books on everything--literature, history, politics, social science, art, etc. i couldn't believe that i had never been exposed to any of it throughout the entire course of my primary and secondary education.

i was enthralled. maybe even a bit obsessed. with being mexican american.

twelve years later (yikes!), i complete my Ph.D. in social anthropology, with an emphasis on borderland studies, and a doctoral portfolio in mexican american studies.

two months after my graduation, at my sister's wedding, one of my cousins teases, "so you finally finished your degree in being mexican???"

i laugh. yes, i guess i have.

i've been thinking about this lately because now i'm in bakersfield, which is a fairly conservative town, and people have been asking what i do.

i tell them that i'm going to be a professor of chicano studies.

and then i brace myself.

not for a fight necessarily, but for the questions. and the (mis)perceptions.

saturday afternoon, my best friend introduced me as a professor to a coworker. upon hearing that i would be teaching chicano/a studies, he started to grill me about the issues--immigration and labor, art and religion!

later that evening at a party, a young farmer asked if was going to teach an entire class about césar chávez.

"no... not an entire class," i replied and wondered if he was relieved.

i think that chicano/a studies really is about being mexican and mexican american in the united states. but the truth is that our experiences are so varied that chicano/a studies scholars could study forever and never know it all. i suppose it doesn't help that our culture continues to change with each subsequent generation, with the different regions where we settle, the people we encounter, the kind of education we receive, etc., etc.

i now find myself talking about being mexican american all the time, even teaching it. it's funny because most of the time, i wish people would just let me be.

@>-->>---

homecoming

two weeks ago, at 6AM, i am crying and indignant when an airport worker tells me that i have been bumped to the next flight, which is scheduled to leave in SIX hours.

after much sniveling and whining and generally trying to make everyone feel sorry for me, one young airline worker finds a flight that will deliver me to albuquerque only three hours after my original flight would have.

the airline would pay ($271) for a taxi to drive me one hundred miles to fresno where i could catch my saving flight. i had one hour and forty five minutes to make it.

minutes later, an 80's model ford painted yellow appears and stops at the curb. a 22-year old goth-type girl steps out lightly, asks to see my voucher and springs back into the car as i settle into the backseat.

"do you know how to get to the fresno airport?" she asks me.

"no..." i say, hardly hiding my surprise at her question.

she gets on her CB and calls her dispatcher. "i don't have a cellphone, and i need you to give me directions to the fresno airport."

i understand this to mean that once we are out of her CB radio's range, we are on our own.

she dutifully writes down the directions as her dispatcher dictates them to her, and we are off.

my goth girl taxi driver averages 90-100 miles per hour, weaving around cars on the two lanes that head north on the 99 freeway. after some close calls and jerky driving, i decide it best to close my eyes and try to catch up on some sleep.

secretly, i am grateful for her speed demon ways; i'm afraid that i will miss the flight and have to travel back with her to bakersfield.

soon we are in fresno and both looking for our exit.
we never see the exit the dispatcher has told her to take.

finally, we come to the northern end of the city to the clinton exit. she says that clinton is that last street the dispatcher has told her to take. we get off the freeway, both of us unsure which direction we should head.

i suggest she stop at a gas station to ask for directions.
she ignores my suggestion.

we pull up alongside a white SUV. a 30-something year old mexicano drives. my taxi driver manually rolls down her window and yells, "hey! hey! is this this the road we take the airport?!"

a blank stare. and he drives ahead.

disgruntled, my driver grumbles to me, "i forgot that in FRESNO nobody speaks ENGLISH!"

i am startled and have to remind myself that i am not in my liberal, PC, austin bubble any more. i remain quiet.

until we pull up to the white SUV again at a traffic light. this time the driver is on my side of the car.

i roll down my window and yell, "oiga! está el aerpuerto por esta calle?"

"el aeropuerto? no. está por la... ah sí. está por la clinton."

"está muy lejos?"

"sí, son varias luces."

my driver looks at me expectantly. "it's way down the street," i tell her.

as we tear down the street, the white SUV catches up to us. i turn my head toward the window and the driver, not a bad looking guy actually, raises his eyebrows at me suggestively. i laugh and shake my head, turn away. no, no, i think. i mean, i guess we did share a moment. i've always been good at playing the damsel in distress. why do men love that so much?

she delivers me to the airport curb at 9AM, the exact time when my flight is to begin boarding. i run through security, and am at the gate just in time.

though i am actually leaving the valley, i know that i've arrived.

@>-->>---

moving

two weeks from tonight, i will most likely be spending the night in las cruces, new mexico.
all of my furniture will have been sold and/or donated to goodwill. my essential belongings--books, clothes, CDs--will have been shipped or packed into the trunk of my car.
our apartment will be empty and clean.
my roommate will be moved in (or at least partially moved in) to her new apartment.
and i will have said my good-byes, my see-you-laters to this city, to the people i love in this city, holding the hope that i will come back for visits.

i hate moving.

california will be great.
i'm so lucky to have this job. especially at a research university. in california. three hours from home.
it's nothing against california.
but i love my life in austin.

it was always going to be temporary. and, to be honest, those first two years, i wanted to miracle myself back to california every day. but here i am, nearly seven years later, wanting nothing more than to hold on.

but i'm forced to keep moving.

@>-->>---

the magic valley

las nubes, courtesy of chicanoblogs
Originally uploaded by lamusa.

i moved to the rio grande valley nearly four years ago, during the middle of a very hot texas summer. though i was moving to my mom's hometown of la feria, i did not have the cushion of family to help my stay. my mother's family had migrated from mexico to texas, and then from texas to california. our relatives on her side of the family live either in mexico or in california.

though my mother had introduced me to her padrinos, a very sweet couple in their 80s, who live in "el rancho" (in english, they call it "the country"), i was basically on my own to make friends and to find community.

i spent a little over a year in la feria doing field work for my dissertation. and while my time there was for research, it became personal. the people i met in la feria helped me to grow not only as an anthropologist, but also as a human being. (grad school sometimes has the nasty habit of making you kind of more "intellectual," less "emotional/sensitive").

the day i left la feria, i cried in the car long after we had left the city limits.

one would think that i would welcome any opportunity to go back. but i have to admit that it's difficult for me. it's hard to be a visitor in a town where i used to live so fully. does that make sense?

i hate how everything changes without me. that people don't recognize me as readily. that i have no place of my own to return to at the end of the day.

and so i rarely indulge in trips to la feria. in fact, i hadn't been in a little over a year until this past week. i begin to forget why i loved it so much there.

but after a few days in the valley, i fall in love again. catching up with old friends, marveling at how everything continues to move forward, to change and stay the same. being in the valley with joseph probably made the trip even more vivid, because he was seeing it all for the first time. it was nice to see how he was falling in love with it, too.

at the end of the weekend, we began the long drive back to austin, me with a lump in my throat, and vowing to return. even if just as a visitor.

@>-->>---

a domestic scene in dallas

we entered through the side door because of construction just behind the front door.
joseph introduced me to his grandfather as our eyes became accustomed to the dim, indoor light.
"a sus ordenes," his grandfather introduced himself.

joseph, his grandpa, and i took seats at the kitchen table while a neighbor continued to work on the floor in the living room. our conversation was punctuated by sounds of electric sawing.

i knew that joseph's grandmother had passed away some years ago, but noticed food on the stove burners. i wondered if his grandpa cooked for himself. joseph's grandfather offered him a bud light and me, a soda. when he opened the refrigerator i saw a tall clay olla and imagined there to be frijoles pintos inside.

we sat around the kitchen table, me sipping my squirt, the men sipping their beers.

his grandfather asks, "asi que ya te casaste joseph!"

no, no, joseph replied, she's my girlfriend.

the grandfather contemplated this for a moment before asking, "y cuando se van a casar?"

we explained that we'd only been dating two months.

oh.

we talked about this and that. the grandfather's relationship with his deceased wife, the effort it takes to make a relationship work. then he looks at me and asks, "sabe echar tortillas?"

the "usted" verb form and the use of the verb "echar" momentarily throw me off.

"yo?!" i stammer, my jaw droppping slightly. is he really asking me if i know how to make tortillas???

he goes on to say that this is a different generation. it's easier to go to the store and buy tortillas than to make them by hand.

i tell him that i *have* made tortillas before, but that i usually buy them from the store.
he doesn't seem to judge.

(joseph later tells me not to worry, that i can learn! i tell him that i'm NOT worried because he can learn, too!).

the grandfather is funny and wise, and we enjoy listening to his stories, his advice, and his perspective.

when he walks us out the door, he asks us to invite him to the wedding.

@>-->>---

a lapse...historical memory

memorial and sky
Originally uploaded by lamusa.

for someone who just finished writing a dissertation that serves as an historical ethnography, my historical memory is remarkabley poor. i had completely forgotten that dallas was the city where jfk was shot in 1963.

joseph led me around the memorial, past the book depository from where lee harvey oswald took his aim and shot, to the grassy knoll where onlookers saw jfk's motorcade pass.

we decided against paying $8 to peruse the "conspiracy museum," but there were plenty of conspiracy theorists peddling thier literature around the grassy knoll.

through the rain

luz
Originally uploaded by lamusa.

though saturday a thunderstorm spoiled (soaked, really) our afternoon plans, i really enjoyed spending time at the catholic cathedral downtown. erected to honor la virgen de guadalupe, the sanctuary boasted gracefully arched high ceilings and simple white walls adorned with beautiful stained glass windows.

recuerdos de dallas

vista del centro de noche
Originally uploaded by lamusa.

this evening marks a full week since i've been back from my dallas trip.

the city was more lovely than i could have imagined. i found myself enchanted by the city's skyline at night. one evening, joseph and i enjoyed a drink at reunion tower, where we experienced three hundred and sixty degrees of the city at night.

chicano/as en dallas

tomorrow i'm off to dallas.

not to mourn the fallen mavericks, but to finally acquaint myself with joseph's stomping grounds.

back in april, when i heard news of the dallas megamarch, i couldn't believe that dallas was home to 500,000 latinos who would march for immigrant rights. while the numbers surprised me, i imagined the latinos in dallas to be recent immigrants.

then i met joseph, who is a sixth generation dallas chicano. SIXTH generation.
his speech has a hint of drawl, and he says things like, "you *know* he had a come-to-jesus talk with her!" come to jesus? clearly he lives in the bible belt.
he is polite the way you imagine southerners to be, all "sir" and "ma'am" to strangers.
and he loves tejano music. while you hear other guys his age bumping hip hop in their cars, when joseph turns on his engine, it is puro tejano blaring through the speakers. little joe y la familia, ruben ramos, etc. etc.

joseph is texan AND tejano. and he has invested himself in documenting chicano dallas history. both the history of the community and the history of his family.

he has been educating me about dallas. not the dallas i've seen on television--mostly stereotypes of big trucks, big hair, and rich oil barons--but a dallas that is home to raza. several generations of them.

and, of course, a dallas that is home to joseph.

@>-->>---

happy father's day

in this picture (circa 1979), i bear a striking resemblance to my dad. i actually remember being photographed; i remember wanting to emulate his expression. i wanted to be just like him.

though these days, i am more the spitting image of my mom, i still believe myself to be deeply influenced by my dad.

when i was in high school, i told him that i wanted to learn about politics, and he encouraged me to read the editorial pages of the newspaper. in that way, he told me, i would get to read different peoples' opinions about poltical (or politicized) issues. he encouraged my high school involvement in speech and debate because i would be forced to understand and debate both sides of a particular issue.

though as a younger man, my dad was a democrat, he is now a moderate republican. i imagine that, over the years, it must have caused him some consternation that his eldest daughter had become so liberal. a chicana! a marxist! i don't know how he felt when i told him that i wanted to get a ph.d. in anthropology, but he never tried to dissuade me. he trusted me.

nonetheless, my father, the republican, always keeps me grounded. he quietly sends me articles and editorials he finds in the bakersfield californian or in the los angeles times. offers me a perspective he knows that i probably won't receive in liberal academia. we talk, in the most calm and rational way, about different political issues. he as open as i am to a different perspective. because i consider my dad to be a thinker, and because he has lived a longer and harder life than i have, i respect his opinion.

though i consider myself to be very independent, i am very much my parents' child, holding strongly to their integrity, their values, their stories and perspectives. and i'm grateful to be rooted in that way.

i love you, dad.

@>-->>---

water

went for a swim a couple of nights ago at bartholomew park.
i arrived in a speedo racerback swim suit with goggles and a swim cap in hand, walked around the perimeter of the pool to the lanes they have roped off for lap swimming.

there was anarchy in the rest of the pool.

mostly black and brown children from ages five to fourteen, jumping and splashing, yelling in spanish and english. laughing in the bright blue water as the daylight waned. most congregated in the shallow end. each time i ended my lap on that side of the pool, a chubby mexican boy asked me if i could retrieve a small green ball his friends had thrown over his head and in to the lap lane.

the first time i obliged.
the second time i obliged with a look of exasperation on my face (he was ruining my stride!).
the third time, he said, "it's not my fault."
"i know, sweetie."
and then i witnessed the culprit throw the ball far above and beyond his head!
i told her that she was not supposed to throw anything into the lap lane.
then one of the life guards reprimanded the boy for venturing to the second lap lane (not the one i was in) to retrieve the ball.
"see?" i told the girl. "you got him in trouble." and i returned to my swim, wondering when i became such a cranky old lady.

i wasn't always this way.

every summer that i remember of my childhood, my mom used to enroll me and my sister (my brother, too?) in swimming lessons at siemon park. i think that she wanted us to conquer her fear of the water. and i think she wanted to get us out of her hair for part of those long summer days.

we happily obliged. all of the swim lesson kids would line up outside of the pool and be forced to walk through a corridor of cold water-spouting shower heads before each lesson. the instructors told us it was for us to become accustomed to the cold water so that we'd be more apt to jump into the pool. some of us would sprint through the showers to avoid the shock of cold water. others would creep along the sides of the corridor, carefully avoiding the water. if we weren't wet enough, the teachers would make us go through again.

other than the initial shock of cold water, the swimming lessons were great. i loved being in the water during the brutally hot summers in bakersfield. and my mother was right to assume that it would make me comfortable in the water.

to this day, i love the water. i love the feeling of weightlessness gliding through a swim. i love the silence under water, the peacefulness. being able to focus on the most basic things--my breath, my thoughts.

i see those kids at bartholomew pool, and i remember those summer days that were filled with sun and water. and think that someday those kids will be remembering the same things.

@>-->>---

punking out

i've decided not to do the triathlon on sunday.

it is now friday, and i am still hobbling around the office. after my last swim training class last night, i noticed that my limp had become slightly worse.

so this is it for me. when i began the triathlon training in march, my goal was not to win, nor was it to beat my frenemy. i simply wanted to cross the finish line feeling strong. i imagined that, more than likely, i would be tired, but my hope was that i would also feel exhilirated.

i don't think that would happen on sunday. even if i were to jog/walk the 5K, i'd be overcompensating on my strong leg, essentially limping 3.1 miles. in the texas heat!

last night my swimming instructor asked me if i would ever compete in a triathlon if not the danskin.

"i'm only 30!" i responded. it's not as if i have one foot in the grave!

i have to confess, however, that this training has been special. the trainers for the group with whom i've been working, L.A.T.I.N.A.S, focus on creating a non-intimidating atmosphere to encourage women who don't necessarily see themselves as "athletes" to participate in these kinds of events.

and the women involved (frenemy included) are inspiring. they range in age from 18 to 40. some are students, others full time working women; some are mothers; some are single and swinging. all of us are at different levels of fitness. i've had a lot of fun with these women over the past few months, and feel like we've successfully created a fun and supportive community through our commitment to the tri training. we've come to believe in each other. and that has really made this training over the past few months--race or no race--worth it.

@>-->>---

diagnosis/prognosis

i've been hobbling around for over a week now.

did i mention that i had been without health insurance? i never thought of being insurance-less a big problem; i'm rarely sick. it's only moments like this--when you accidentally debilitate yourself doing a triathlon--that you think it might be nice to have health insurance.

well, one of the perks of my new job is that i was to finally be granted health insurance, effective june 1st. though did appreciate all of the lay medical advice i received, i have to admit that i was looking forward to hearing what diagnosis an actual doctor would give me.

i called a doctor on my plan on may 31st for an appointment the following day.

he looked at my foot and said that it looked pretty bad, but that i seemed rather "stoic" about the pain. (that's because i'm tough, y'all). he wouldn't be able to diagnosis me without an x-ray. in the meantime, he told me that i shouldn't participate in any training.

the next day he informed me that my toe/foot was NOT broken! and that i could participate in sports "as tolerated."

here's the thing: i still can't really walk. i'm limping. how can i run? i swam yesterday, and it was fine. but the triathlon is in ONE WEEK. even if i wake up that morning and my toe is perfect, i won't have really trained for two weeks. can/should a person attempt a triathlon without having really trained during the two weeks before the race?

i have been training for two and a half months! has it really come down to this? *sigh*

@>-->>---

catty and competitive

i don't know if i've mentioned it before, but this triathlon training has made me a little bit competitive.
i don't usually consider myself a competitive person. but there is a woman in my triathlon training class, and she seems to always be, well, racing me. she's a friend, but, because she's a competitor, she's also a frenemy.

this has not usually been a problem because i've actually been a little faster than her in all the events.
but this woman. she has been TRAINING. i mean, above and beyond. extra sessions. bought herself a tri-suit.
and she's gotten faster.

we had a bike/run a week and a half ago, and i smugly thought that i would leave her in my dust. actually, she left me in hers.

so this week, i have been on a mission. training harder than usual. eating relatively well. garnering my determination. to beat her.

saturday we had a mock triathlon. we were to meet at the race site, swim half a mile, ride twelve, and run three.
i felt prepared.

the open water swim was challenging because the water was murky, and i veered too far left and right at a couple of points during the race. but i felt like my stroke was strong, i was swimming at a respectable pace. but as i approached the end, i saw the woman--my frenemy--just behind me. i finished the swim, and tried to wade through the shallow water as quickly as possible to the shore. in my haste, i forgot about the rocky drop from the shore to the ocean and proceeded to ram my foot into the rocks and fall.

when i looked up, my trainer was snapping photos. i was not amused.
when i looked down, i saw one of my toes crooked and crossed over the other. and it hurt like ... well, you can imagine.
but my frenemy was already out of the water and running to the transition area.
so i hobbled after her, yelling to my trainer about my toe, and gingerly put my socks and shoes on, the bike shorts, the tank top, the helmet (yes, the helmet), and took off. my frenemy had already taken the lead.

my trainer told me to "be smart! if your toe is broken, don't ride!"

"it's just a ride," i yelled back. it's not like i'd be on my feet or anything.

i caught up with her. passed her. and rode the rest of the way without looking back. i finished the twelve mile bike ride with a significant lead. but when i got off the bike, i realized that i couldn't walk. which meant that i couldn't run! and couldn't complete the triathlon.

so my frenemy arrived after ten minutes and ran. and again left me in her dust. AUGH!

over the past two days, my foot has become more and more swollen and bruised purple and green. and i have been less and less able to walk. i've basically been hobbling around town like a little old lady for the past few days. and today i have been hobbling around office, clutching my lower back and popping advil.

i think the toe might be broken. i don't have health insurance until june 1st. and so i will aguantarme until then. and i am not sure if the toe will be healed in time for the triathlon.

i think that God is punishing me for being catty and competitive. *sigh* even so, i just know that, with a ten minute lead from the bike ride, i totally could have beat her running.

@>-->>---

the graduate

i participated in all the graduation festivities in december.

my family and two of my best friends flew out from california to be with me. my austin friends threw me a party, took me out. celebrations abounded.

graduation was the last thing on my mind at the beginning of may. in fact, my roommate and i had planned a road trip to chicago for graduation weekend (also known as, the week after classes were out).

but then people started to ask me if i was planning to participate in the graduation sponsored by the center for mexican american studies. no, i would reply. i'm going to chicago.

but they continued to ask.

it came to my attention that some of my chicano/a professors were asking about my participation. some of the powers that be.

like a good mexican american (catholic!) girl, i started to feel guilty. my roommate, also a good mexican american girl, likewise began to feel pangs of guilt and gracefully offered to buy a plane ticket to chicago.

i decided to stay.

it was a much more low-key affair. joseph drove down from dallas. i invited my closest friends, assuring them that it would be fine if they didn't attend. they had already done the graduation thing with me after all.

saturday came. it almost felt like an ordinary saturday until mid-afternoon when i put a dress, my special red shoes, and my cap and gown.

in a lecture hall at the university of texas, the professors sitting on stage were some of the most eminent Chicano/a scholars in the country. most of the Chicano/a graduation participants were undergraduates. i hadn't thought about it until just then, but i realized that some of my former students--some of my favorite students--were participating in the ceremony.

after the obligatory speeches, each graduate walked across the stage to receive his/her diploma from the director of the center for mexican american studies while a professor read their bios--their majors, their student organizations, awards they had received, future plans, people they wanted to thank. all of them impressive and inspriring. it was difficult not to feel proud and excited for them to see them complete this phase of their life and poised for the next part of their journeys.

after the undergrads had their diplomas in hand, there were a handful of master's students and two ph.d. students. i was the last person to receive a diploma. the director of CMAS gave me a hug along with my diploma. as i stood on stage, listening to my own bio, i was so happy that my own future plans had been solidified. "jennifer will be a professor next year at the university of ..." and to hear everybody cheer for me. it almost made my heart ache.

after the procession outside, there were pictures and hugs and congratulations. we then processed on over to the other side of campus for a reception with food and dancing to tejano music. my date did not dance, so i stole some cumbias with other professors. i had to make the most of my cute red shoes! (though i confess, and joseph will confirm, that i was hobbling back to the car...)


even though i was sorry to miss the trip to chicago, i'm glad that i stayed. the center for mexican american studies has been an amazing space for me throughout my graduate studies. the staff, the professors, the undergrads, and my fellow grad students have become like family to me. they have supported me, celebrated with me, and have been a dependable constant in my life. they've carried me through to this happy end. i needed to celebrate with them. because i realize that my life here, my texas would not have been the same without them.

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p.s. thanks to joseph for the pics!

fun

thanks to xolo for sharing.
get yours here.

working girl

the semester is winding down.
submitted my final grades yesterday (two days late!).
will participate in yet another graduation ceremony tomorrow afternoon. it's a chicano/a graduation, and i'm one of two chicano/a ph.d's participating! (actually, i'm just looking for an excuse to wear the muffin hat again).

my last paycheck will dated june 1st.
my new paychecks will not be dated until august 1st.
so i've decided to do what normal people do. i went out and got myself an 8AM-5PM, monday through friday, JOB.
i will be basically acting as someone's secretary for the next several weeks. answering phones, scheduling appointments, dealing with vendors, probably typing, filing, etc. i'm quite qualified for the position. i have excellent phone manners. and i can type like the dickens.

i have to confess.
i do not want to do this kind of work. i want to continue to sit in coffeeshops and brainstorm my next article (or actually write the article i was supposed to have written two months ago). read up on all the latest immigration literature. plan my fall syllabus. and field work! i want to travel to south texas and conduct interviews. engage in participant observation of the emerging mexican american arts scene in the valley.
but all of that requires money.
thus my dilemma.
resolved by answering phones, scheduling appointments, dealing with vendors, typing, filing, etc.

sometimes i wish i were a trustfund baby. or that i would win the lottery (which, i guess, would necessitate me buying a ticket every once in a while). in the meantime, i just do what i gotta do.
*sigh*

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anxiety attack

left my apartment saturday morning at 7AM, picked up a friend, and drove south on a nearly empty Interstate 35 south toward kyle, texas.

my triathlon traininers planned a mock triathlon at and around the park at five mile damn.

after half an hour on the road, we exited kyle. a typical small texas town, kyle has an old west type of downtown, the major edifices--businesses, banks, city buildings--wood framed and quaint. there was a group of politicos out at that early hour holding bold-fonted election signs for their preferred candidates in front of one central voting center.

we left downtown almost as quickly as we had entered and found ourselves driving along farm roads, green fields on either side of us, bright wildflowers sprouting along both sides of the street. enormous homes enjoyed acres of land. herds of white goats grazed and frolicked in fields under the watchful eyes of a shaggy sheep dog.

the park was beautiful and green, the water from the damn looked peaceful enough, but i could feel my levels of anxiety rising. i set up my bike and change of clothes in the designated transition area, participated in nervous chatter with my fellow trainees. soon we were wading into the water. it was clean and not too cold. looking down, i saw a small fish dart in front of me.

we were supposed to swim to the end of the dam and circle back to complete a half of a mile. but i couldn't see the end. i knew that i had swum the equivalent of half of a mile in the pool where we had been training, but it's much easier to wrap your head around a certain number of laps. there were no lap markers in this open body of water.

so i swam and swam. slowly. for a short while i was keeping pace with a flock of ducks. (they eventually pulled over on land to walk around and, i assume, rest from their swim!). but i kept looking up, trying to figure out how much longer i had to go. the way back was easier. i felt i could better gauge the distance.

i emerged from the water tired, but dutifully made my way to the transition area and tried to pull a sports bra and bike shorts over my wet bathing suit, a t-shirt over that. i tied my shoes and hopped on the bike. i was a little unclear about the path. the trainers told us where to turn, but there were no markers. i was convinced that i was lost most of the way until i saw people returning from the direction i was heading.

the sun was rising and hot, and i had too many layers of clothes on. i sacrificed my modesty at the six mile mark, stripping off my shirt. despite feeling cooler, the last six miles of the ride were brutal. i could handle the hills and the gravel-y roads, but the wind blew so strongly that i felt i was scarcely moving forward. i arrived at the park again exhausted.

somebody threw a packet of power bar gel at me to swallow before my run, but the idea of eating gel grossed me out. i decided to go with gatorade. parked my bike and began to run. the slowest run. came to intersections--forks in the road--and couldn't remember which way to turn. i made my best guess and ran, hating the dual feeling of exhaustion and disorientation.

sure enough, one of the trainers came riding along and yelled, "jennifer! turn around! you're going the wrong way! turn around!" turn around?

at this point, the friend who had joined me that morning was providing moral support, riding alongside me while i ran and offering me sips of gatorade.

but apparently i needed more than moral support. my breath became increasingly short. and my frustration got the best of me. i felt tears streaming down my face as i ran.

my friend asks me, "why are you crying?"

"because i hurt!"

"where?"

"every where! and i can't. breathe."

"then stop running!"

that made sense. i stopped. we pulled over to the side of the road. and she instructed me to breathe. and so i did. breathe.
we walked back to the park.

drove away tired and hungry. grumpy. feeling defeated.

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