Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

Freddy Fender sang it best.
But his lyrics have nothing to do
with blame for making me blue.

I guess the title reminds me
of all the partying intermingled with
all the kicking back of my youth
after high school here in El Paso.

"Kicking Back" it's what a lot of us do.


Kickin' Back by Tamara Thomas

Little did I know that I'd be wasting away time
well into my adulthood.
I thought I'd be different by now--
responsible,
respectable.
Or did I?
Nope, just some grand delusion
convenient to say, but I'm well aware....
wasting comes from inaction.

Yesterday I asked a friend's 10 year old son
what he had been doing this summer
and he answered "Kicking back."
It's a term I've emulated for years,
but hadn't heard from a young kid's mouth
probably since I myself was a kid.
I guess it struck a chord
I felt like some alter-piñata self
filled with sweet dread and regret,
being clubbed by the innocent.
Admittedly, that could have been the beer
and sun combo and not just some cliché
wreaking havoc with my psyche.



Oh, I really do manage
to get plenty done, but
I pick and choose my goals
though at first blush
they appear to have little meaning....
most falling into routine and drudgery.
All too often
the task of listing books for sale
falls into that description
and I have to step away from it.

I redeem myself by taking time for others
baking something special for them;
a short quick call to say I care,
but don't want or need to talk further.
Thinking about you, Love ya, gotta go!
Short, sweet and simple....
Who knew that a batch of fresh made beef-jerky
could create such joyous smiles
on the faces of 12 and 46 year old boys?
Inviting a friend for dinner or
a trinket I've made or photos I've printed
just to make them blush
does the trick to keep me sound.
It leaves a lasting impression, believe me.



These are my small motivations
such minutiae to keep my mind and heart fresh.
Somehow it works for me
even as I rue my seemingly endless inertia.

I am my own contradiction
happy to wend my way through this life
or idle away the time in reading
or writing, or art and the art of cooking.
These I often consider as "doing nothing"
although they accomplish much.
They get me through the wasted days
and my Brett, yes my Brett
gets me through the wasted nights.

I've been Kicking back
for too many years...
or have I?
Sometimes all one needs
is their own little pep talk
to make the world right again.

Hip, hip, hooray!

Que Barrio?

So, there I was in San Dimas, California, enjoying a few brews (not with Bill & Ted) and practicing my Spanish with Ricardo Mares (an illegal immigrant dishwasher) from Arizpe, Mexico. We had just finished our shifts (I was the cook and he was the new dishwasher) at the Old West Steakhouse, a stone's throw away from Zendejas' restaurant.

(player card image from insidesocal.com)

We were drinking a 6 pack of Beck's Dark in the parking lot, like all good working-class peons do after an evening of toil.

One of the first questions he asks me is "Que Barrio?" I laugh. "La Loma," I tell him. La Loma? He has no idea...I then tell him about my life in El Paso, and he says El Chuco? Oddly, I had never heard the term outside of El Paso, and here was this young kid, telling me how his uncles had all emigrated to El Chuco, or to Los Angeles via Tijuana and Juarez.

Mares told me how they would struggle to get into the USA and infiltrate the restaurant industry.


(photo from worth 1000)
They'd become cooks, waiters and dishwashers, and skirt La Migra as best they could; constantly saving their money to bring yet another cousin or brother in. They avoided the coyote traders, and did it all themselves to save money and avoid being ripped off. He mentioned that some coyotes would take their money and then turn them in to the officials.

(photo from www.internationalist.org)

After years and years of working in the U.S., and saving what they could after sending money home, they might try to bring in their female family members: wives, girlfriends, mothers, and sisters.

I asked him about his traditional name, which I knew had to include at least 5 surnames, and he delivered a very long and rhythmic identity that I cannot possibly recall with about a dozen surnames attached. He commented on how far his family was from an ocean or sea, to be given the name Mares and living so far from water was too ironic even for him, the bearer of that name.

I liked this kid, and the vibrance in his actions and manner of speaking. There was a spark about him which I found to be very intriguing. He was just there struggling to survive with his on-again, off-again 6th grade education, a huge amount of humorous street-sense, and a determination to make a better life for himself and his extended family. His strongest wish was to bring his girlfriend to California and make her his wife; to settle down and have a family. I was curious as to why he wanted to marry at such a young age. Amor! He missed his girlfriend of 3 years, she was pregnant, and they had been planning their matrimony for a year before his uncles secreted him across the border.

Was he worried about being caught? No. He knew from experience that it was a simple matter to come back. He laughed about this. I felt a bit betrayed, knowing that our lack of enforcing illegal immigrant laws provided this freedom for those who were willing to abuse them. I could not fault the boy for his actions, though I did ask him about going through legal channels. He told me it wasn't needed, all that paperwork and waiting years when he could just pay some guy for his counterfeit papers. He showed me his California Driver's License.


(photo at photobucket)
Okay that is not it, but his id looked legit to my untrained eye, although it showed him to be 5 years older than his 17 years, so he could get into the bars. I admit, I sympathized with him, even as I became angry at his mocking tone. Que onda cabrón?

I have thought often about Ricky Mares over the years. I always wondered if he got married, brought his mother across, or got caught. I worked with Ricky near 17 years ago. Did he bring his girlfriend across quickly enough to have an anchor baby? One more kid to drain our system?

Our immigration laws need to be enforced. I have written to President Obama. I will continue to write to him and I will continue to write to Silvestre Reyes. Our country is dying in the most agonizing way, and allowing illegal immigration to continue in the manner it has does not behoove us. Putting up that atrocious fence is not the solution. Amnesty is not the solution. Enforcing the law is the only viable way towards reformation, and harsh penalties for those who hire illegals is a must.

Please write to your President and to your State Representatives.
They are your voice, and they need to hear you, loud and clear.

(presidential seal found at idea champions)