hips definitely lie

let's be honest: i am not the poster-child for latina. sure, i am half mexican, speak spanish, and appreciate latin culture, but during conception, that one particular gene so lively and characteristic of passionate latinos was somehow forgotten. that gene being dance.


g and i visited the skirball cultural center for the summer's final outdoor concert. it was an enchanting evening, the courtyard sparkling under the stars, guests comfortably anticipating a festive performance. the show started with a burst of energy, sans formal introduction. i had never heard of jose villareal (aka "mr. vallenato") but according to g and the accompanying cheers, he didn't need an introduction. within the first few minutes, i understood why. "mr. vallenato" and his band performed traditional colombian folk music, or rather, cumbia. i studied the origins of cumbia in college and was fascinated with its social implications, but to hear it. see it. clap to it. LIVE. now that was incredible.

of course, you bring cumbia into the mix, and you better expect dancing. this was clearly a no sit-and-enjoy-the-music type of concert, which would have been fine with me. it was an instantaneous reaction: accordion playing, dancing commences. i knew i was in trouble when g looked at met with his peruvian eyes - eyes gleaming with dance. and passion. much to my passive resistance, we joined the crowd.

in no time, i was beginning to doubt my genetic make-up. perhaps an accidental switch at birth? my dancing (if that's what you'd call it) was ridiculous, bordering disappointing. there was g with all his lovely latin finesse, moving rhythmically to the music, very much synchronized with everyone around us. and then there's me. confused. lost. feeling the music, but unable to translate it to physical movement. stiff torso, awkward arms, inflexible legs, and hips that jerked back and forth. i stood out among the diverse crowd, a crowd filled with people who "got it."

irrespective of my shameful attempt at latin dancing, i had a blast. i made a fool of myself, but g reassured me people were too busy dancing to notice. i doubt that, but hey, at the end of the night, two things were confirmed: 1.) i am less latina then i think or will ever be and 2.) g must really love me. he didn't run for the hills.

note: listen here to get a glimpse of what my body was up against.

ode to naps

naps.
dream state, deep state, somewhere in between
grass, sand, couch.
lull me, sweet breeze
fill me, sweet nap
perspective, idea, clarity.
medicinal to my body
enlivening to my soul
indiscriminate
to time, to place, to age.
wrap me in your arms, lovely nap
make me feel new
hours added
in the few minutes with you
naps.
oh tranquil joy.

lead palm

lead foot: (noun) of or relating to, an appendage, typically the right foot, that extends from a person with inherent tendencies to place forceful weight on the gas pedal, thereby producing rapid or prolonged accelerations.

we've all heard, or at least been labeled as, the infamous lead foot. but in the past few weeks, it has been brought to my attention that there is such thing as the lead palm. the following is evidence to support this recent discovery, which by the way, seems to only exist in the "city of angels:"

1. someone cuts in front of you without using a blinker --> instant reaction: honk.
2. someone stops on a busy street, waiting to parallel park, but also blocks traffic --> put that palm into action and HONK.
3. there is a 0.5-second delay after the light turns green at an intersection --> honk and wake that person up!
4. an out-of-towner is driving at the speed limit --> don't be shy...exercise that lead palm.

and last but not least...

5. you see a friend/familiar face/sweet eye candy during the ride --> honk and say hi!

although i have recently named the phenomenon, i must admit i've been acutely aware of it for a few years now. i will be bold and further admit that my delicate palm of yesteryear has transformed into a lead palm. but please note: the aforementioned descriptions of the lead palm do not ALL apply to me. and i hope they never do ;)

transitions

it was her first two weeks transitioning into labor and delivery. after one year working in a demanding institution, she was excited for this next step, a new challenge.

she had heard stories of how critical managing labor and delivery patients would be. the quick pace. the instantaneous ups and downs. so when she learned she would be oriented on that dynamic unit by one of the best, she was ecstatic. ten weeks of close collaboration with the utmost respected.

those first two weeks exceeded her expectations. she felt confident in her decision-making, quick to respond to non-reassuring patterns. she felt she was providing safe care, even as the novice she was. not once did she feel like she was running frantically, clumsily multi-tasking with her only two hands. priority - she knew it. between critical thinking, quick decisions, and medical know-how, she was still there for her laboring patients...there to foster a peaceful and healing environment, fit to welcome new life. during those first two weeks, she never doubted her abilities, knowledge, or future. and while orienting with the best - the most respected - she never thought to herself: i wish i was her. instead, she was thankful to be who she was, where she was at.

and then i woke up.

cousin

this past weekend, cousin kristen visited me in la. she's been here every now and then, but this time was different. she was solo.

we were in need of some one-on-one time...this not-so-little-girl-anymore and me. i find it interesting to think about how our conversations and time spent together have evolved over time. from watching disney movies and splashing in swimming pools to talking about driving lessons and sighing over mother flow, i have witnessed a beautiful growth in kristen. surreal.

so to celebrate "cousinship," we filled our day with all things joyful: farmer's market, juicy fruits, a walk in santa monica, a ferris wheel, and a sweet treat to top it off.

oh, how i love thee, sweet cousin!