Notes

As a child, I envied my kindergarten teacher’s overbite. Also, I interpreted my Sunday school teacher’s pock marks as proof of her ability to taste Big Mac flavors other people could not.

How effortlessly we forget the Spanish word for licorice.

Hiram used some of his comp time and took Saturday off. We went to the gym for a long work-out, got haircuts from the tattooed dreamer who loves and misses Tucson but got into too much trouble there to be able go back after he was arrested and deported.

When we finished our haircuts, it was still early enough that the nearby spice shop that closes early on Saturdays was open so we checked it out. I fell in love with the selection, bought some rice, and left sneezing from all the dusty powders.

Then we rode our bikes to the malecon for shrimp and fish baskets at The Point. The tide was very high and the jet skiers and banana boaters were almost splashing us as they screamed by.

Afterward, we stopped at Bacanora Grill, hoping to say hello to our friends who own the place, “Los Muchachos,” but they were having a tense-looking business meeting and we decided not to interrupt. We had coffee and flan outside on the carport like patio and watched spring breakers booking sunset cruises.

Los Muchachos came out separately as we were leaving and each time I offered to loan them our helmets. I am so funny.

At sundown, we walked to Playa Mirador and tide pooled. Later at home we juiced limes for margaritas and rented a movie — The Hundred Foot Journey — to watch before going bed for a couple hours and the 2am run to Albatros for my bus ride back to Nogales.

I do wish people would stop saying “BOOM!” It’d be so much better if they just said quietly to themselves, “Oh my. That was much easier than I expected.”

Or something along those lines.

I know it’s not as dramatic as “BOOM!” but nobody really wants all that drama at times like these. At times like these, people just want to believe you when you say this plugin for your content management system is as easy to install and use as you say it is.

That’s how I feel.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder and gives the nipples a chance to heal.

I am waiting patiently while my generation gets every David Bowie hairstyle from 1964 to 2014 out of its system.

Saturday morning. Waking to the sounds of wind blowing branches against the window. The neighbor’s ancient station wagon engine not turning over till the third try. Before I even open my eyes, I’m trying to remember the lobbies of movie theaters in Tucson that don’t exist anymore. And what movies I saw in each. El Dorado, Buena Vista, Catalina. Star Wars, Superman, The Goodbye Girl.

The Goodbye Girl? It must have been Mom’s birthday.

I’m not Catholic, but my mother-in-law requires I attend mass with her each Christmas Eve if I plan to eat dinner with the family later that night.

This year we attended Padre Jesús’ nine o’clock mass at a humble chapel.

I always enjoy Padre Jesús’ sermons. They are brief and direct. They feel spontaneous. Judging by the tough love tone of his Christmas message this year, I’m guessing by the end of the day Christmas Eve. He had heard just about all the sad stories he wanted for one day.

No tiene derecho estar infeliz. ¡Deja de quejarse! Do we know if Mary and Joseph were unhappy on the day of Jesus’ birth? I don’t know. We don’t know. We don’t even know when Jesus was actually born. We celebrate it today. But we don’t really know. Do you think Mary and Joseph were complaining, that they were unhappy? They had every right to be. They had to put their baby in a manger. Would you sleep in a manger? Do you even know what a manger is? It’s straw covered in cow spit. It’s dirty. It was cold. Where will you sleep tonight? PLEASE… stop your complaining. If only for today and tomorrow, stop complaining and be happy.

I always enjoy Padre Jesús’ sermons. They are brief and direct. They feel spontaneous. Judging by the tough love tone of his Christmas message this year, I’m guessing by the end of the day Christmas Eve. He had heard just about all the sad stories he wanted for one day.

At a speakeasy in Mexico, I ask a short man with big feet to dance. At first I am worried people will be scandalized that two men are dancing with each other. Soon everyone is gathered around watching, but they don’t seem shocked at all. Instead, they are watching to see if I can do the steps and keep up as the musical styles keep changing - Rumba, Samba, Mambo! - and I step on his feet. Each time one of my feet bump the little man’s dusty black shoes, the crowd gasps and then laughs and then cheers. I want to stop, but he insists I continue. He even takes my arms and puts them in place so I am leading. “Tu puedes!” he says and the crowd sings backup: “Yes, yes! You can!” And I think how Mexican it all feels, everyone laughing at my missteps and at the same time wanting me to succeed.