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I love and I loathe election years. I enjoy the fanfare of politics and the idea that "we the people" are in control of our destiny. I do however loathe the commercials. Sometimes I wish they would ban political commercials like they ban cigarette and alcohol commercials. As corrupt as the politicians in the commercials are protrayed, whose to say that our children won't be influenced to use government computers, raise taxes, and hire illegal aliens. Whose to say that our children won't want to waste taxpayers money and support programs that will bankrupt the country. Children will want to cut jobs and ruin the economy. Poor Joe Camel and Spud Mackenzie, oh how tame you seem.

Top of the Morning to Ya!

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I must admit that I am ignorant as to why we celebrate this day. I will google this when I finish here. I enjoy the festivities, attire, and traditions. It is the one day of the year that we teach our children it is ok to physically cause harm to someone because they aren't doing what everyone else is doing. Am I the only one to notice that? Who's to blame the kid who pinches his classmate tomorrow...Now I do enjoy the holiday and my daughter is aware of the tradition..however I did warn her NOT to pinch someone at school. I didn't get a note home so I think we are in the clear.

I am not Irish (as my title clearly states) but I appreciate a culture that invites the world to celebrate with them. Thank You!

Horse Racing. A majestic sport. A gentleman's sport. I enjoyed the splendor of the event and the company of good friends. I didn't enjoy the fact that I had to compute an algebraic equation in order to place a bet. I know for those more math literate it would be more statistics...but it took all the fun out it. Box, place, show, exacta.....trifecta...what the? I guess with more racing experience I would understand it and enjoy it.

Maybe it is my upbringing....the being frugal part.....that makes me a horrible gambler. I'd rather by another drink or snack. By the end of the day all I could think about was what I could have bought instead of the worthless tickets that didn't amount to anything but a wing and a prayer. I could have put them to good use like the overweight man in a purple tee I had the privilege of observing. He decided to create art and to entertain the masses. He created confetti and then threw the tiny pieces into the air while shouting expletives for all to see. One of the highlights of the day. People watching was a blast. Next time I'll try a mint julep. Maybe that was what I was missing.

fireplace and family

We here in the South are big family folks. We have reunions, sunday dinners, thanksgivings and christmas feasts that could feed more then all the cousins that were twice removed that didn't show up for the festivities. Family is as important to a Southerner as fashion week is to fashionista living in Manhattan. ( I am just making this terrible simile from what I have gathered from cable....even though I have been to Manhattan.....I am not a fashionista nor have I been to fashion week.) However being stuck with your family in snowy weather for a period of time will test your nerves like no other. In the house there is plenty to do for all but when the lights go out......for a six her old (and her mother that has to listen to her) it is the end of the world. Can I watch tv? No. Can I play with the Wii? No. Can I watch a movie? No Can I play on the computer? No. Can I watch the tv in one of the bedrooms? No. Can I listen to music? No. Can I have microwave popcorn? No. Hot Pocket? No......you get the general idea.

I am glad to say that we do obviously have power, but I am not sure who is more thankful...the six year old or myself....but being "Stuck" with your family makes you spend that quality time that we often neglect-unintentionally. At one point in the afternoon my husband got out his guitar while my daughter and I looked at family photo albums while the little one played with his truck in front of the fireplace. That picture perfect moment made all the other frustrations of the day seem obsolete. This was the true meaning of family time. I was glad the lights were out for a time. Maybe they should go out more often.

My hissy fit about Southern Writers.

For the past week or so in my senior lit class we have been exploring poetry. I have had a bit of a struggle. For the most part I can pull the kids in, get them interested. I know that everyone will not love it but I at least want them to appreciate what poetry is and be able to understand it. Long story short I have had some resistance. I mean some major resistance like they are meeting underground at night to find ways to undermine my whole system of reeling them in. I even had one student say, "Poetry is just an author who is lazy." Ahhhh! So on I trudge to my hissy fit I had with the Sunday Morning Dem Gaz at my kitchen table. Today in the style section was a whole article on poets living in Arkansas. My first thought was "Yes! A way to show how poetry is alive right here in their state!" My mind was making lesson plans with the article before I even read it. "Good Stuff," I was already patting myself on the back. As I read the article the two poets weren't native Arkansans but have made Arkansas their home. Ok so far so good. Both poets were asked a set a similar questions including something similar to ...did it make a difference being in Arkansas as compared to New York or Tokyo. Both said that place didn't hinder the artist within but one continued to talk about the place in which he called home. He said southerners had an ego the size of Texas (ok.....we do agree....because obviously we have reason to!) and something along the line of Southern Writers being overrated. I would quote the article here but in my rage I threw the paper into the trash which quickly was covered and smashed in the trash compactor. I was beside myself. I begin throwing names of Southern Writers who should only be revered and circled the kitchen island as my poor husband was utterly confused. How dare an artist live in the south and then declare such a blasphemous statement. Whether the gentleman truly meant what was printed I'm not sure, but he surely insulted anyone who has ever fallen in love with Southern Literature. I feel better now that I have had the opportunity to rattle on about the matter for a second time. I did get one good quote to combat the resistance in my class tomorrow: "A poet takes 14 lines to write what an author says in 500 pages."

Rain Rain on my face....

We've all heard the old cliche "When it rains, it pours." There are times in every one's life where this seems to be a truthful idiom. As I am sitting here writing this it is literally outside pouring down rain, but the truth of the matter is that what happen in the rain that has made it a trying week. I know that I should be very thankful for all that I have in light of the many in Haiti who have gone through so much but it has been hard dealing with love ones in pain. This week my husband's grandfather broke his hip and my grandmother is in the hospital with pneumonia. Papaw has had surgery and is doing fabulous for a 94 year old man. My grandmother is still in step down at the hospital. Both are such sweet loving souls that every time you see them or talk to them they seem invincible but really they are as fragile as their ages and that is something that I have to come to terms with. In my eyes the "adults" in my life have never aged. They have always been the rocks I could lean on. My shields, my strength. Yet recently I have noticed they have aged. More and more they are becoming dependent on me. Life is like a river....ever changing as it flows. The rains seem to come more and more and the river ever flows as does time.

OK Here it goes.....

I'm not afraid to try new things....but I often don't finish what I start. (like the at home wax kit that is in my bathroom trash can as I'm writing this) So this is the new adventure for myself....creating this blog. I've tried to keep a journal before but within a few weeks I've neglected my beautiful leather bound beauty or I'd lost my expensive journal pen that I bought especially for journal writing. So no more excuses.....

About the title:

Yes I am half Mexican. I can't speak Spanish. My identity has been an issue all my life. Not that I've wanted it to be an issue, but the world has always wanted me to fit into some box that I could easily check when filling out forms...but to be honest its not that easy.

Am I Mindless? Well no, but I can't promise what will be the purpose of this blog. I'm not sure. I was hoping this adventure would help me to figure this out.

Meandering? Life is full of twists and turns and mine has been no exception. "Life for me ain't been no crystal stair." If life was perfect, there would be no reason to write, have art, to create.

So thus I will begin my blog....about what I'm not sure.....but it will be Mindless Meanderings of a Half Mexican.