Welcome to my Childhood

Spring Break 2013:  Flew to LA to stay the week with my gramma and grampa in Pasadena.  I haven't been back in two years; much too long.  It is jarring to me every time I travel somewhere after whatever amount of time has passed since I last visited, and I feel that sensation of being able to absorb and appreciate so much more than I could last time.  Being in LA and Pasadena after about three years of living in DC was playing games with my heart!  I felt like I was reading through a diary I had no memory of writing... imagining who I could have been had my family stayed there... who I could be if I go back now.  Pasadena was a finger that reached out to touch the DC bubble that has been housing my mental space, and something burst.

I love DC.  I love living in a city.  Pasadena reminded me how different a city can be.  Speaking to my family reminded me of how place molds people.  The poetry, the anthropology, were bubbling up and seasoning everything I saw, heard, sensed in any way.  Before even getting to my grandparents house in Pasadena from LAX, I knew I was going to do everything in my power to come back to spend the summer in California.

The view from my girlhood: Sitting on the front porch, kids playing in the park across the street, gramma next to me, maybe on the phone, grampa watering the lawn, dog barks.

The view from my girlhood pt. 2: Where uncles gather to drink Tecate and Budweiser, cousins sit around listening to stories, some play with Penny and Charro, the chihuahuas, the radio plays in the background, the sound of a small water fall gramma had grampa set up in the garden, the fans mixing the air, nudging the wind chimes, the doorbell loud and clear from the front as more uncle's and their families arrive.

Charro, lazing.

Gramma's chicken caldo.

Cultural contradictions; ah, to be Mexican in America...

Walking with gramma.

Olvera Street, Downtown LA: The oldest street in LA.

Lunch with grampa.  He shouldn't be drinking, but we snuck in an over-priced drink each.  His love fills my heart to the point of breaking.

The soundscape of my girlhood: The handball wall and basketball courts across the street.  Sneaker squeaks and basketball bouncing under those orange streetlamps sneaking in through the blinds at night.

Night table mysteries.

So much time to catch up on sleep, I never even felt jet-lagged.