Dancing Towards Eternity

So some of you might know that I aspire to be a poet someday. However, I just haven't shared enough of my poetry with the world, let alone family or friends, to even be considered an aspiring poet. Sometimes I feel if I share my poems, they will break like porcelain because people won't like it or they might become hyper critical of it. I know I shouldn't feel that way because I need people to not like my poetry and to be hyper critical of it. How else am I going to become a better poet!? So, from now on, I am going to post a poem a week and share either a poem in progress, or one I feel is close to complete. Please let me know how you feel about this one. It is inspired by a poem by William Butler Yeats called "The Second Coming" and another poem by Billy Collins called "Dancing Towards Bethlehem". This poem, I feel, is close to being complete. ENJOY!

Dancing Towards Eternity

If the World was to end and there was only minutes to spend,

I would want my last moments spent dancing

with you, my right hand pressed against the curvature of your back,

your body pressed firmly against mine,

feeling every last breath you took as we waltzed to elevator

music played by an orchestra whose reputation means nothing

anymore. And as the mere twenty-three years of our lives crumbled around us

like shattered glass, and the string section slowly sank beneath the sand,

I would look deep into your infinite eyes,

never once blinking, and smile.

In the distance, a lion, scouring the desert,

looking for someone to call his own, a place to call home, 

would wail-fully roar,

And if the World was to end and there was only minutes to spend,

I would be happy spending my last moments dancing

with you, my whole self, pressed firmly against

your whole self, knowing eternity would soon be ours. . .

A Quilter's Work

I have hesitated to speak about my mother, perhaps because I feel inadequate to speak of her. But I feel that I can capture at least a piece of her within my poetry, and maybe, at some point, you, the reader, will one day be able to construct an entire individual out of my words. But I doubt it. There are not enough poetic metaphors or well-structured verses or prose that could build up such an overwhelming multi-faceted human. I am proud to call her my mother, and stand in awe of her everyday. I only wish that I could give her more, not because she has given me everything I would ever need, but because she deserves as much, and that much more.
Tonight, I will be reciting my poetry as a final project for my Poetry Workshop class. Here is a Sonnet I wrote in admiration of my loving mother for that class:

A Quilter’s Work

I love the way she makes her quilts: controlled

and full of care. I’d watch her work for hours

In your sequestered sewing room; her old

and trusted Singer rattled with such power.

Blending batiks of hand-dyed fabrics, knitting

together textiled patterns lacking any

form, she would make a portrait, somehow fitting

a multitude of shapes to form a whole.

And yet, mistakes would weave and thread their way

into the finished product. Laughing she

would say, “artistic choice,” and fold away

the blemished artwork tailored to be skewed.

Sometimes I think she made me like your quilts:

some minor imperfections, but well built.

The Boss

"Behind every great leader, is an even greater Woman."

You might think that the boss of Monica's Quilt and Bead Creations would be none other than Monica herself; she owns the store, she works the shows, her name is literally on the front of the building. Well, you are wrong.

The title of "Boss" goes to the small, but fierce, Evelia who has been working for my mother for the past sixteen years. As I have said before, I literally grew up in the shop and have had the privilege to get to know each and every one of my mother's co-workers as if they were family. Evelia definitely is a part of my family. Her mother, Guadalupe, has taken care of me ever since I was born. She never had a title other than "My Lupe," but I guess she would be considered my nanny. I remember when I was little walking down the street to pickup Evelia after school. I was completely enamored with her. She would hold my hand and Lupe would hold the other. I distinctly remember walking closer to Evelia, my head leaning against her hip (I was smaller at the time. Not the giant I am now). I thought myself to be a natural Don Juan. Now, you might be wondering, "How did she attain such a distinguished title?" Well, the truth of the matter is that my mother will not do anything in the store without Evelia's consent. She has earned a high-respect with my mother, as well as her co-workers, due to her tireless efforts to make Monica's Quilt and Bead Creations a well-run, well supplied store. When you have the chance, take a gander at the many different quilts hanging up on the wall in my mother's store; the color pallet for most of them were picked out by Evelia. If you have had the chance to enjoy one my mother's Weekend Retreats at the Hyatt Grand Champion during Summer, then you have gotten the chance to work with one of many of Evelia's well thought-out kits. And if you have picked up a fat quarter or yard cut of fabric from one of the numerous Quilt Shows my mother attends, then you have picked up just one piece of fabric that Evelia has folded and specifically picked to send on the road with my mother for you to enjoy.

So the next time you walk into Monica's Quilt and Bead Creations and see my mom running about, helping customers, being her sunshine self, know that Evelia is somewhere near by, making sure that the shelves are stacked appropriatly and filled with fabric, that the beads are all neat and nicely set, that there is not one missing pattern from the rack, so that my mom can do what she does best: talk to customers and sell. And whenever there needs to be a second opinion on a color scheme, my mom will alway ask Evelia and will take her opinion first over her own 95% of the time.

Annual Christmas Party

Every year before Christmas, my Mom gathers all her employees for a Holiday Party that always has me rolling on the floor laughing. Each year is different; sometimes they go out to dinner, perhaps at P.F. Chang's Chinese Bistro; sometimes they hold a potluck dinner, which are my favorite because I get the leftovers; sometimes they order in. No matter what they decide to do, every year is a blast. This close knit family of crazed Quilters and Beaders come together and reflect on the past year, sharing stories that inevitably have the room rumbling from raucous laughter. 

I remember coming back home after my fall semester Sophomore year just in time for the Holiday Party. Mom was holding the party at our house, and I was enlisted to be "Santa's Little Helper." The time came for the gift exchange, the part of the night that everyone anxiously waits for. My job was simple: Make a game that would involve all of the women to be able to trade gifts without knowing who their gift would go to. Having grown up in the shop and knowing these ladies as if they were family, I made the game simple (or so I thought). I read the lyrics to Jingle Bells and made these rules to the game: Every time I said the word "the," they all had to pass the gift in their hands to the right once; and every time I said the word "a," they had to pass the gift in their hand to the left twice.  I tried to choose words that were common enough throughout the song that it would keep them on their toes and really mix up the presents amongst them. Now, the problem with these rules is that some of the ladies cannot remember for the life of them which way is their left or right, let alone how many times to pass it which way! Not even half way through the game, my Mom is laughing her head off, passing gifts every which way. Susie has multiple gifts in her hands. Emily somehow got her own gift back. Joanne and Hester, being the organized ones, are trying to get everyone back on track and listening. Avelia is just watching this all happen. And once again, the room erupts in laughter. We finally settle and everyone ends up with a gift in their lap. Then, like children on Christmas Day, they all rip open their present. This is where the excitement really starts because these women don't hold back with these gifts. Some of the artwork, for it truly is artwork, that is made as gifts is phenomenal: beaded ornaments, chain-mail bracelets, sterling silver necklaces, knitted flowers, embroidered place mats. The joy on everyone's face is priceless; Holiday cheer is truly in the air.

I am glad to call these wonderful people a part of my family, and I hope that one day I can hold my own Holiday party like my Mom's.

Aunt Susie

I had the pleasure of working in the Costume Department of Skidmore College's Theater Department today. If you don't know, I am currently a Junior there double-majoring in English and Theater. But I'm sure my mom has told you that or at least you have read it in her newsletters. Anyways, I was working on making a pillow; picking out my fabrics; making sure that the solid turquoise backing accentuated the autumn brown floral pattern that had light ripples of turquoise. I was pretty proud of myself.

While I was sewing at my station, a flood of nostalgia came over me that skipped my heart a beat. I was making a pillow to match the plethora of pillows I already own when it hit me: All my pillow cases have been made by the same person, my Aunt Susie.

I have never known a world without Susie. From what I can remember, she has worked for Monica's Quilt and Bead Creations since I was in diapers. Yes. It's true. I was once SHORTER than Susie. Now, I am twice her size (that may be a hyperbole, but you get the picture). She is not only an employee, but she really became part of my family. Every Christmas I could count on my Aunt Susie making me a wonderful Christmas present, whether it was a pillow case, a quilt, or some delicious cookies that she made specifically for me. Whenever I had a performance, whether it was Jazz Band, a school recital, or a Middle School/High School play/musical, she was always in the audience. I knew because I could hear her hootin' and hollerin' for me. Her laugh is priceless. Susie would even come to school with me on Grandparents day.

I will never forget about Susie. Every night I rest my head against the warm pillows she gave me and wake up to them nestling my head in love.

I can't wait to come home and see her for Christmas!

What a Boy will do for a Quilt

It has been almost a year since I have made the big move to the East Coast with all my belongings in my Nissan Rouge and what a year it has been. I apologize that I have not kept up this blog, but I will make up for it.
This year has been a roller coaster rider to say the least. I dealt with heartbreak, rigorous courses, multiple jobs/internships, acting in 1 school production and 3 student productions, creating a poetry portfolio, and much much more. But at the end of everyday I would return to my room where I would collapse onto my bed and wrap myself in the wonderful shapes and patterns of my mother's quilts. But not every quilt I own was made by my mother. Over the years, I have collected quilts made by the lovely ladies of Monica's Quilt and Bead Creations. There are three quilts that I carry around with me and one of them wwas made by the talented Patti, who has many of her quilts hanging up in the shop. I call her quilt the "Sunburst" quilt and the story behind getting it is one of my favorites.
Last summer, Natasha and I were asked to manage the Long Beach International Quilt Show. And so, we set off with our cargo van full of fabrics, patterns, purses, quilts, flannel, etc. While setting up the show, I discovered this beautiful quilt with panels of these flowers that were cut and made into blocks. The color pallet was made up of these blends of summer and autumnal tones that perfectly wove together. A ribbon of light blue accentuated all the brown, red,  and yellow shades. It was at that moment that I called up my mother and begged her to let me keep the quilt. Her only response was, "well, if you can sell all those panels and kits then you can have it." And so, with Natasha's help, we sold every single one given to us. After the show, we came back home and found out we out did our own mother! We outsold Monica Ann Gonzales at the Long Beach International Quilt Show. We were ecstatic. I thought that as a reward, mother would give me the quilt. However, we still had panels to sell at the shop. This did not stop me. I made a sign that said, "Please buy the rest of the Panels so Miguel can keep warm on the East Coast", and put it on the quilt, hung it up in my mom's store. Before I knew it, the rest of the panels sold. Seeing as Patti made the quilt, she took it down and presented it to me as I was heading back to the East Coast. It's one of the only quilts I own that is large enough to engulf my tall body (I am 6'3'') and it never ceases to provide me with all the warmth and love I need.
It's great growing up in a quilt store. Your shoulders will always be covered with a quilt and love.

Dreams Lost, but Self-Worth Gained

On September 2nd, 2011, I packed up my life into my Black 2008 Rogue Nissan and took off at 6:30am for my sophomore year of college. This sounds simple enough, but when your college is in Saratoga Springs, NY things can get a little difficult. And, as luck would have it, difficulty had no qualms of making an appearance on this day.

Four hours into my road trip, my car breaks down just north of Las Vegas, NV at 10:41am. I call AAA and let them know my situation. To start off, they could not locate me. I thought I gave them reasonable directions. "I'm stuck on the I-15 heading North. I just passed the 93 exit and am about to come up to another highway or freeway exit." Not the best directions but there aren't many landmarks when you are in the middle of a desert in NEVADA. About an hour and a half later they find me sitting on the side of the road, writing in my journal.

I successfully get to an Auto Repair shop where I explained my situation. "I was heading back to college in Saratoga Springs, NY. Yes I know that's far. I have my life packed into my car and need to get to college as soon as possible." Susan, the incredibly wonderful woman at the front desk, helped me as much as possible with figuring out a way to get to college. She suggested car rental to college or back home, or, if the car isn't in too bad of repair, stay the night in Vegas and start on the trip the next day or two. She gave me contact information for hotels, for rental cars, for tow services, everything. She was great! Susan of Auto Brake and Clutch just off of W. Lake Mead. If you ever need help with your car in Vegas, go to her.

After a two hour wait, they finally gave me the bad news. My cars transmission was beyond repair. It needed a new one. They called the Nissan Dealership to check if I had a warranty on it, and, as it turned out, I did. WOOHOO! But, seeing as the Labor Day Weekend was coming up, the earliest my car would be done is by next week at the earliest.

At this point my dream of driving across country was shot. I arrived at the Nissan Dealership and was helped my a man named Paul. He could not have been nicer. It was comforting to find out that there are still good people in the world who are willing to go out of their way to help you out. Once I realized I was stranded in Las Vegas, I decided to call my sister Natasha. When I told her that I was still in Vegas, she knew she had to help. And she did. Natasha and I talked it out and decided that the best action to do was to get me back home with all of my things and go from there. After Natasha and I talked things out and got a game plan going it was then that I decided to call my mom. Yes. I called her last. I was afraid she would have a heart attack if she knew her baby was stranded. I wanted to prevent that. I called her to let her know that I had everything sorted out, that I was keeping all the receipts and that Natasha is on her way to get me and my things. We hung up the phone.
My mother calls me back within fifteen minutes. She's sobbing and the only thing that I can really pick make out from her voice is "I'm so proud of you". It was at this moment that I realized how mature I have gotten. I was able to handle a difficult situation to the best of my ability and only when I needed to did I enlist my family. I am glad I have such a great family to lean on, but I do want to make their lives as stress-free as possible. It's hard though since I'm the "baby" of the family.

Oh well.