Odds & Ends

Hey! I have a blog! When did this happen? Please stand by as I try to make blogging a regular part of my life, but don't stand on your head. You might pass out! Schedule adjustments don't come easy to me! In the meantime, I have a few odds and ends for you:



-Dr. Charles is hosting the First Annual Charles' Prize for Poetry for poetry in the context of science and medicine! Details can be found HERE. To quote from Dr. Charles, "Should your poem be selected as the winner, you shall receive an award of $500, along with a cherry tomato from my garden. Seriously." How amazing is that? I LOVE cherry tomatoes!



-Have you seen this blog? It's strange and adorable and I am now wondering what my own little monkey dreams about each time he catches a bit of shut eye...



-Also, when once I finish moving into the new place, I want to try to make goat cheese ice cream. Fer serious!

Enjoy the links and thanks for reading!

~Sara

I once danced a Huayno with a man named Melquiades

Do memories sneak up on you? You’re walking down the street and a restaurant emanates with the smell of your grandma’s goulash. They don’t have the goulash, or anything close, but the smell has the power to make you open the door and take you back. Popcorn is popping in the microwave, because that’s how people make it these days, and suddenly you’re transported to a South Floridian dinner theater. Star Wars Episode IV is on the big screen and your dad’s beer sits precariously close to the edge of the table.

Digging through articles about melting glaciers and global warming, pictures of Aymara and Quechua farmers tug strands of memory to the front of my mind. I’m 19 and dressed in a jewel toned velvet skirt with layers and layers of native slips beneath, some cotton, some wool, all beautifully embroidered with patterns as old as the Inkas. Braids and a hat complete the ensemble, my feet tap out a quick beat while my partner turns pink with embarrassment. He never danced a Huayno before, but he would spin one for the gringa. He raises his brow in awe of my ease with his native dance. We turn circles around each other, striking the concrete with heavy clicks as the charango intensifies. The swish of my skirts mimic the shuffling second beat of our feet. His handkerchief brushes my shoulder as we cross the floor. The up-tempo slows when I see it now, pitched voices soften while the two dancers swirl in my memory. Burgundy skirts, yellow shirt, gold-toothed smile, luggage, Cruz del Sol, customs, blink, 14 years pass in the mist of that swirl. But still… I tap my foot, turn on Pandora, and suddenly I’m spinning a Huayno with Melquiades Augustine. I wonder where Tio Augustine is now. Doing missionary work in the Amazonas? Up in the mountains or back home in the sweltering heat of Chepen? Teaching his son to drive? Time ticks away, mountains melt.

“Mommy, you can dance!” My three year old is now turning circles with me on the kitchen floor. I pause and smile at him. I hope he can meet my Tio one day and those mountains that brought my memories back.

More on the mountains next week. Sorry for the neglect. I'm posting more often. Pinky swear.

I don't want to write this

I don’t want to write this post. I wish I didn’t have to write it, but I do. It’s been there, bumping against that lump in my throat for 5 months. Five. Months. I can’t believe five months has gone by and I still don’t want to write this post. Please bear with me while I try. Hold my hand and wrap a friendly arm around my shoulders. This is going to hurt.

My Graduation Party

My friend Aaron isn’t so much like my friend as he is my brother. We grew up together, lived in the same house for a while during our formative years, and never strayed too far from each other.

He has been my brother’s best friend for more years than I can remember. There are so many memories tied up with Aaron, his family, and mine. In fact, I can’t remember a momentous day without remembering his contribution to it: thoughtful, kind, caring, funny. Damn funny. Aaron makes a room laugh with him, at him, but not because he’s a clown or an idiot. He knows your chuckle point, what gets your giggle going and he exploits that knowledge with discernment. And when he’s got you laughing, you’ll be privy to the smirk, the same little grin he’s carried since the forever accompanied by a twinkle of his eyes. His green eyes had the greatest twinkle.

Had. Aaron died on June 7. Five months have crawled by since my friend, my brother took his own life. I miss him every minute. I think of something I need to tell him every day, of places we should go, of food I want to cook for him, of hugs I need to give him. I pick up my phone to text or call him often. So often. I think of things I should have said, could have said that might have helped, but this isn’t about me. This is about Aaron. He was a good man, a wonderful friend, and a loving brother. I love him so much and this world is a darker place without him.

I want to point my friends and readers to some resources that can help them when they see the signs of depression in themselves or their loved ones. Post Secret routinely donates to The National Hopeline Network, which can be reached by calling 1-800-SUICIDE. The National Suicide Prevention Hotline is a 24 hour resource. 1-800-273-TALK (8255) NSPH also has a Veterans line in partnership with the VA which can be reached by calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255) Veterans press 1.

To those who feel themselves being drawn into the shadows of depression, please talk. Talk to your friends, family, coworkers, they love you! We love you! We want to help you. No subject is taboo. If you’re too shy to talk to a friend, call one of the hotlines above.

Thank you for reading along with me and for holding my hand. I love you all.

I love you, Brother.

~SmSc