On WHOLE ARROWS, Albertsons Kin, and a Shit-ton of Monopoly Pieces

This blog is a continuation of my Facebook post from Monday, April 27th. Today's post will only make sense if you read what I shared yesterday. And finally, if you are offended by profanity, you may want to close up this page and carry on with your day. 

Ok, so I should probably be as transparent as possible because I really want to make sure you all can visualize my complete anxiety during yesterday’s grocery shopping trip. Juan separated from me so we could make the trip go faster. If you have never been shopping with my husband, I will take this opportunity to tell you that he will analyze the price of every item I send him to look for—you can take this as my way of sending him on a wild goose hunt so I can be alone, or you can believe I am a benevolent woman who loves to watch her husband engage in the art of grocery shopping…your choice.

By the second aisle I knew that social contracts were being broken all around me. One going north while the arrow pointed south. Down one aisle, it looked like two friends used Albertsons as a meeting destination sans kids and spouses. I could have sworn I saw them pass a flask back and forth. Yes, friends, this is the stage we have reached in these #RonaTimes where we have exchanged our local watering hole for grocery stores.

I had one last thing on my list: chocolate baking chips. I think they were on aisle 3a, but I was on aisle 4b and the arrows were pointing the opposite direction of the baking section. Did I break protocol? No, your girl decided to keep going in the direction that management determined would keep me disease-free during my shopping trip. It gets better from here, I promise!

In the next aisle I see that an employee is stocking shelves in the pasta section. He was stocking from a large cart and his body was fully in the aisle. There was no way around him without being within a foot of his neck hairs. I patiently stood about 10 feet away waiting for him to finish up. Two minutes later he completely stopped and asked, “Is everything ok? Do you need help finding anything?” He had kind eyes. I could tell he was likely in his late 20s and his mama taught him to be respectful to older women in the wild who had lost their wits. I took a deep breath before responding, because I needed to remind myself that it was not his fault that I was losing my marbles over arrows and chocolate baking chips. It also wasn’t his fault for what was about to come out of my mouth.

“Nothing is ok. Can you just please tell me how to get to the chocolate baking chips from here?” I spit out, all in one breath. I felt accomplished. The outside corners of his eyes began to lift, and if it wasn’t for the mask across his mouth and nose, I bet his smile would have been a contender for a Colgate commercial. He said, “Yeah, ok, it’s in the next aisle over, right over there,” and pointed to the aisle on his left. “Ok, and do you need me to wait until you are done here for me to walk by you?” I asked him, hoping he wasn’t going to make me wait.

“Nah, man, you don’t need to wait. You can just go get those chocolate chips,” was his reply. 

We became kin with that one sentence. He said, “Nah, man” in the same way my little brother does, so my social inhibitions completely left the building and I responded, “Thank you, man, and fuck your arrows” as I walked by him. He doubled over in laughter and replied, “Yeah, fuck those arrows!” just in the nick of time to catch another Albertsons employee passing by. This one was wearing a safety vest and asked me if everything was ok. I said, “Yeah, fuck your arrows. Everything is going to be ok.” To which he replied, “Yeah, fuck the arrows!” I imagined that scene in Les Mis when ‘Do You Hear the People Sing’ comes on and instead of opposing armies waving flags, every shopper emerges from the aisles with their “Fuck your arrows” flag flowing in the air. I digress…

I kept on walking until I found the chocolate baking chips and Juan all in one aisle—It was like lightning striking twice in the same spot, because (back to the topic of grocery shopping with Juan) he always manages to lose himself in the aisles and I have to pry him back to the real world when it is time to leave. I quickly explain my emotional outburst and why we needed to get back home as quickly as possible. He knew the exit route as though he had created it himself, so I willingly followed him through the rest of the store following the directional arrows. 

When we get to the cash register, I was pleased to see my favorite cashier was going to ring me up. “Act right, Lorena. Don’t talk about the fucking arrows to this child who is working the frontlines of the grocery industry,” was my inner monologue. All I wanted was to smile dutifully, ask her how she was doing, and get my Monopoly pieces at the end of my transaction.

When I was done paying and she handed me my receipt, I must have had a worried look on my face because she asked me if everything was alright. “Don’t break. Don’t break!” I told myself as I squeezed out, “Oh yes, can I get my monopoly pieces?”

She

Did

Not

Disappoint

The highlight of my trip was watching her give absolutely no fucks when using her two hands to grab my Monopoly pieces. And that, my friends, is the whole story on the whole arrows that threw my whole day off. Cheers!

On Thriving Through Chaos and the Sweetness of My Amá's Prayers

Am I allowed to say that I'm thriving when there is so much chaos in the world right now? 

A little over two weeks ago I stopped posting my daily #quarantinemeals posts on both my instagram and Facebook because I had a fleeting moment of guilt. I was participating in a local community forum in a daily post where we are encouraged to post what we made for dinner. On that day, I had a particularly hard day at work and I went home to cook the three different meals for the family (we all have different likes/needs) as my form of self-care. The girls were excited to eat their spaghetti with meat sauce, Juan loved his mash potatoes with white rice, and the Wolf and I enjoyed our chickpea and quinoa tacos. After dinner I went into the forum to post my photos and the list of ingredients I used and I was immediately met with a comment that said, "It must be nice to have so much food that you can prepare three different meals. Why not just give everyone spaghetti?"

This person wasn't wrong. They had every right to call me out for having more than they did. They had every right to feel whatever they were feeling in that moment because the posting of my food, or my ingredients, or the amount of meals I made triggered something within them and made them feel less than. Instead of commenting, I put my phone down and enjoyed the rest of the evening with the kids and Juan. I wasn't going to let that person yuck my yum simply because my needs were different than theirs. But that feeling was temporary.

I went to bed that night with a really uneasy feeling in my heart. I began to think about all the times I had gotten asked how I was doing or how the kids were doing and I would respond with, "I'm doing great." or "The kids are thriving learning at home." And I wondered who I had offended with my responses, or if the state of my happiness caused someone to be unhappy. Some major mental inventory went on before I went to bed and the dream that happened that night had me talking to my amà about guilt. In my dream I sat down with her and began telling her about the guilt that I was feeling with having enough food to feed my family while so many others don't have enough. If any of you have ever heard my amà's sarcastic laugh, insert that sound here. 

In my dream she asked me, "¿Realmente te importa lo que la gente piense de ti?" I guess she found it odd that I would worry what people thought about me. 

I replied, "No quiero que la gente piense que estoy presumiendo que mi familia está muy bien. Temo que parece insensible para aquellos que están luchando en este momento." I admitted to her that I didn't want to come across as boastful or insensitive to those families who were struggling to put food on the table. I started crying in my dream. It wasn't one of those cries where there are slow tears coming down my cheeks; it was a deep sobbing cry that is typically reserved for intense emotional pain. The final words I remembered when I woke up was her telling me the famous words she would always share with us when we were little, "Llora cuando tu madre muera, pero no por algo tan pequeño como esto." Growing up, that statement was my amà's passive-aggressive way of telling me I was being a crybaby, and the same way it got me to stop crying when I was a child, I also stopped crying in my dream. 

While I was at work later in the day, I called my mom to let her know that I had the bag of rice she had asked me to pick up on my next shopping trip. Porch drop-offs and multiple phone calls a day is our new normal because of this pandemic. I haven't hugged her or been inside her home for five weeks now, but between my four siblings and my family, we always make sure she has everything she needs so she doesn't leave her home. She was excited that I was stopping by and let me know that she was making chicken and rice that day and would make an extra batch for me to take home. 

The porch exchange was successful.

When I arrived to her home, I approached her front door whistling and I could hear the 5:00 news blasting in her kitchen. I let her know I was there after placing her things down on the bench outside. She must have heard me whistling because she met me at her door and asked me to sit down outside because she wanted me to taste the rice. I told her I couldn't eat it because it was cooked with chicken stock, but that I would take it home to the family. She said, "No te preocupes. Te tengo un plato especial para ti." My amà made me my own serving without using chicken stock and invited me to sit 6 feet away from her. 

My amà's instincts immediately kicked in and she asked me about the kids, Juanito, and myself. I told her everyone was doing great and the kids were loving being at home. She asked how the three of them were doing in school and if they were struggling because she was hearing people on the news complain that it is really hard to have schooling happen at home. I was happy to tell her that her grandkids were thriving, that they were successful in distance learning and thriving academically. She pointed to her chest with both thumbs and proclaimed, "¡Bueno, es porque ellos son Ramírez!" There she was again, always taking the credit for the family's intelligence! 

I began to tell her about my dream and how I went to bed sad the night before. I explained how the whole #quarantinemeals posts began as a way to connect with folks from my theater community who were sharing the meals they would make for their families. I shared with her how I was discovering new Peruvian dishes by following Rosa Navarrete and I was learning how to blend more vegetables into my dishes by following Roberta H. Martinez. I told her that Claudia Elizabeth Duran was teaching her little sister to cook during this pandemic. And I even told her about the time Elvia Susana Rubalcava made nopales for the first time, from scratch! I didn't realize I had tears in my eyes when I was sharing this with her. She asked me, "¿Entonces, cuál es el problema?" That's when I blurted what my problem was, choking on my own tears. 

She let me sit there for a few minutes as I shoved the rice in my mouth. I ate so I wouldn't have to speak anymore. I ate because my mom makes her food with love and I needed to feel that love in that moment. After all, food is also her love language. 

Tasting my amá's special batch of rice she made me. 

My amá asked me the following questions:

"¿Lora, sigues trabajando?" = am I still working? To which I shook my head up and down. 
"¿Estás cocinando por tu propia familia o alguien viene a tu casa a cocinar?" = are you cooking for your own family or is someone coming to your house to cook? To which I responded that I wished someone would come to my house to cook. 
"¿Te han dicho que estás ofendiendo a alguien cuando pones tu comida en las ventanitas?" = has someone told you that you have offended them when you share your food in the "little windows" (Facebook) I responded that I have received positive feedback, both publicly and privately, that my posts were fun to interact with. 

She paused a few moments before saying that if it is not my intention to offend anyone, and if it is also not my intention to be boastful, then I should continue to post my meals if it brings me joy. She said she would continue to pray for all of her children, grandchildren, and for everyone to have enough food on their tables and good health. Can I tell you how hard it was to fight back my instinct to hug her? She delivered the right dosage of love and emotional support to carry me through the rest of the day.

A few days later we drove back over to her house to drop off groceries. As we drove through her neighborhood, I said to Juan, "Stop, I think that's my mom walking over there." We slowed down as we approached her and I rolled the window down. I asked her what she was doing alone walking so far from home (for the record, she was halfway around the block, which is hardly far lol). I could tell she was smiling with the way her cheeks pushed up her mask higher on her face. She held up her gloved hand with a rosary hanging from it and said, "Estoy rezando por la familia y por el mundo, como te dije el otro dia. Te doy mis bendiciones."

From my amá to you, sending you all the blessings.

My amà walking around the block while praying the
rosary for all of us, praying we all have enough.

On Thanking Woflie's Teacher and Remembering to 'Just Breathe, Ma'

A public letter to my Wolf's 4th grade teacher, who was also Azcal's 4th grade teacher, who is also my friend.

Dear Mrs. M,

I wasn't expecting to hear from you this morning, but what a lovely surprise it was to see your message come across my screen. You were checking in to make sure we were all doing well because you hadn't heard back from any of the emails you sent to me. I quickly replied back to you with the explanation that every email I replied to was kicked back by the system. I didn't tell you that so you wouldn't blame Wolfie for it, I explained this to you so you wouldn't think that I was the parent who didn't care about school success.

I remember that first email you sent to us. In it, you told us to do what was best for our family. You told us that lessons would be available in the Google Classroom and that students were able to log in and keep up with the schedules that had been put up, but that they may do so at the time of day that most suited them. Well, for that first week there was no time in the day that suited the Wolf. To be completely honest with you, I never told him about the email. I never went home from work to say, "Hey, Wolf, Mrs. M sent an email that your Google Classroom is ready for you and you should log in and begin doing work." I say this to you now because I don't want you to think that I didn't respect the time you put into getting curriculum together. Or the time and frustration it must have caused you to suddenly lean into online instruction. And let's not even get into your perfected method of delivering differentiated curriculum to every scholar in your classroom! I didn't want you to think I didn't honor you as his educator and my academic partner.

Last week Wolfie logged into his Google Classroom and noticed he had an assignment to create a self portrait in Google Draw. I was able to work from home that day and watched as his anxiety shot through the roof in 2.5 minutes because he could not figure out how to draw long hair on his head and fill it in, all the while keeping the face white. I held him by his shoulders, took off his glasses, and then hugged him as tightly as I could without squishing him. I whispered in his ear, "If you were in Mrs. M's class right now, what would she tell you to do?" I relaxed my hug and watched as the tears ran down his face. He responded, his words cracking, "She would probably tell me to breathe." I let go of him completely so he could breathe. When I did not know how to bring my son down from the ledge, I had to ask him what YOU would do for him because you spend more waking hours with my Wolf, our Wolf. My son knew you would tell him to breathe, and so he breathed deeply in the same way he would have had he been sitting in your 4th grade classroom. Thank you.

Where do you get your super powers from? Were you born with them? Maybe you woke up one day and said, 'M, you're not only going to be a teacher, but you're going to be compassionate, equitable, emotionally intelligent, and above all--empathetic. You're going to teach learners with every imaginable ability and you're going to be thrown through the ringer by some of their parents, but you are still going to show up every day for these students because they each have the ability to change the world.' Did you say that to yourself? This is exactly the way your students and their parents see you. I also see this vision of you wearing an emerald cape with cute cougar paw prints all over it, but I digress.

I'm going to finish this letter with a quick story: On Monday evening after I took a shower, I began to prepare dinner for the evening. I looked in the refrigerator for the vegetables I roasted the night before. When he heard me moving things around in the kitchen, Wolfie walked in and asked, "Whatcha looking for, ma?" I replied, "I'm looking for the vegetables I told you we would share today." He motioned to the sink where the empty container was waiting to be washed. Before I could consider being angry with him, he reached out his hands to me and said, "C'mon, ma, let's dance." He whispered to me as we danced, my anger quickly dissipating, "You just need to remember to breathe, ma."

Mrs. M, I don't know how to thank you for all you have done for my Wolf. You have shown him (and our family) calmness in a time of tempest, kindness in a time of chaos, and above all, you have proven to be one of Wolfie's greatest guides. And I thank you. And I thank you. And I thank you.

May Creator continue to provide you and your family with all you need to get through this pandemic. We will see you on the other side of this. Until then, we will remember to breathe deeply.

Your friend and academic partner,

Lorena M. Ortega

PS. In case you were missing Wolfie's unruly braids, here is a photo I took after he burrowed himself in my blankets this morning.