continuation of Feb. 12 ’20 post
hay cosas que no se tatúan con tinta
some things are not tattooed with ink
It sounds different in Spanish, to me, with a deeper meaning, but it could be that since Spanish is my first language, there’s a thing. It’s the same with numbers and certain words. They jump at me in Spanish. Sometimes, seldom, I am at a loss for words because only Spanish comes to the forefront. And I have lived speaking English since we arrived in the states in 1977.
When we moved to the states, I read and read and read, to avoid speaking English. My siblings made friends immediately, whereas I still have trouble. I’d like to blame it on the fear of saying things incorrectly, or, now that I know the language, saying the wrong thing … which I still manage to do. A lot. I try to keep my thoughts to myself. Try.
Besides devouring books from the library, belly down on the living room floor watching my impish siblings play on the street with neighbors, a memory of that first summer is: being asked to get ice cubes from the neighbor across the street. I didn’t want to touch the tray held out to me.
“Ask for ice cubes?!”
“We don’t have any.” We were still (I use ‘we’ loosely here) cleaning the house, waiting for furniture that eventually took about six months to arrive, waiting for my dad.
I turned away, saying over my shoulder. “I don’t know how to ask.”
“Could we have ice cubes, please?“
I was not going to get away with it. So I repeated the question over and over, as I crossed the sidewalk and street, as I rang the doorbell and waited, thinking, please don’t be home.
— I digressed —
As Dr. Johnson said,
“People need to be reminded more often than they
need to be instructed.”CS LEWIS
I so agree with that. It is why I want a tattoo every so often, to be reminded of whatever inspires me or sparks a desire some days.
Most of these words or fragments are embedded in my head for who knows what reason. Mostly they’re from a sentence read. I read (endeavor to, anyway) every morning while I drink my chai and beyond. Mornings bring me a freedom I envy the rest of the day (not really envy, but lack perhaps is a better word — really?), so when I read in the a.m. words super-influence me. It’s why I wrote my second novel before going to work, although it meant waking up in the wee hours. But that’s when my thoughts and spirit are smooth and fluid.
more of the list
enter into peace
time is a gift — open it
what’s stopping you?
awareness does not fight