Camaro

Project Blog It

Camaro was from a border town. It didn’t matter which side of the border. In the US, everyone assumed he was from the other side. In Mexico, everyone assumed he was American, or at least a lucky emigrant.

His language was the language of the border, neither pure English, nor pure Spanish, as if either of these languages could ever have a pure form. Camaro’s border language was slightly accented in both English and Spanish. He spoke those languages perfectly, natively, but with the notes and tones that gave away his border status. It was those subtleties of pronunciation that labeled him as someone from the other side, never someone from here, never someone who belonged.

The other people of the border, people like Camaro, spoke in the same way. Looked and lived the same way; people who ate frijoles as often as they ate potatoes. They were people of nowhere, neither here nor there. Only knowing themselves what their addresses were, addresses that stopped at their zip codes, not extending beyond to the abstract idea of nation.

Camaro knew the border was a line, a political designation marking the boundary between one world and another. But the border, as lived by Camaro, was much more fluid. Not a fine line that marked this side from that side. Not a line that when crossed with a mere step meant the movement between languages, cultures, opportunities, and possibilities. Camaro saw the border as a much wider expanse than a simple line. And he wondered how wide the border was. In not belonging on either side, his border existence transcended nations. He was a man without a country, subject to no one, until it came time to pay taxes, and then both sides wanted him. But he wondered how far either north or south one would have to go before belonging. Where does the border really exist? At what point would he be regarded as one with the others, as one who is home?


Please check the blogs listed on the right for companion pieces to this week's prompt.

Next week's prompt: Words.

Let's go get our damn equal rights!

Solstice

Project Blog It

The solstices are both my favorite and my dreaded days of the year. The summer solstice, when the sun crosses the Tropic of Cancer, marks the longest day of the year in our hemisphere, the day when we experience maximum daylight, the official start of summer, and my favorite day of the year.

The winter solstice, when the sun crosses the Tropic of Capricorn, marks the exact opposite, the shortest day of the year. The day we experience maximum darkness, the official start of winter, and my least favorite day of the year.

Sunlight is important to me. It makes me happy, brings me joy, and makes me feel good. I love long long days that start early in the morning and last until long past evening. The summer solstice is the pinnacle of such days. It is the moment from which I can look forward and see the long, bright, warm summer months ahead of me. It is a moment of pure bliss when I feel like there is so much time ahead of me, and there really is. It is the moment I think about, months from then, looking back, and wishing it hadn’t all passed by so quickly, wishing that I still had some more time—but on the solstice, I really do have all of that time.

As the days are nearing there shortest time and we approach the winter solstice, I’m starting to feel that sense of longing, even anguish, for warmth and daylight. But on thinking about solstices, I wonder if perhaps I’ve gotten it wrong. Yes, the summer solstice remains my favorite day of the year, but that day also marks a turning point. It marks the point after which the days begin to shorten. And in the same way, though the winter solstice marks the shortest and darkest day, it also marks the point at which the days begin to lengthen. Yes, it will take months for the sun to cross the equator bringing me more light than darkness, but after the winter solstice, we’ve turned a corner and begin to move back towards warmth and light. Likely the coldest days of the year remain ahead of us, but the countdown to those long sunny days I love so much has begun.

It seems the dark and the light go hand-in-hand together, one with the other, in balance, unity, and harmony. And I guess that’s as it should be.


Please check the blogs listed on the right for companion pieces to this week's prompt.

Next week's prompt: Bitchin Camaro.

Treat

Project Blog It

Apologies for the tardiness of this week's post.


A treat is a fleeting indulgence. Something given or received as a reward, but not always a reward for an accomplishment. To be a treat, the reward must be temporary—the momentary pleasure of chocolate that makes the calories and blood sugar spike worth it. Even treats that result in concrete rewards, unnecessary or costly items that are purchased, are temporary, for the pleasure they bring as treats is short-lived in comparison to the life of a new pair of shoes or a car. These items last, but we become accustomed to them. They soon cease to excite us in the way that reminds us of the accomplishment they were meant to mark. We may still enjoy and appreciate the item for its lifespan, but the immediacy of the sense of being rewarded flies away.

Treats are delights. Momentary pleasures that bring us joy and well-being. They remove us from the challenges of being, if only for a moment.



Please check the blogs listed on the right for companion pieces to this week's prompt.


Next week's prompt: Solstice.