Ven a mi casa esta Navidad

Tú que estás lejos de tus amigos,
de tu tierra y de tu hogar,
y tienes pena, pena en el alma,
porque no dejas de pensar.

Tú que esta noche no puedes
dejar de recordar,
quiero que sepas, que aquí en mi mesa,
para ti tengo un lugar.

Por eso y muchas cosas más,
ven a mi casa esta Navidad.

Por eso y muchas cosas más,
ven a mi casa esta Navidad.

Tú que recuerdas quizá a tu madre
o a un hijo que no está,
quiero que sepas, que en esta noche,
él te acompañará.

No vayas solo por esas calles,
queriéndote aturdir,
ven con nosotros y a nuestro lado
intenta sonreír.

Por eso y muchas cosas más,
ven a mi casa esta Navidad.

Tú que has vivido, siempre de espaldas,
sin perdonar ningún error,
ahora es momento de reencontrarnos,
ven a mi casa, por favor.

Ahora ya es tiempo, de que charlemos,
pues nada se perdió,
en estos días, todo se olvida,
y nada sucedió.

Por eso y muchas cosas más,
ven a mi casa esta Navidad.

Por eso y muchas cosas más,
ven a mi casa esta Navidad.

Por eso y muchas cosas más,
ven a mi casa esta Navidad.

Luis Aguilé

¡Y Feliz Año Nuevo!

Tradition

"A love of tradition has never weakened a nation--indeed, it has strengthened nations in their hour of peril; but the new view must come; the world must roll forward."

Churchill

I'm in love...

I first became aware of her because of my mother.

Then, I started paying attention on my own... but she was married... not that it would make any difference, but still, one likes to respect others' relationships.

Now that she's not married again, i'm back to drooling.

Ain't she grand?

She's a pretty good singer, too.

Que Pasa Cuando Crecen?

I give up!

I'm not trying any more.

I realize this is a hard process and that I myself had a terrible time going through it. I realize their mother and I have made this even harder with our problems. I know that both our families are not what one might expect on a stamp commemorating Norman Rockwell.

But I don't like it.

It just hurts too much.

They can call me when they're done.

Growing up just sucks.

Destino y medio

Hay dias en que me enoja ser cristiano.

Vivo en el pais con el mayor porcentage de atendencia a la iglesia del mundo. Mas gente visita su templo de preferencia de manera regular aqui que en el vaticano. Sin embargo, al acercarse la segunda celebracion mas importante de esta religion que mis padres me heredaron sin pedir permiso, me veo rodeado (atacado, casi) por la comercializacion semi-invencible que me dicen casi a diario as tanto admirable como exportable (mas de 2000 americanos han pagado con su vida en el proceso).

Esta es la vida.

Con un nivel de productividad por lo menos cinco veces mas valioso internacionalmente que cualquier trabajador latinoamericano, el americano no conoce el valor de la paciencia. La paz es un suenio loco que nuestros padres abandonaron y nuestros abuelos perdieron en la guerra. Nosotros nunca lo conocimos. El tiempo ya no es oro; en comparasion, el oro es abundante. Y aun asi, tomamos tiempo que no tenemos y vamos a la iglesia: a veces hasta dos veces por semana. Y cuando vamos, le pedimos al creador salud, paz, libertad, fortuna, tiempo. Le pedimos libertad--libertad de las mismas cadenas que con mucha ternura quitamos de nuestros propios tobillos para atar a aquellos de nuestros hijos.

Ser normal no es suficiente. En estos ultimos anios, he notado un movimiento extranio en la cultura protestante en el pais. Cristianos que se llaman a si mismos "born again" buscan maneras publicas de demostrar su triunfo economico como para indicar el beneficio de su decision religiosa y asi convencer a mas a seguirlos. Algo asi como: yo sigo a dios y el me dio este carro; siguelo tu y veras lo que te da.

Mientras esto pasa, el pais busca como demostrarle al mundo su superioridad. Tomemos en cuenta que el triunfo que Japon gozo en los 60's y 70's fue directamente derivado de la invasion americana despues de la segunda guerra mundial. Si no fuera por Marshall y su plan, donde estaria Europa hoy? Mirad Alemania. Rusia nos deberia haber suplicado los invadieramos. Iraq deberia festejar el evento. Todas las guerras de los catolicos para conquistar jerusalem fallaron... y nosotros se la regalamos a los judios. ESO es generosidad.

Somos lo mejor del mundo. Me siento con ganas de gritar "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"

Pero se acerca la navidad. Solo SU resurreccion es mayor evento, y el no fue el primero. Tomaremos tiempo de nuestros ocupadisimos dias para rezar y celebrar. Compraremos arbolitos y les pondremos luces de colores y cajas con papeles brillantes. Nos daremos mas cosas para amontonar encima de las cosas que ya tenemos. Nos abrazaremos los unos a los otros y a nosotros mismos, agradeciendo a diario ser de los favoritos de dios, nuestro dios, el mejor de los dioses, superior, mas fuerte, mas sabio, y nuestro. Que suerte de este dios ser nuestro dios! Pues nosotros tenemos mas dinero que cualquier otra gente para celebrar su nacimiento.

Ay! Hay dias en que me averguenza ser cristiano.

Round and round

So I left the country--which is a very fancy (indeed) way of saying I went to TJ (Tijuana, for those of you not in the know).

For some strange reason, I love the place. It is a dirty, messy, uncouth place--and I love it.

I got some coffee; I got a book; I saw a movie; I went to the mall. I didn't do anything there that I could not have done here just as well. I saw not a single face I could not just as easily have seen doing the same things here in Los Angeles. They who live there do not speak differently.

And yet...

There is something about those people I like. I am not Mexican; I am not American. And while I love living here, I think I might love living there just as much. I know I should expect no less--many of my friends are Mexican, if anything as pragmatic as anyone else up north, if not more.

I guess I like the change that comes from crossing an arbitrary line and seeing a world so different and yet (a cliche i shan't avoid) so similar.

I can only hope one day something similar will happen other places, where the lines are harder to cross, and the fee for crossing is often someone's life. They who are not welcome are yet welcoming--for the subtle rejection of everything about them can be seen crossing back north. They who are not hated (that takes too much energy) but just belittled and disdained, will still smile and greet and while it's true many will as soon pick your pocket, most won't--and in the end i think fewer will there than here--and more honestly even then.

I have this picture in my head of a democracy tyrannically lording over the weaker, less educated, just-plain-not-as-lucky neighbors, controlling them with guns and money. It happens, you know. I was there just this past Saturday. And though it may not seem to be going on now, the now there is has come of many thens when it did happen--to a nation's shame and another's anger.

And still, I see this and see three steps to peace that I can only pray others will take before more of their children die...

I guess it's weird that I hope others can have this no-man's-land, with its own share of crime, perhaps, but mostly carefreeness. This, too, is too simplistic and forgets the suffering many live there. I won't go into too much detail, this mention of it shall be enough.

I will say this: one day, my mother and I will have to go and finally have our $200 tacos.

She doesn't read this--but if she did, she would smile.

Time after Time

My birthday is on Thanksgiving.

Not around Thanksgiving, but on Thanksgiving. Every year. Never fails. This has something to do with the strange timekeeping methodology on my planet, but I find it rather convenient, as I never have to work on my birthday. See? Very nice.

A similar side effect from this strange space-time continuum thingy that's unfortunately to blame for my insufferable condition as a human (a terrible clerical error sometime in the evolutionary past is to blame, I'm sure, as I am sure G-d Himself will fix it as soon as He gets around to it), make all communication with me impossible three days before and three days after. My children (G-d bless their innocent little souls) are fully aware of this and know to call the Monday after the aforementioned American holiday to retroactively (not belatedly) wish me a happy birthday--a matter both very much appreciated by me, and expedient to both, as they get to save on the gift they didn't give me because they could not see me. Well, according to my calculations, that would have been last Monday, otherwise discernable on your calendar as 28-Nov-2005, or the incongruous 11/28/05. but NO!!!!! Did they call? No. Did they write? No. Fax? No.Telegraph, telex, smoke signal? no, No, NO! I'm sure I am to blame somehow--or perhaps this is what happens to parents when their children are old enough to build a life outside the home, with friends of their very own with whom to spend their own time--or this is what happens to fathers when ex-wives get new boyfriends with kids and the new kids and the old kids get along great and they all decide to spend the weekend together... dunno.

Perhaps I will not mind. Perhaps I know what this is all like from the kids' point of view because I already lived it as a child when my own parents separated and then divorced. Perhaps this is how I pay for what I did to my mother, who moved out, moved away, and I thought she moved away from me and hated her for it. And maybe I will just drink to forget, like grandpa drank after grandma left.

And maybe I will write To Have and Have Not, and then I'll shoot myself.

or maybe i'll simply be a single drop of rain.

Vaster than empires and more slow...

Steven Saylor writes books about Rome. I have them all. I don't usually read historical fiction, but I'm addicted.

My son walks in my room and asks: "dang, dad! how MANY books has Steven Saylor written?"

It is in the little moments that I steal at work when I look past my book and see the hills beyond that I remember that the greatest moments of this world just might not have come before me. No dust of Caesar's now remains--no memory of Gordianus, who might well have lived... and my children's grandchildren will not know my name... and still I will have left my footprint somewhere, left there to be found by sharp eyes.

All this, and it's fun reading, too.

Do good, and do well.