Studying for a quiz Today

I was kneading the dough for an apple pie crust. I had cored and peeled apples, and they were on the fire, swimming in a syrup tasting of cinnamon. This would be the second time I had baked something.

The first was Mariana's carrot cake.

The same carrot cake which I almost dropped onto the concrete outside the apartment, but miraculously landed frosting-side up. It lived to hold up Mariana's single birthday candle and receive compliments from her guests.

A little bit more water. This was going to be a dry crust.

I had taken over the pie without anybody telling me to. This was a recipe from the internet, but it was my project, buzzing from one end to the communal kitchen to the other, rinsing, mixing, kneading, etc.

It's hard not to talk about myself when all I have out here is pictures and memories of a beautiful daughter.

I was baking and eating, but all the same, I was looking over my shoulder and to the floor. This is where she would sit and play. This is when she would hang onto to my shins protesting the lack of full attention on her. This is when I would mush up a couple of apple slices and add cinnamon and place it in front of her to play with most of it and eat a little bit of it from time to time.

This is when I would show her what I was doing.

This is how I would explain to her why I was so far away.

She won't remember the taste of her birthday cake and as for the pie, I already remember what I want to do differently, how I want to make the pie better using the limited supplies I have available.

At 12:45p, I'll go and carry an old bicycle wheel to the campus coffee shop for an interview. I must convince the interviewers that I am capable of successfully showing them how to do something, which in this case will be removing the inner tube from this old bike wheel. I leave it at that because I am allotted 2-3 minutes and I do not want to go over the time limit.

My fingers are still black from practicing the demonstration and I don't feel as nervous. The interview has nothing to do with bicycles-- it has to do with teaching high school students about positive life decisions and the consequences of bad ones. If all goes well, I'll train to visit schools below the poverty line, giving demonstrations on one of several topics ranging from alcohol abuse to positive relationships.

Ironically, Mariana is very much a product of not following the advice of similar presentations (e.g. safe sex), but I am confident that I can effectively present a message.

There is a lot I do not know about parenting. I am still trying to figure out fatherhood from such a distance, but in the meantime, it shouldn't hurt to prepare myself with answers to those awkward and unasked questions Mariana might approach me with one day.

Or maybe it could do with pie or bicycles or even bugs.

Why bugs have aposomatic coloration, or that luciferine and luciferase combine with oxygen to produce a "cold" light.

Facts float around my head and I make an effort to arrange them and remember them somehow. Memories float around too, but I make little effort to arrange them and instead let them fly around, signalling to me that I will soon be with her again.

Far away. Far away. Soon. Soon.

Rooted

I forgot how far each house I've lived in is from every one. Small as Sacramento is, each house has felt as though there were nothing but road and the forgotten details of the background and a blur of routine.

I took Brooke and Mariana out to Mather where I used to walk around and enjoy the air, but other than that, I never really drove out to homes occupied by strangers now or schools attended by new generations of I've-once-been-there-ages. My foot only pressed to gas pedal down towards places we've been around and were going to.

Mariana leaves the only home she's known soon. She will be happier, and will soon learn to share her mother's excitement as she has plenty more room to nurture her budding senses. She began taking a few steps the other day. Thrilled as Br

ooke and I were, it was just another baby thing for Mariana. The rest of us sit and watch as she grows, making the present our collective past as we all press forward with our routines. These are her moments just as the past was filled with my very own moments.

25th street. Countryfield drive. 25th street. Haveshill Way. E. 60th street. Four different streets, four different worlds.

We're leaving the world in which I attribute specific memories from. Mariana crawls on, taking a shot at a step or two as we figure everything else out.

Goodbye to the past, we'll remember you as best we can.

One day Mariana, we'll go around and I'll show you where Daddy came from. Just like you, Daddy started with the same roots.

I kneaded you...

Sometimes we need things, but settle for kneading bread instead.

I feel the break Feel the break Feel the break and I got to live it up Oh yeah huh

Record: I'm speaking into a tape recorder, trying to fill it up. How much Daddy can I fill a tape with?

Playback: I listen to my music more often now that I'm free to pace around my room and figure my life out one assignment at a time. So many songs playing back, some of them making me pause, surprised that I had once said or thought the same lyric.

I can walk down the street thinking: I'm not the only one. I'm not the only one.

Archive: This really is history in the making, albeit a very, very small part of a much larger whole.

"bye bye baby bunting, daddy's gone a hunting...

to catch some education and stability to wrap baby bunting in."

I'm not really sure what the Politically Correct upgraded interpretation is of old lullabies my mama used to sing to me, or why they never acknowledged a mother's work and why I didn't ask more questions when I was younger.

In any regard, your father set out on his journey that he committed to before he and I ever met, or ever knew there would ever be a you. He enters his third year at the University of Chicago now more committed than ever to you and his pursuit of being the best provider he can be as a father. Your ambuela and ambuelo and I all said our goodbyes with proud smiles and quiet tears and many kisses on the forehead. At the airport we waited standing at the gates until the last recognizable sign of daddy had been lost in the crowds of busy people going busy places. We'll visit Chicago someday soon when he graduates.

We all spent a gluttonous summer of adoring you while adapting to learning how to not just support you but each other as well. This summer has been a painful lesson of evolving to the needs of life and neglecting the wants.

Dear Mariana, while I am often overwhelmed at your genius curiosity, your beautiful voice, your strong determination, your shining approval I am sometimes also overwhelmed at the many many responsibilities of parenting and schooling. I've never felt so terribly insecure and determined all at once. Everyday there is a long list of things to do that never quite resolves itself into a satisfied picture of success. But each day I am working to improve myself. I often remind myself to relax and spend time with you, tell you about the day and the struggles and the hopes; and like a muse you always leave me feeling relieved and inspired afterwards. One day at a time I build myself up to be someone you can be proud of, because one day you will be the cheerleader at my graduation.

When you were younger I signed for you more vigilently the basic needs and worries, I wanted us to understand eachother. Now in an ASL class I am sad that I let these better intentions fall to the wayside. Sometimes I sing to you in signs, it seems to relax your fussy pants moods. When I get better I'll try signing this one to you, daddy can sign along.

my heart is as big as a house

We've been living in small spaces with questionable neighbors and resident home-bums that reside in the parking lot of the complex... it might be too early to dream but perhaps we will live in a house soon with a backyard with a pumpkin patch already growing and a porch for us to sit n drinking lemonade and chit-chatting.

Your father will be leaving soon and maybe it is time we move out of this shell of a home.

...buy me some peanuts and crackerjack...

I recently saw the As lose to the Yankees in Oakland. I had wanted to see the As play the White Sox in Chicago, but because anything from school work to the weather kept me on campus, I was never able to take the trip down to see a game.

Andrew and I had planned to pack up the Toyota and drive out to Oakland and watch a game We had good seats, and I was feeling good: I was able to wear a sweater for the first time in months.

I wasn't paying attention to the game the way Andrew was, who was calling out the players by name, and leaning in to me to talk about the batters and pitchers as if I would have a valid response. This is when I remembered that the last time I had seen the As play was when my father took me, my sister, and two of her friends to most of a game. We had arrived late and left when the As lost to... I don't remember who.

That was kind of it though: what did I remember and had I forgotten about going out to the ball game?

I didn't remember wading through crowds or the exorbitant prices for a measly cup of fries.

I do remember sitting in the sunshine and looking around the field to figure out what was going on. I remember eating tostadas while my grandpa made jokes about catching the ball with a big foam Athletics #1 hand.

I remember sitting by my father and feeling really good about not being the only one who had no idea what was going on with the game.

"Any family that stays together goes to the baseball game!" shouts Andrew. "One day we'll take little girl to the game."

The most intimidating thing about going to games is coming to terms with the fact that I have no real idea what is going on. I've played these games before in the school yards and in the parks, but it took a lot of effort to learn the game and its rules. It was always difficult to want to learn with the prepubescent shouts of would-be athletes at recess.

I don't know what it is that attracts me to the games then. I normally don't like being within large crowds, but within the ball park, I don't mind nudging elbows, rubbing butts trying to squeeze through the aisles or peeing in the tub-like urinals.

There are smells in the air and there is excitement. Two opposing teams which consist of people who are hired to play the game compete. Not quite a clash of the titans, but for some, sure, the competition between two teams is just that.

When I sit with Mariana through a game, mostly I imagine I'd watch the crowd with her, pointing to people, things and whatever else exciting happens in the game. After all, I don't have to know how to play to know when to cheer, laugh, or yell with the rest of them.

One day I'll take her to a few games. Baseball, basketball, heck maybe I'll even take her to a regatta.

At least there is one sport I know the rules of and compete in!