Marina Cisternas, my Mamapapa, in the 1940s

I lost my grandmother in early February of this year, the day before her 94th birthday. Despite her age, her rapid decline was a shock. The last time I talked to her she was already in the hospital. Through a crackling phone connection she told me in a warbling voice needed surgery. She asked me to pray for her. The surgery didn’t go well. Two days later she was unconscious and another two days after that she was gone. 

Last night I had a dream. In the dream, my grandmother had already passed and my whole family was gathered in her old house in Texas, working to clear it out. I was standing in her kitchen cleaning, sun streaming onto the lemon-pattered wallpaper and sticky linoleum floors. Suddenly, there was my grandmother, an apparition from beyond. She looked beautiful, with clear, vibrant skin and glossy hair rolled into a loose bun. Her volatile temper, I could feel, was no more. She stood tall with limber joints, and when I said, “Mamapapa?” she came over to grip my hand. Her grasp was warm and strong, her knuckles no longer gnarled. She looked me in the eyes, said my name and gave me a hug. I could smell her perfume, the same one she always wore. The rest of my family had since gathered around in awe, and she went to each of them and hugged them too. Then she was gone. I still miss her.

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Nov. 17

A few weeks ago I listened to a Ted Radio Hour interview with politician Stacey Abrams. Abrams is Black woman who has created for herself a flourishing political career in Georgia against all odds. One of her most pivotal moments was when she graduated valedictorian of her high school and was invited to a reception at the governor’s mansion in Atlanta. When they arrived, Abrams and her family were rudely rebuffed by the guard at the gate who claimed they didn’t belong there. While Abrams eventually made it inside the mansion, her experience at the gate ruined what should’ve been a monumental occasion. She vowed to become the person who opened the gates for others. In the twenty odd years since that humiliating experience, Abrams made U.S. history by being the first Black woman to become a major party’s nominee for governor. When she lost the race in 2018, she wondered how to keep moving and transcend the bitterness and lethargy. Ultimately, she went back to the three questions that keep propelling her through life: “What do I want? Why do I want it? And how do I get it?” 

By tackling the what, why, and how in one fell swoop, these questions are so simple but so profound. For the past several weeks, they’ve been tacked up on the bulletin board above my desk, and suddenly the impossible seems within reach. Of course, this is not a magical formula that will cause a perfect life to spontaneously appear, but it’s a preventative measure against getting lost in the weeds. If we take the time to truly work through these questions, we gain a clarity and perspective on life we might otherwise lack, and we can continue to move forward, one purposeful step at a time.

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Nov. 16

The aforementioned music organization has inevitably gotten me listening to genres of music I generally don’t think to partake in, like reggae. Sometimes it just hits the spot, ya know? When listening to the old school Funky Kingston I could only think that it’s the perfect cocktail name (also, one day I want to open a bar called the Buena Vista Social Club—I don’t think a better name exists). Of course, because the internet is always miles ahead of me, a quick google search yielded an already-existing cocktail by the same name. As luck would have it, I had all the ingredients on hand, and it was delightful. Here’s the recipe, with a few of my tweaks, if you feel so inclined: 

In a cocktail shaker, muddle two slices of peeled ginger root. Add to the shaker a few cubes of ice, 1.5 ounces of gin, 3/4 oz dry curaçao, 1/2 oz velvet falernum, 1/2 oz oz lime juice, and 3 dashes angostura bitters. Shake vigorously and strain into a glass. If desired, top with a few ounces of lime lacroix. Enjoy with some reggae on the stereo and a handful of salt and vinegar chips, or pair with Telluride town councilman Rasta Stevie in my favorite throwback ski clip to get you in the mood for snow.

(Nov. 13)

A small collection of delights: tabulating previously uncategorized songs in my spotify library into playlists of obscure genres (here's a particularly good beat) / being a coffee shop regular / a 3pm lunch: avocado toast topped with a runny-yolked fried egg, add pickled red onions and unexpected cheddar (a trader joe’s staple in this house) / a neon beanie on a drab day / curing screen fatigue with a walk at the end of the day / eating a whole container of blueberries during a meeting* 

*seems like food and drink comprise a large part of my satisfaction these days—can’t complain

(Nov. 12)