In the Bag

Al principio de los años 90 a veces cuando entrevistaban a algún artista en MTV le pedían que mostrara lo que llevaba en los bolsillos. Algunas de los blogueras que leo han estado hacienda algo parecido. Le toman una foto al contenido de sus carteras y lo postean para que todo el mundo lo vea. Por supuesto, ahí voy yo. En mi mochilita llevo:

In the early 90s sometimes during interviews on MTV artists would be asked to show what was in their pockets. Some bloggers I read have been doing something similar. They take a photo of the contents of their purses and post it for all the world to see. So, of course, I’m jumping on the bandwagon. The contents of my little backpack are:


agenda – date book
lapiceros – pens
celular – cell phone
llaves – keys
brillo para los labios – lip gloss
monedero – coin holder ($1.37)
alarma personal – personal alarm
pastillitas de menta – mints
tarjeta de metro – subway pass
paquetito de almendras – packet of almonds
algo de tejer – some knitting


La bolsita roja fue un regalito que nos dieron a todos los que dimos clases de tejer en el último festival de tejido que hubo en Washington, DC. Contenido: licencia de conducir, tarjeta de crédito, billetes ($8.00), tarjetas bibliotecarias, tarjeta bancaria, varias tarjetas de presentación.
The red pouch was a gift given to all those who gave knitting/crochet lessons at the last Knit Out that was held in Washington, DC. Contents: driver’s license, credit card, cash ($8.00), library cards, bank card, various business cards.

Martin Luther King Jr. Day

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, however there won’t be any celebrations until Monday because the Powers That Be took it upon themselves to move that day’s observance so that they could conveniently have a three-day weekend. They also do that with a couple other holidays. The result of this practice, which began sometime in the mid-90s, is that many people can’t tell you the date of these holidays because they are now celebrated on the nearest Monday that will produce a longer weekend, thus the date changes every year. Although I enjoy three-day weekends as much as the next person, I also enjoy a day off in the middle of the week. If King Day were celebrated on the original day, we’d still get two three-day weekends in every seven-year cycle. Why not do that with Independence Day or Christmas? Things are probably not going to change, so should I even waste my time talking about it?

Anyway, every year the Kennedy Center, in conjunction with a local university, organizes a program in tribute to the civil rights leader. This year I was among those invited to sing in the choir. It’s very exciting because when I was a kid I used to listen to classical concerts on the radio in which the announcer would often say, “Live, from the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC…” And next week I will be singing there! Tonight I went to the first rehearsal. We must learn four pieces well (and by heart) in less than a week. We will be singing two of the pieces with mezzo soprano Denyce Graves. How cool is that?

On the bus home from choir rehearsal I was working on my black cardigan. An older gentleman sitting across from me asked what I was working on. Then he asked, “Why not red?” The truth is that I already have a red cardigan and what I really need is an everyday black cardigan that goes with everything. I didn’t want to get into all that, so I told him that black yarn is what I had, so that’s the color the sweater will be. Then I asked him if red was his favorite color. He said, “No, but I like red on women.” At that point I thought to myself, “Well, I’m not dressing for you. Am I, Gramps?” Then he asked my name and what I had studied at university. Just as I was about to pull the cord to notify the bus driver of my stop, he told me his name and that he wanted to invite me to a French restaurant in Georgetown. When he saw me get up he said, “We’ll talk another time.” This little exchange illustrates the story of my life (or the story of my last ten years or so). The only men interested me tend to be under the age of 22 or quickly approaching retirement age. Those in their thirties and early forties seem completely oblivious to my existence.

On the upshot, if I were to take him up on his offer, I’d know what color to wear! ;o)

Ten, Five, One Year(s) Ago

Ten years ago I’d just completed the most challenging and fulfilling year of work to date. Having just returned from two months of backpacking through Europe (preceded by a month-long stay in Morocco and three weeks in Costa Rica), I was dealing with reverse culture shock. Being back in sleepy old Connecticut after experiencing so many thrilling adventures was a bit of a downer. The one thing that made things interesting was that I was preparing to move into my first apartment.

Five years ago I was experiencing the most excruciating post-breakup heart pain. (How could I have made such an idiotic choice? I knew better! I wish he were dead! Will I be able to love again?) Imagine someone ripping your heart out of your chest, throwing it on the ground then kicking it with steel-toed boots while his friends laughed. Add your father shaking his head sadly with that “I told you so” look on his face.

I finally packed up my things and moved to the DC area (yay!).

One year ago I was in my highest paying, most stressful job EVER (Incompetent administrators deserve their own special little torture chamber in hell. They almost managed to suck all the joy out of a job I love.). I learned, again, that not everyone can be trusted (i.e. incompetent administrators who smile in your face and stab you in the back). On the positive side, I survived the ordeal.