Author Archives: mbtrevino

Pride or Prejudice

13 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by in American Greatness, Prejudice, Pride, Refugees, Uncategorized

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Uber works well for some but I use taxi cabs, mainly to and from the airport in Seattle. I enjoy people and hearing their backstory. This driver’s name was Ahmed; I owe it to him to share this gem.

“My wife was still growing our baby in her when we decided to flee. Our baby needed to grow another 4 months inside of her but there was no food. We were being starved. The Somalia of my youth will forever live in my heart; but in 1990, it was dead.”

“If we stayed, we would be dead too. Most of our family had been killed in the conflict. There as no opportunity for life for our unborn child. We’d spent that last semester abroad in Italy and when we returned, the only remains of my family and our home was Grandfather’s old car in the shed. Mercifully, it started.”

“We drove 500 miles to Kenya. We went to the American Embassy to seek asylum; America symbolizes security. We were asked if we had a relative in the United States. My cousin lived in San Diego. We were granted refuge and flown there. We have lived gratefully in the US for 25 years.”

“We love America. America is so great. When I hear about Americans who don’t think that America is great; I say they should try to go live somewhere else. Our daughter was born in America after we were settled in San Diego. She is a now an elementary school music teacher. Our other daughter is finishing Nursing School this semester They are proud to be American citizens. Aren’t you a proud American?” he respectfully inquired.

With tears welling in my eyes from hearing a very tiny part of his incredible life story, and truly feeling it, I answered, “Yes, especially at this moment. Your pride inspires me.”

He pulled up to the airport, I got out. “Thanks for raising proud Americans. Thanks for the lift. I will try to do my part too. ”

Please be great. People still count on us. Thanks.

For Merle

06 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by in Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, Kris K,, Uncategorized

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Once upon a time, I worked at Caribou Ranch. It was a recording studio. Kris Kristopherson was working on an album while I was there. Willie Nelson dropped by. He was headed to Red Rocks to perform a concert there. I drove him and got to go backstage and hang out with them. Willie had a few surprise guests. They loved playing music together; that joy made that night even more magical. I can’t write like they do but here is my blog/song to honor Merle. He died today. RIP Merle.

Bluebonnet Blues

As I looked toward the porch steps
And saw her shoe pile was gone
I shoulda known right there
That somethin was wrong

Then the dead bolt was unlocked
That was more than a clue
I’d trade all my tomorrows
If right now wasn’t true

Cause the dreamer in me
Refused to believe
She was gone
That our happily ever after,
our now and forever
was done

I walked through the front door
No sign of her there
I Begged and I pleaded
Offered one final prayer.

Dread quickly crushed all hope.
I was drowning in air.
Tryin not to loose faith,
choking back my despair.

Where’d she gone?……What went wrong?

Born a ‘true-blue’ believer
I swallowed my fear
Re-traced my foot steps,
Till It was painfully clear

Cause the believer in me
Just would not accept
She was gone

The dreamer in me
just could not concede
we were done

Who needed this love seat,
This couch and TV
The blue walls she’d painted
was all I could see

This wasn’t my Friday
Our plans had been made.
It was blue-bonnet weekend,
Those blooms quickly fade.

The rug had been pulled out
Sky blues turned to gray
No one would believe
that We’d end up this way

Feeling my heart break
– The wound time doesn’t heal
Her absence a ton of
Hardened blue steel

But the dreamer in me
Still tryin to pretend
We weren’t done

That our happily ever after,
our now and forever
wasn’t gone.

Her cobalt blue treasures
Were still sitting there.
Placed right where she wanted
with royal blue care.

what she’d clearly wanted
More than denim or lace
Was the strength and the courage,
To escape from this place

Our end had come.
She’d finally run.
And happy-ever after was done

But what I’d really wanted
All of what mattered most
Had instantly vanished
The past now a ghost.

Yet the dreamer in me
Refused to believe
She’d stay gone

That our happily ever after,
our now and forever
was done.

For three thousand nights
Since the day we first wed
We shared the same table
We shared the same bed

Her sapphire band
She’d left clipped to her keys
And Placed on her pillow
– This buckled my knees

Cause she was done sharing
And what we had shared
once was wrong.

Now the sinks full of dishes
Rumpled jeans; all I wear.
Weekends or Holidays
I don’t really care.

Days drag on like dry summers.
Midnights last way too long.
The only thing that’s almost right
Is Something always feels wrong

Pretending we were soul mates
Was her powder-blue lie.
She needed to be free of me
I’m still stuck hard on why.

My one that I lived for
Is now just a name.
Tryin hard not to blame her
Nearly drives me insane.

But the dreamer in me
Still needs to believe
Love’s not wrong.

Good thing I’m a dreamer
Makes it easy To keep Dreaming on.

(Dream on Merle)

Flip-flop

27 Sunday Mar 2016

Posted by in Recovery, Uncategorized, Wardrobe Failure

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My attempt at humor with my last blog post was a flop. I have to try and flip this.

This is a totally true, somewhat embarrassing  story. It happened just last night.

I’d been invited to a pre-concert dinner. It was a big celebration. I hitched a ride so I didn’t have to deal with the debacle of parking downtown. I needed to consider my footwear because I wasn’t sure how far I would have to walk after the concert. I tried on a few different pairs of shoes before I decided on my cherished 3″ heel, strappy- cork wedges. They looked good; island casual with hint of style. I’m vain.

As I was confidently walking back to the private dining room to join the assembled guests, I felt my foot step right out of my shoe. One shoe had come  completely apart. Ungracefully, I stooped over and scooped my delaminated sole off the floor.

I detoured to the ladies room. A woman had been right behind me. The look on her face was classic WardrobeFailure. She was more horrified than I was. I couldn’t just drive home and change shoes, I had been given a ride. I didn’t want to be rudely late. The timing for this evening this was critical with the concert right after the dinner.

To put the two pieces back together was not an option. I took off the remaining intact shoe. Upon examination, I decided to try and make both shoes look the same. Using my fingernails as pry bars, I wedged the cork platform from the other shoe. Once I got a bit of an opening started in the seam I banged it against the floor with as much force as I could use without arousing the staff. Brute force combined with creativity won.

The observer stood by like an silent assistant. When I slipped that pair of matching flats onto my feet, she smiled and finally spoke. She said ” Awesome recovery.”

My cherished wedge sandals are now my strappy Flip-Flops. Happy Spring.

 

Night School

26 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by in Binge Dating, Sneak Dating, Surplus Dating, Night School, Uncategorized

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“Don’t date the patients.” “Ever.”  I heard you. When would I have time? I go to school every night after work! Well, not exactly true. The insistent, persistent, persuasive, patients who wanted to ‘sneak-date’ – threatened to stop being patients if I didn’t agree to meet them – at least one time for coffee.

(The dentist would semi- jokingly tell his patients not to date us; in front of us, when he walked with  them up to the front desk to get them to schedule their next procedure) Kind of like black mail. No, just like black mail. But what was the lesser of my two evils? I lost either way. Overcome with temptation, I decided to sneak date.

Once I was guilty. I went out on another date, then another. It was fun.The patients kept slipping me notes on the back of their business cards. When the semester ended, I only enrolled in one on-line course.

Quickly, I became a Binge Dater. It seemed harmless. Why not date a few of them; try some variety. I became a Surplus Dater. I was dating excessively. Seriously, even two dates a night for a short while. I was exhausted. The adrenaline fueled me; but keeping up with logistics; who was who, was hard.

I simplified it. Just date men whose first names started with the same letter. I called all of them “B” – Bryan was B and Brent was B and Barry was B and Ben was B. It was easier that way. They never complained. They all though it was a term of endearment, like it meant Babe or something sexy.

I never frequented the same places with any of them. Bryan liked elegant places. Brent was the one who insisted on the same exact bar every single time (that was easy) Barry always wanted to leave the island and go anywhere on the mainland. Ben just wanted to cook for me at his place.

Though B didn’t stand for boy; it fit. They really were boys at heart. I won’t get into the age thing  but they were all about ten years younger. My last  live-in BF had been 19 years younger. The ten year, decade difference didn’t require as much translation.

Monday and Wednesday guy thought I went to school on Tuesday and Thursday nights. My Tuesday/Thursday guy thought I went to school on Mondays and Wednesday nights.Then there was Mr. Friday, and Mr. Saturday. I religiously took Sundays off.

I had specific outfits that I wore with each B. I wore my hair different; pulled up, pulled back, side part. It was almost like it required four different versions of me. I was a cynic for one, a psychic for one, an adventurer for one, and then a true blend of all three; more the real me.

Valentine’s Day happened when I worked at the Dentist’s office. All four B’s sent me awesome gifts. The dentist didn’t believe that they were from my family. I was going to be officially reprimanded.

Luckily, I’d passed my GRE. It was time for me to go to school Full Time. I tendered my resignation and never saw any of the B’s again. (I made all A’s in grad school except for that one, single B.) I did not get my Masters Degree in writing… LOL.

Weathered

10 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by in Storms, Weathered, Toilet Bowl Fishing, Uncategorized

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I weathered my first significant atmospheric event in the duplex last night. Strong gusts, pounding rain and disturbing thunder competed with one another all night long.

Walking around in the daylight to survey the impact, I recognized the plastic cover I’d put over the front door’s exterior, all-weather light bulb; half-submerged, barely floating in a mysterious, new river of slow-moving, muddy water.

I grabbed a long piece of scrap wood left over from one of last weeks projects to fish it out. Amazing. The adhesive holding the price tag was still holding. I’d tried in vain to remove the tag when I screwed it into the rusty fixture.  Perhaps if I had used that same adhesive to install the cover,  it would still be where I intended it to be; protecting the expensive, energy-efficient, no-bugs bulb. No, it is now is more like a water-sampling container from the lab. What is in this grimy sludge anyway? Hmm…

The adhesive used on the “General Purpose, Damage-Free, Hanging Hooks was not nearly as reliable.  That loud sound of rolling thunder was actually the wire shelf in the bathroom detaching  itself from the wall and crashing down onto the toilet tank. The broken contents were rolling all over the floor. Of course the toilet seat was not closed. I got to participate in toilet bowl fishing.

My home-made screen door protecter that I’d crafted after immediately putting a hole in my newly installed  screen door is gone with the wind. It’s probably floating in some neighbor’s new sludge river. Maybe later today, I’ll discover it and truly learn which way the wind blows and water flows here.

I should just take my scrap-wood fishing pole along in case I spot it. I’m getting the lay of the land here. This house has weathered many storms. I have too. Game on.

To The Superheroes Who Keep Standing When I Would Fall Down- Latest BLUNTMoms Piece

09 Wednesday Mar 2016

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Toddler_Mama's avatarHold Me, Don't Hold ME

Our conversation starts normally, with particulars exchanged in moments squeezed between acknowledging, encouraging, and parenting our kids as they ping-pong around the room. Ages of children are offered, current employment statuses discussed, and of course comments about the weather are made because this is what adults talk about (right?).

And then a bomb is dropped: Her kid is sick. Like, really sick.

An instant weight falls upon my shoulders as I hear her talk openly about almost losing a child. A tightness in my heart, squeezing, squeezing, as she discusses an unknown future. I stumble with my words, an apology, a well wish, a heavy silence while my brain spins with horrible Hallmark-worthy phrases to offer up.

And all the while, she remains standing. Shoulders back, head up, strong as hell, she talks about what might come, and she is still standing.

This is an excerpt from my latest post…

View original post 53 more words

Child Saint

26 Friday Feb 2016

Posted by in Awaken, Child Saint, Hero, Saint, Uncategorized

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She was ten years old and she died saving two tiny humans. When I read that headline yesterday my heart almost finally broke forever. This child is a saint. The loss of her life is well beyond writable words. The spirit of what she did needs to awaken all of us.

I have not written for awhile. The move took all my energy and then some. Life threw in a few other demanding complications. Adjusting to a different living space while trying to maintain semi-normal routines was practically all-consuming.

The writer in me that wants to blog had to sit back and let the unpacker, hauler, recycling-freak battle it out daily. I was totally moved out of my previous residence by the February 15 deadline; now residing in my own place. Enough. Onward.

I have to attempt to pay tribute to this heroic ten year old. I can’t do anything else but honor her by writing this blog. I have a nine year old granddaughter. I know how much she is loved. There is no doubt that the ten year old was completely adored too.

Selfless Action of Courage. She had courage. She was selfless. She took action. May this little Saint inspire all of us to lead our lives more like her. May we all awaken.

Let our actions be more courageous and more selfless.

To her family I offer my most sincere condolences. I praise this Child Saint.

 

 

An Authentic Buddy

19 Tuesday Jan 2016

Posted by in Thanks, Friends, Reunion, Uncategorized

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Some of us were lucky enough to grow up with a buddy. A few of us still have some of those friends left over from our youth. I’ve had the unexpected pleasure of reconnecting with schoolmates through FB. Old friends have made encouraging comments to blog posts; it’s been humbling to be received so warmly.

One friend private messaged me and offered to lend a hand. I admit to not being handy. He offered to stop by the duplex and see if his abilities could solve some of the more pressing problems.

He and his wife drove up at the scheduled time. We’d not seen one another since graduation. Four decades changes your looks. I doubt we would have recognized each other if not for updated FB photos. Time had changed parts of us, but there is a smile and a hug that the hands of time don’t touch.

They were both genuinely interested in what I was attempting to do. We slowly walked through every empty room. Finally we went to the area that truly needs the most help, the blighted  bathroom. There is literally  a 12 inch space that you have to squeeze through to get to the bathtub. The question I had for them was how to install a shower curtain rod. Nothing about this is simple. He had an idea and has offered a quick fix.

It was lunch time so we went out together and enjoyed a meal. We shared shortened versions of our last 40 years. And then they drove me over to their home. They bought an older island home too. Seeing the magic they worked on their space was inspiring.

The TLC and energy they put into their remodel was obvious. The love and devotion they have for each other was heartwarming. To have an authentic Buddy is a gift I am thankful for, his awesome wife is a bonus. Thanks you two. (You know who you are!)

 

 

Weekend Warrior

18 Monday Jan 2016

Posted by in Neighbors, Property Lines, Battle Lines, Warned, Uncategorized

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Spent the weekend moving from the old to the new; one car-load at a time. I moved my kitchen first. More than anything; I own cooking equipment. I still have the harvest gold, Le Crueset cookware I got in 1977. I cradled random objects and discarded others. Moving is an opportunity to refresh and refine.

I’ve been over to the duplex at least a few times a month during the past year, but rarely on the weekend. I tried to respect my tenant’s rights to privacy. The neighbors weren’t normally around. This weekend, the January weather was brisk but clear and plainly, people were outside and about.

Delivering a car-load on Saturday, from the alley entrance, the neighbor to the West rode up on his bicycle. He asked if I was the owner. I introduced myself. He half smiled. Casually, we shook hands. Quickly, he informed me that the previous owner had built the fence too close to his property line and that they would need to take part of it down to move furniture upstairs into the garage apartment.

If you’ve driven down this alley and seen the dead, dried, sand- trout carcasses nailed to the power pole; you’ve arrived! This garage apartment was badly Iked and has yet to be repaired. Windows are missing parts; mangled, vinyl siding waves in the wind. No human has legally lived there in the seven years since the Hurricane Ike. Pre- storm, it was surely neglected; routine maintenance has been deferred for decades.

I told him he could take the fence down as long as he puts it back up correctly. We shall see what develops.

Sunday, the neighbor to the East called me over. Same question; was I the owner. She was pleased to meet me and glad to see the downstairs tenants go. She reported the law had been over there during the holidays. She said there was something fishy about them. I listened; hoping there wasn’t another issue. From across the street, a curious couple waved weakly; openly armored in honest reluctance.

Warriors were out in force; defining property lines and defending their imaginary boundaries.  This new owner has been property-welcomed; properly.  Perhaps some day we can have a good old fashioned neighborhood fish-fry.

SafeGraySpace

14 Thursday Jan 2016

Posted by in Aging in Place. Seniors, Alzheimers, Boomers, Economic Insecurity, Elders, Livable Community, Uncategorized

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I phoned my step-dad yesterday. I wanted to take him over to the duplex to show it to him. The trash was cleaned out. The walls had been white-washed with cheap paint to hide the remains of their dark history. With this initial step completed, I wanted to introduce my step-dad to where I’d be moving to.

He lives right up the street from me in a Retirement Community. I visit with him often.  When I called, he didn’t recognize who I was. Sometimes, it’s just that he literally can’t hear who is calling. He’s sporadically used a hearing aid for decades; when he could remember where he put it or simply to use it. But, he has Alzheimer’s, so more often than not, he really doesn’t know who is who or what goes where.

After the required re-establishment of who I was, where he was and why I was calling, he explained that he was too busy. He could not go anywhere because he was helping someone get a cane; that someone is his constant companion at the Retirement Community. He couldn’t recall her name but I gently inserted it into my next sentence when I kindly asked him to please be sure to tell her I said hello.

She has memory issues as well. I watched her mobility deteriorate steadily during 2015, but her hearing is intact. She can tell him when his cell phone is ringing. He remains physically fit and can help her hobble around. They make a good team; they keep each other occupied.

That’s what Almost Eighty looks like; he is 79, she’s 78. They majority of the residents where they live, have nearly identical issues. Those fortunate residents have the financial security to ensure this kind of safe, secure, comfortable elder- life-style. It is the institutional version of  my wish for a SafeGraySpace.

In two quick decades, millions of us will be 80. Unfortunately, many don’t have such robust, financial resources.

Fear not. May I Introduce Section 504; the Home Repair program that provides loans and grants to improve homes for the elderly. At 62 you can qualify for a loan/ grant combo of $27,500 at 1%. You have to be low-income. A USDA home loan specialist can help if this is a program that can help someone in need.

I’m not going to wait till I’m 62. I hope I’m not officially low-income at that time; better keep my day job.