Monthly Archives: February 2007

Revisited: el Sobador de Boyle Heights

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I’ve been blogging since November 2001 and have tons of stuff, good and bad, in the old blog. You’ll get to read some of it for the first time, if you’re relatively new, or again if you’ve been following Lotería Chicana for a while. This piece was written nearly two years ago. It was inspired by my frequently achy right wrist and an LA Times Opinion piece by Luis Alberto Urrea on non-Western healing practices, particularly Mexican curanderismo. I strongly recommend his novel, The Hummingbird’s Daughter.

Don Bartolo, el Sobador de Boyle Heights
05.25.05 // 12:34 p.m.

My wrist hurts. This is rather normal. It’s been acting up since 1998. Every single time it acts up I wish I could go see Grandpa at the house with the nice porch on Hicks Street in Boyle Heights.

My Grandpa Bartolo was an amazing man. He passed away on December 28, 1996 after a short fight with renal cancer. I saw him wither away. The last time I visited him he hardly appeared like the man I remembered. He was no longer husky with a similar frame as my dad. Instead, I saw an incredibly thin man gasping for breath in his hospital bed. I hate to remember Grandpa on his deathbed, but that was the last time I saw him alive.

I’d rather remember Sunday visits to see my dad’s parents at their home in Boyle Heights. Danny and I would play games like Freeze Tag and Mother May I? with our cousins while my parents and other adults were in the cool house relaxing.
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Suburban legends

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October, 2002

Saturday morning, 7:30 am. I should have been asleep. But instead I was assigned the honor of driving my 18-year old sister to work.

“Should we take Colima or Hacienda?” I asked Lori. Both routes would get us to the Whittier dealership where she was a receptionist and cashier.

She shrugged.

Her indecision didn’t matter, because a few seconds later we came upon a crime scene on Hacienda Boulevard, the main north-south thoroughfare through Hacienda Heights. Ahead of us, other drivers turned their cars around rather than crash into police tape, LA County sheriffs, their vehicles and a conspicuous coroner’s truck.

It was the first time I had seen one, but I knew whatever had occurred on Hacienda Boulevard that night or early morning was not good.

“I wonder what happened,” I told Lori. She seemed as lost as I was.

Lori and I made our way around Hacienda Heights and five minutes later arrived at the intersection of Hacienda and Colima. Once again, we didn’t need to decide which road to take. Colima Road was also closed off to traffic.

I got Lori to work that day. We took Hacienda Boulevard south to Whittier and pretty much forgot about what we had just seen.

Later that week, Lori called me.

“I heard on the news about what happened last Saturday. Remember when you took me to work?”

She filled in what she knew. A woman had been dragged by a car east through Colima Road and then north on Hacienda Boulevard.

The woman was young, about Lori’s age. The thought of such a gruesome murder in my hometown freaked me out, but I forgot about it.

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Mil palabras: Julio y Verónica

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Vero y Julio
Julio y Veronica, Guanajuato (2005)

I’m flying to Houston on Friday to attend Julio and Verónica’s wedding. I’m excited. I’ve never been to Texas. Well, I’ve been to El Paso, but it was for a conference so I don’t think that counts.

Julio is my second cousin. I don’t get to see him very often and for a long period of our lives, I didn’t see him or his family at all. His parents moved him and his two brothers to East LA from Guanajuato when they were kids. When they lived in East LA, we’d visit often as my parents were fairly close with my tío Manuel and tía Mari. Danny and I also got along well with the guys, Juan, Julio and Chuy since we were about the same age. There’s even a photo buried in an album of me and Chuy laying on a bed side-by-side when we were babies.

In the early 90s, they moved to Houston. My mom would frequently tell me that I should consider visiting, especially during my 2003 “big city tour,” but I never got around to it. My parents, on the other hand, were more connected to that side of the family.

I re-connected with the Houston branch of my family in the summer of 2004 when I traveled on my own to Guanajuato. Juan was the only person around me fluent in English and it was a relief to be able to express myself without forgetting how to say a word. I also got to meet the two youngest children in the family, Edward and Beatris, who were in middle school.

In December 2005, I took another trip with my parents, grandparents and my tía Martha’s family (mom’s sister) to Guanajuato and Zacatecas. We spent a few days in Guanajuato to attend a wedding and visit family. At the wedding, I met Veronica and saw Julio and Chuy for the first time in many years. Soon after, Verónica became my MySpace friend. She was the one who urged me most to consider going to Guanajuato for Beatris’ quinceañera last August.

It was during this trip that she and Daisy, my cousin Chuy’s wife, teased the guys saying “le salió lo Mosqueda” (the Mosqueda came out in him). I didn’t know what this meant. They explained that their partners Mosqueda trait showed most when they angry and stubborn. Ahh. I know that well. Being a Mosqueda was more than just being angry, it also meant having big lips. Check, again.

I’m not used to being around a lot of people who share my last name, but I definitely enjoy it. I can’t wait for my Houston trip. It’s only four days, but it’ll be four more days of fun with my cousins.

I’m not getting old, just growing up

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A bunch of recent signs that are reminding me that I’m an adult now… so I should act like one. I guess.

1. I have lots and lots of gray hair. My older brother asks why I have so much, and I say, “because I am my father’s daughter.”

2. I got a MySpace friend request for the MySpace page of my 10 year high school reunion. It’s coming up next year. Yikes.

3. I couldn’t truly enjoy Prince’s halftime performance yesterday because I had to explain to my younger cousins (in diapers or not yet born when Purple Rain came out) why Prince was worthy enough to be the performer for the biggest sporting event of the year. They were comparing him to Ashley Simpson!

4. I remember when rock was young. Oh wait…

5. I get my own invitations to birthday parties, weddings, and other family events. In the past, my parents would get an invitation and then pass the word along about Fulanita’s quinceañera.

6. My parent’s now ask me when I’m “going to go home” late on Sunday night when I’m still lounging around their house.

7. I’m asked to speak about the history of student activism at UCLA at MEChA retreats.

8. College tuition was a lot more affordable when I was an undergraduate and the first time I registered for classes, I did it over the phone rather than online.

9. My friends have real jobs. So do I. The students I work with call me Ms. Mosqueda. Weird.

10. I walk around campus and say/think, “those buildings were a pile of dirt when I got here” or “I remember when there was a building here.”

I finally heard the right words, she’s going to be okay

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My mom called today with a report after her follow up appointment with her surgeon.

She had the staples on her abdomen removed. They made a vertical line about five inches, with the middle of the line being the belly button.

Her surgeon also told her the results after having studied the tumor. It’s not cancerous, but if it had not been removed it could have grown and eventually burst. He told her she was healed and “see you in a year.”

This is where my mom started to get emotional. It was the first time I had heard (or seen) her cry or lose her cool throughout this whole process which began in late October. My mom is not one to hide her emotions, so I imagine it must have been hard for her to tell her children that she had a tumor and maintain a calm and controlled tone.

As my mom choked up, she said that it was a blessing to have the initial scare of breathing problems. Without looking at her lungs, the doctors might have not noticed the spots on her liver that worried them (her liver is fine, by the way). Once they looked at the liver, they noticed the tumor near the colon.

***

My mom spent four days in the hospital. She was rarely alone and more often than not had more than the minimum 2 visitors. It’s a good thing she didn’t have a roommate, or else the nurses would have not let my dad stay overnight and we surely would have been reprimanded for having a half dozen visitors squeezed in to the tiny room.

When she returned home on Sunday afternoon, she found a dining table full of flowers, a hastily made “welcome home, mom” banner, a dozen family members and very excited dog who wouldn’t leave her side. Neighbors came later and offered to bring soups and other soft foods throughout the week. One neighbor, a middle-aged man, cried a little as he told my dad how worried he had been when he heard the news “porque queremos tanto a la señora Luz.”

***

This process has been tough, but it was easier with the thoughts and prayers from family, friends and relative strangers. We appreciate it… we really do.