from La casa de la laguna...

"Nada es verdad, nada es mentira, todo es según el color del cristal que se mira."

Jack-o-lanterns and other uniquely american pastimes

I had a debate the other day about American culture--the debate being that I hold that there is American culture and the other person believes that there is no American culture.

But how can you have a country without a culture? Most countries have cultures in the plural (not one single culture), so I find it hard to believe that a country as large as ours could have no culture whatsoever. Our culture is not the same as other countries, of course. And maybe certain individuals "like" other cultures better than ours, or think that American culture is not as deep or meaningful or something to that degree (which is another debate, but I won't get into that now). But how could you say that America doesn't have a culture at all? I would like to believe that our culture is more than just mass comsumption, marketing scams, and a quick-fix mentality. I think that to believe these things is taking the easy way out.

In celebration of my culture, tonight I will be carving jack-o-lanterns and drinking apple cider with friends.

octubre

So it's been a while.

Today, as I went through the pronunciation of the months in Spanish to my mixture of 3rd and 4th graders, I realized that when I say the month "octubre" in Spanish, I will never quite sound like a native Spanish speaker. Of course, I realize this with many words, but as I shouted out "¡octubre!" to the eager faces of my students, I realized my "u" sound will never be quite "right" and my "octubre" will always sound a little bit different than native Spanish speakers. I haven't yet decided if this is good or bad (or if it is that simple).

Last night I went to a poetry reading by Marjorie Agosín. She talked about poetry, being a poet, what poetry is and where it comes from. She read from her books, in Spanish, in her native language, and it was, quite simply and succintly, beautiful. She read a poem from her book of poems about her grandmother, and I almost cried, right there in the basement of Ballantine Hall, surrounded by strangers, esteemed Professors of Hispanic literature, and a few students. And it occurred to me that I really miss poetry, words, writing. I have been so busy for the last month, last 2 months, that I haven't written for myself at all. I haven't read for myself at all. Of course, poetry & words & thoughts are always at the back of my mind, are always running through my days, are always trying to poke into my books, my emails, my conversations. But it's not quite the same.

Although I love Hispanic literature and I love what I am studying, it occurs to me that I will always have a more intimate relationship with English, with my mother tongue.

The weather is turning cold. I have been waiting for it to do so. Fall and winter are the times when I feel most connected to the world, to nature, to my thoughts. It has something to do with how my breath hangs frozen in the air on cold nights and early mornings.