"How to Make an American Quilt"

I watch the kids run and splash in the fountains and none of them are my color. What I see is freedom. We can run and dance and get wet in our streets and plazas and our melatonin is almost as varied as our ages and personalities. But it works here, like a patchwork quilt someone just threw together but nonetheless turned out beautifully. Someone hung it out on the clothesline in the late afternoon sun and it billows in the breeze to the sound of laughter and clear water hitting tile and concrete. This is my country. We're corrupt, often arrogant, and given so many freedoms that we choke ourselves with them, but for all of that, we have so many moments of unstifled beauty. When we're born, we don't choose our nationality - it's simply thrust upon us. I'm one of the blessed to have been born in the land of the free. But I think a lot of times, it inhibits us to understand those who weren't. On the other hand, it affords us a lot more opportunity to do so: more resources, more educational programs, families who encourage us to discover who we truly are and where it is we fit on this huge planet of ours. I think too many of us don't take advantage of that, preferring the safety of our small little worlds. Then, too, the ones called to stay are necessary. The world doesn't function without them.  They're the ones that clean the fountains when the kids have all gone home; the parents who dry off their children as they walk back down their streets; the ones who make sure the street lamps begin to glow after the disappearance of the sun. The quilt now flutters in the wake of the noise of the day and in the artificial light, reflects gold against the hazy, violet night. 

I May Not be 'Lovin' It

I just had a Big Mac for the first time in about 6 months. Why, you may ask. Because I can. And let me tell you, after a month of not eating red meat and eating super healthy for the last week and a half, it may not have been the smartest decision. But there's just something about that special sauce, that American cheese product slice turning into plastic as it dries out over the side of the three layer bun that reminds me of childhood. As a youth, I had to graduate my way through the plethura of McDonald's burgers. It began with the hamburger, then the cheeseburger, the double cheeseburger, and THEN, when my mom decided I was old enough to handle it, the fabled Big Mac. Regardless of how healthy McDonald's tries to become, it will never be McDonald's without the Big Mac. Add to the legend a side of fries and a Coke and Waalaa, I present you with the most unhealthy meal on the planet.

Do I regret my decision? Jury's still out. All I know is I'm carrying a food baby like I'm 4 months pregnant and all of my digestive powers that be are still running around in a panic, wondering what hail storm of saturated fat and hydrogenated oil just hit them. They've gone so long without a natural (or unnatural) disaster that they've long since foregone any hatches that needed battening down. Hang in there guys! I'm drinking Coca-Cola to help smooth the transition. And no worries. You're getting tacos and brownies tonight as a reward for charging through.