Famlily Album

My mother’s name is Ofelia Plascencia; she was born April 2nd, 1958 in Guadalajara, Jalisco. She is the oldest child out of eight brothers and sisters. My mother always claims that she never enjoyed her childhood. As soon as she was old enough to take care of her brothers and sisters, her parents went off to work. She had a lot of responsibilities in the house which included watching the kids, changing the dippers, cleaning the house, doing laundry, and cooking meals. She enjoyed cooking the most. I believe this is how she became an excellent cook.

When my mom first began to cook she did not have a clue what to do. She couldn’t even boil water for the beans because the water would evaporate into the air. My grandfather would get furious because my mom would not have supper ready before he would get home. My grandmother was never present in the house she would work from five o’clock in the morning to ten at night. My grandfather, Jose, taught my mother how to cook when he decided to work from home. He built a room near the kitchen to watch the kids and to give my mom cooking instructions. The first recipes that my mom mastered were breakfast meals. She was able to cook eggs in different ways. One day she would do scramble eggs, another over easy, or she would just cut vegetables and meat to cook with the eggs.

As my mother got older, she began to have an interest in different cooking styles. She was interested in finding new recipes and trying them out. When she would drop off her brothers and sisters at school, she would stay and chat with other ladies about new recipes she could explore. While exploring others recipes, she began to create her own unique way of cooking. For example, she took the ordinary beef lasagna and twisted its flavors by adding shrimp instead of meat and different kinds of vegetables. Ever since that recipe, she developed a sense of creativity with food.

Now my mother has become my family's cooking expert. She loves watching the food channel and always thinks about something new. I once dreamed that my mother was about to die in the hospital. She seemed to be in intensive care and I all of sudden told her she couldn’t die without giving me all of her recipes. Since that dream, I created my own recipe book. Everyday during the summer, I would write down the meals she would serve for the family. Those many years of cooking has always brought the entire family together to enjoy each others company with a delicious meal.

My mother Ofelia still is a great cook but aging always catches up to everyone, and she will soon forget or will be unable to cook all the delicious recipes she has created. This is why I believe it is important to be to be taught her famous recipes, so I can pass them on to future generations. One day I wish to publish her scrumptious recipes.

Struggles

Overcoming challenges requires immense will power and determination. I have faced many tough challenges, but the most difficult has been being able to forgive my mom. A mother should give to her child tenderness, maternal love, and protecting care. My mom failed to follow the definition of a caregiver.

My story begins in the fall of August 2004; I was molested by my step father. I told my mom about what had happen and she refused to believe me. She told me that I was trying to separate her from my step dad because I wanted her to get back with my father. At that moment in time I felt the world was coming down on me, and it wasn’t going to get any better. I couldn’t believe that my own mother would say that to me. I thought she was the mother that is defined in every dictionary. Being denied that comfort that I needed was the worst feeling ever. I wouldn’t wish that to any enemy of mine. I was torn from the inside. Every time I would remember it brought more pain than the next thought I had.

I immediately informed my sisters about what had happen to me. They instantly removed me from my mother’s home and I began to live with my oldest sisters. Living with my sisters was not an easy thing to do, but I had to adjust. It was uncomfortable at one point but they are my sisters and I need their help. Since that day I knew that I had to grow up on my own. I began to work for a company called hub cities. The money I would earn would be the money I lived off of. Even though I lived with my sisters that didn’t mean they would give me money for every little thing I needed. Ever since that situation happened my sisters became my new mothers.

From that day on I didn’t speak to my mother. It was so difficult for me because I was extremely hurt. My sisters encouraged me to talk to her, but I needed my own time to reflect. As timed passed I thought about the pros and cons if I would begin to talk to my mom. I realized that I needed to forgive her. Ever since I was small I was taught to forgive others because it makes you a better person and in return we receive an untold peace and happiness. I was aware that her actions were unethical, but after all she is my mother. Planning is an important part of everything I do, so I thought about how I would first approach her. I needed to be the leader I was growing up to be and set an example. I began to talk to her the summer of 2005; little by little we began to build on our communication skills. We were beginning to building unity in a time of change.

I learned in order to overcome challenges we need a positive attitude, a positive mind and the right amount of determination and will power. Along with this we need to see that the many challenges in which we face are similar to a range of mountains. There is no way around them, and no short cuts to be taken. We have to climb each mountain to be able to move forward in order to reach our goals.

The Mee Street Chronicles: Straight Up Stories of a Black Woman’s Life “Fried Buzzard Nights”

A record of events shorter than an autobiography that is written by a person having intimate knowledge and based on personal observations limited to a specific time is what creates a memoir. The short essay “Fried Buzzard Nights” in The Mee Street Chronicles written by Frankie Lennon is considered one of the many memoirs within the book. “Fried Buzzard Nights” is a descriptive essay that takes us back through her memories where her laughter still lives.

The event described in the essay by the main character, Frankie Lennon has taken us from Los Angeles, California to Evansville, Indiana. From the hot Santa Ana winds swooping LA back to the days of the overworked air-conditioner at Allen’s Bar reminds me of what were called the fried buzzard nights. Allen’s was a small bar where Frankie hung out. When Frankie is in the bar she observed an alcoholic that went by the name cheese. Cheese would rapidly consume his 20-20 and slowly the 20-20 consumed him as well. Cheeses and Clyde Dixon were some of the regular customers at Allen’s bar. Clyde would wait to get his usual drink, which consisted of a Johnnie Walker Red and water. Allen’s was located on the corner of Denby and Sycamore streets in an oppressed neighborhood. In the surroundings of the bar was a children’s adventure land, which was taken over by an evil shadow that made it disintegrate within itself. Going from the surroundings to the interior of the bar we can say it is so small it resembles a rat hole. Even though the bar was small, Frankie enjoyed going there because it was a part of her search for identity.

As she searched for her identity going back to the bar became the core to find her balance and to make her whole. Frankie was in search for her other half; for the people that she knew where going to be there. Those were the people that were not admitted into the norms developed by society. Frankie, describes these people with whom she could have a good time. For Frankie and those people they found their identity in drinking alcohol. Alcohol can be an escape from reality, but it can also turn into a rat trap that catches you for good.

The rat trap disguised as alcohol does not only consume the user but their identity. Family plays a huge role as each member forms their identity. What stood out the most to us was the part where the author is describing how alcohol found her and if it could it would trap her. That stood out to us the most because both of our fathers are alcoholics. Alcohol not only affects the consumer but his/hers family as well.

Those hot August days would bring back those memories. These are the memories that have shaped her identity. Just imagine a picture frame were the outside is the LA’s surroundings and the inside is the picture of Allen’s Bar. A memory like a picture stuck in her head that would come back those summer nights. We wonder if the possibilities occur to her that as she was testing the other side of her blackness she may have not been able to leave Allen’s Bar as a result of having become an alcoholic.

Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day is a day that people usually spend with their loved ones, close friends and family. It’s a day to show love and appreciation towards the people you care for, but at times your day does not come out as perfect as you wish it would. As for my valentine’s day for me it was not a fairy tale. I did not spend it with a loved one having dinner or going somewhere special. It was just another ordinary day. I was stuck at work; working an eight hour shift doing paper work. How romantic! I was trying to make myself feel better by thinking this is not the worse valentine, but it actually was.

Very early in the morning I began my day very positive and full of energy. Since it was valentines, a day to show your love and appreciation I had decided in buying my boss something special. I wanted to surprise her and show her that I was grateful for having her in my life. As I was driving to work my friend called me and asked me if I could pick her up because she wanted to go into work as well. Since I was in a great mood I told her I would pick her up after I ran some errands. While driving around, my roommate was blabbing her mouth on how she had a romantic getaway that her boyfriend had secretly planned for her. She went on and on, on how her boyfriend Sebastian was going to take her to dinner in Hollywood, and after dinner he would take her to the Hilton hotel to spend the night.

So far my day was BORING! All I had been doing was working and running errands for my boss and myself. When I arrived at work I began to daydream on how my valentine’s day would have been different. When I woke up my boyfriend would bring me breakfast in bed. My tray would have heart shaped pancakes with strawberries on top with whip cream. Next to the pancakes would be eggs and bacon. On the right there would be a red cup with cold freshly squeezed orange juice. Last but not least there would be a red rose where my eating utensils would be placed. He would walk towards me with a big smile and red silky boxers. After he would pick me up and take me to the shower. Right when my daydream was getting good my boss tapped my shoulder and my dream was gone. She asked me if I wanted to go eat lunch with her. After recovering from that hot dream my boss took me to BJ’s to have girl talk. We arrived at the restaurant and since it was valentines’ day the restaurant was over crowded. While waiting, these handsome tall and well dressed men walked in the door like some sort of movies. The scene slowed down and all the girls stared. When we turned around to take a look one of the guys smiled at my boss.

We finally got called for our table. We were deciding what to order; once we reached our decision our waiter came and told us that group of men wanted to buy my boss a drink. I started to wonder why her and not me since I’m young and all. I got over it and started to eat. We were enjoying ourselves and talking when we were interrupted once again. A young male from the same group came up to me and asked me if I would like a refill of strawberries and lemonade. After all it was not such a horrible day.

Neat or Sloppy- Which kind of person are you?

In the essay Neat People vs. Sloppy People written by Suzanne Britt she discusses two kinds of people, the neat and the sloppy. According to the descriptions in the essay I am considered a sloppy person.One characteristic of a neat person is to place neatness above everything. The sloppy are considered caring and give loving attention to every detail.

Some of the characteristics of a sloppy person which I fall under are, they set high expectations that at times they can not be achieved. These people tend to try to get organized but never find time to de-clutter themselves. Before they de-clutter they seem to collect all these "scrapbooking" utensils that just seem to take space. The sloppy people seem to give attention to the littlest things that do not matter the most to ordinary people. I a sloppy person have some of these characteristics, I tend to collect memories for my scrapbooks, but I have not even started a page. I have the most cluttered drawers in the entire universe. I believe that every piece of paper with information of previous courses that I have taken are essential for my "future references". Sloppy people keep every piece of junk they think is memorable other that the neat people.

Now for the neat people, they have a tendency to be lazy, mean and inconsiderate. They are extreme neat freaks. Everything and anything that collects dust has to be thrown out. They do not care about a process and always want results. The only thing that is messy in a neat person's house is the trash and if they have something in their hand they think twice about its use. An example of a neat person would be my mother. She does not like to keep anything that is unnecessary in the house. She likes to clean until it is spotless. If she were to go to my sisters house in which she is a sloppy person my mother would have a heart attack. Once she recovers the first thing she would do is grab a trash bag throw everything away that is useless to her. That is what i consider a neat freak.

After describing and sharing my stories about neat and sloppy people we are able to categorize ourselves within different characteristics of each persona. You do not have to fall under neat or sloppy you get to create, and choose what you call yourself. you get to live your life as messy or as neat as possible. do not listen to what people have to say about your life