Saturday night & Sunday morning

Hard to believe that January has come to a close. Then again, I’ve only had to look at Valentine’s Day–and Easter–goodies for the past few weeks. Not too many St. Pat’s tchotchkes, but that may just be due to the fact that, Irish bars aside, Miami does not really go as crazy on March 17 as Boston or NYC.

Truth be told, I am not looking forward to the coming of March. I will be marking the first year since my mom died. And it promises to be a bittersweet commemoration.

Lord, I would like to have her with me, if only for a day. I’d like to show her the translation work I’m trudging through, swap notes on how to make a killer jambalaya, even debate whether Hillary Clinton would have made a better president than Barack Obama. I’d love to take her to the farmer’s markets for produce, to Miami Art Museum for an exhibit, to Lincoln Road, just to drink coffee and watch people.

I cannot, however, do those things. And that leaves me feeling angry, and sad, and lonely.

Meanwhile: how’s your evening?

Poupees for You

I’ve been surfing a number of blogs related to Lolita style, and after a time, I surfed over to Poupeegirl.

This site puts paperdoll books to shame. But what fun it is.Fashion brand community - poupeegirl
poupeegirl

Bloody great, bloody fun indeed.

Morning, breaking

I’m hardly what you would call a morning person. The whole idea of getting out of bed with the proverbial smile and song does nothing for me–I would sooner sleep until noon, nap at five p.m., and spend the small hours drinking coffee, talking about poetry, and generally enjoying the pleasures of a bohemian life.

So I’m a bit surprised to be wide awake, at this time, writing. Ah well. Good morning indeed.

A dedication of sorts

To the memories of my parents, Armando A. Herrera Sr., and Jessie Granger Gonzalez—for nurturing my love of learning and inspiring me to write in the first place.

To the memory of my grandmother, Mae Granger, for her kindness, her endurance, and her love of beauty.

To the memory of my great-grandmother, Ella “Mo” Roach, who saw five generations enter this world—a matriarch, stubborn, pious, and unshakeable.

To my best friend in high school, Julio Enrique Delvalle, whom I miss to this day. Memory eternal.

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