lola guerrero

50-something empty-nest-search-for-God-and-happiness with more than a dash of humor

Pork Rinds

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How was everyone’s Happy  Easter?
Were you all Happy?

It took awhile for my Happy to kick in.

“We go to  Lucy and Miranda’s home. And then rehab,”
My mother  announces this as she climbs into
the front seat of my car with bags of food.

“What? Huh . . . ? I don’t want to be late for the barbecue.
Why didn’t you call and tell me all this?
Wine starts  at five.”
I can’t believe my life at times. Today, I’m a delivery person.

“You have wine later. We go give food to your aunts. I make noodles
and beans with porkrines.”
She is so proud of herself.
“They can’t chew pork rinds. Their dentures can’t handle
hard foods . . . have you lost your mind?”

“NO worry. I take hammer and hit pork many times.
I put on top of beans. It’s good, you taste.
I give you bowl later.”

“No, thank you.
Why are you kind  to others who are not really nice to you?
And you  barely have cash to buy pork rinds.” 

“Well, eben though,” she puts two palms up in the air.
“It’s  Happy Easter . . . they are too old to cook foods.
Jesus said better to give than receive.
Why you get mad? It’s happy time.”

“I get tired of you being nice to others who
don’t really care about you. I don’t know if you have noticed,
but they can be rude.”

“Never mind . . . you drive, we give noodles,  and porkrines.”

She points to the freeway.

We ring the doorbell bell at Aunt Lucy’s home.
No one answers.
“Maybe they’re dead.”
My mother GLARES at me.
The door finally opens. My Aunt Lucy is wearing a sweater she knitted 50 years ago.
Bending my knees to reach her (she is even shorter than I am), I give her a hug and kiss.
Coming out of the kitchen is Aunt Miranda.
She comes to hug me. My two aunts live
together. Aunt Miranda doesn’t like to
live alone.

“Here is the address to the rehab center, just in case you get lost,” Lucy says. “I hope you
have time . . . its on your way to the barbecue.”
“Why yes, I made time for all this,” I answer, keeping my sarcasm in check as much as I can.
God, help me with these women!!
We make it to Aunt Beth’s rehab center. But, the main entrance is locked.
Oh, this is awesome! We don’t have to go in.

But, Mom spots someone at the other end of the building on the phone
calling for someone to open the side doors.
I can’t believe this is my Happy Easter.  I am supposed to be
happy, forgiving, compassionate, giving of my
time: these are all the fruits of the Holy Spirit.

We go in and find Aunt Beth.
She is eating a hamburger with onion rings.
Have Mercy!!! This is  her standard American diet?
No wonder she looks nine-months pregnant. And my mother
is contributing to her over spreading thighs with pork rinds.

Finally, we make it to the barbecue.
My sister-in-law hands me a full glass of my favorite white wine.
I take a gulp.
Now, I’m Happy. I can breathe.

All last week, I asked God to place angels all around me.
An angel to tell me that he found the right house for us.
An angel to tell my how creative and inspirational I am.
An angel to tell me a joke so I can laugh my pants off.
but NO, He places in front of me   widows and spinsters.

I have come to the conclusion that
God likes to PICK ON ME. And the reason is for
me to be an image of Him.
To have a big heart ,  to have empathy,
to give more , to be more forgiving as I deliver food to the
old people in my life.

Dear God,
Continue to teach me to be the kind of person
you created me to be. Help me not look the
other way when my elders need help.

Author: lolaguerrero

50 something, mother of two, married, grandson named Napoleon. Love to go to the gym, watch films, act, write, jog, walk 10 miles with my husband, wine and travel. I"m a double tall, NF latte with half a pump of mocha with whip cream.

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