Mi casa es su casa

The sound of the food processor drives Dad crazy, vrrr vrrr, mad, vrrr, vrrr, he shouts, "Curt! Curt! Turn that thang off!" I call Guy. Guy tells me that he's a vegan. "What's that even mean?" I say. "No animals, Curt," Guy says. But he's still not clear, or at least he's not clear enough for me. "No hamburgers," I say. "Nope," Guy says. "No eggs?" I say. "No eggs," Guy says. "What about fish?" I say. "Not even fish," he says. He knows it's coming. "No...butter?" I say. "No butter," he says. "Well, I mean, I can have something called Earth Balance." "I want to cry," I say aloud, even though I intended to think it instead. "Don't be so dramatic," Guy says. "I feel great. And, it doesn't mean you can't eat butter," he says. "I can't make butter here!" I say. "It's always, Turn that thang off," I say, imitating Dad. I am sobbing. "Curt," Guy says. "Mi casa es su casa."

I'm not dead,

am I?

Beginning, Again

Pa's house is cold. Cool, like the underside of a rock. Did I mention this before, about Pa's house? And what is this, me calling Dad, Pa? Did I write once that Pa and Pal were so close, but couldn't be farther away? That the L made all the difference?

The house is dark, just outside the city. I can't help but think the dogs would have liked it out here, running through brambles, bringing the smell of branches inside the house, that is, if Dad/Pa let them into the house, which he wouldn't have, he was never one for dogs, especially "big" ones.

This wave I'm riding, where does it really begin? Where does it end? How far onto the beach will it take me?

I can't say that "riding" this wave has been comfortable. I am saving money. I am away from all the ruckus. But my commute to work is 16 1/2 minutes longer and I have not concocted a single butter since moving in with Papa. Papa, now that's one way to say Dad.

I cannot walk to the library. Or walk in the cemetery. And me and Dad, we must begin again.

Homes: "If you begin and it is not the beginning, begin again."
Curt: "I will begin again."

Surf

Big changes are coming.

I'm moving back in with my father. After 34 some years.

Big. Changes.

Sometimes you just have to get on a board, and ride the tide. Or something.

Trespassers will be persecuted!

It is "hard" to believe, or at least it is for me, that March has arrived. The darkest, coldest days of winter have come and gone, I hope.

Let me tell you what I did in March so far. I went to the grocery store because I wanted to buy an avocado because avocados remind me of butter. An avocado is a buttery vegetable, except that it's really a fruit. A buttery fruit. When I got to the grocery store, the fruit and vegetable aisles were being stocked and I didn't want to bother the grocers stocking the fruits and vegetables because I didn't want to get in their way and have them stop doing what they were doing just so I could grab one avocado. Also, a long time ago, a man who worked at a grocery store told me that there were spiders in the boxes of bananas and that they were poisonous and fast and I didn't want to take my chances with poisonous, fast spiders. I thought about leaving the grocery store and coming back later in the day so I wouldn't inconvenience them because I know how it feels to be inconvenienced while on the job, trust me. But I didn't leave the grocery store. Instead, I wandered. I like looking at food in places other than my apartment because it looks different than it does in my apartment. The food in the grocery store looked clean and sad. I wandered for quite some time, but the grocers in the fruit and vegetable aisle kept stocking fruits and vegetables and I had to use the bathroom and so, I left the grocery store without an avocado. I walked past an abandoned house that had a message written across the rotted siding in black paint: Dangerous! No trespassing! Trespassers will be persecuted!

I walked home to my apartment. Disappointed. And then I thought, "Well, tomorrow, I will purchase an avocado and it will be even more delicious and buttery because I was patient."

Patience, I am learning, is important.

I will endure. I will endure.

On Beards

I didn't tell you that I grew a beard! It is very exciting. I am saving many dollars on razors, shaving foam, and aftershave. People grow beards for a lot of reasons. For me, there is the financial one, sure, and it is also helpful in keeping my face warm when I go outside. It is funny to look in the mirror and see yourself with a crazy beard and wonder, for a split second, who is that crazy bearded guy? But it is just me, the same old Curt.

My beard is very gray, which makes me feel a little old. I had thoughts of dyeing it, but of course that would negate the financial benefits. The other day a small girl thought I was Santa Claus, but I pointed to my sad butter-deprived belly and told her Santa could never be so skinny. Suddenly realizing I was a stranger, she ran.

I would like to find a way to dye it, if it wasn't cross prohibitive. Maybe red, or blue, or jet black, People could call me "Redbeard", or whatever's appropriate. I think I would like that.

Dear Homes,

Hi, it's me, Curt. I don't know why I didn't think of writing this letter sooner. Life outside of prison seems to move a lot faster than it does inside of prison. It's been over a year since my release. Can you believe it? Remember when we had dish duty together? Those were the days. Those were the days you spoke and I listened to what you were speaking. And how much I learned! And how much you spoke! All the wisdom you imparted unto me and how you encouraged me to write. Rock and a hard place. That's where I was. I was so angry. I was so sad. You took away the rock, or the hard place, and I entered into another world, one in which all the rocks and hard places were supple mounds and soft slabs of butter! Butter, butter, butter!

So much has happened. And so little, too. I don't know if you would be proud, or disappointed with the progress I've made. It seems like progress is but a circular path. I hope I'm wrong. You would tell me that I was wrong. You would say, "Curt, even the planets do not travel the same path around the sun, and around and around they go. Around." And I would think about that in my cell, late at night, of the planets moving around and around the sun.

One thing I didn't expect, Homes, was to hurt so much once I'd left prison. That was silly of me, wasn't it? The death of Stella, my beautiful dog. My life coach, Rick, and former chess buddy, Bailey. The jobs I've had and lost and regained again. Warden. Regrette.

I miss you, Homes. But I know I won't be able to see you for a very long time. I hope you are teaching someone else, speaking, and I hope this someone is listening. Always listening and thinking about what was said in his prison cell, late at night, when it is quietest. I want to help people, Homes. I want to be a Homes outside of prison. A Curt.

What do you think about that?
I think you would say, "Curt, I think you understand. Turn on the faucet. Let the water run."

Best,
Curt G. Jimenez