Alumni Journal Q&A in Syracuse University Magazine

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
– Maya Angelou, American poet, memoirist, actress, and American Civil Rights Movement leader, from I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

I received my fall/winter 2016, vol. 33, number 3 issue of the Syracuse University Magazine in the mail today. In late summer I was interviewed by associate editor Amy Speach for a Q&A in the Alumni Journal section of the magazine. The Q&A is in the current issue.

Fall/Winter 2016, Vol. 33,no. 3.

Fall/Winter 2016, Vol. 33,no. 3.

The full-page Q&A.

The full-page Q&A.

You can access the online version here. Thanks to Amy for a great interview. And thanks to my alma mater, the Creative Writing Program, and mostly to my amazing classmates and writers. One day, I shall return.

Seattle book tour in review: Part 3, Yakima Valley

The origin of the name remains unknown, though there are legends that describe the derivation of the city’s name. The most popular legend explains that the daughter of a Native American chief from Moxie ran away breaking tribal rules and settled on the Yakima River. In this legend the name Yakima means “runaway.” Another derivation of the name is what the Native Americans used to refer to Yakima as, “Beginning of Life, Big Belly, and Bountiful.”
– Yakima Valley Museum

The last leg of my Seattle book tour, along with Emmy Award-winning filmmaker Marissa Aroy, was in Yakima Valley. Our tour was sponsored by numerous generous organizations, including Pinoy Words Expressed Kultura Arts (KWEKA), Alaskero Foundation, El Centro de la Raza, the Meaningful Movies Project, Filipino American Students Association (FASA) of the University of Washington, 4 Culture, Office of Arts & Culture (Seattle), Filipino American Community of Greater Yakima Valley, Imperial Gardens, Filipino American National Historical Society (FANHS) Chapter 26, and the FANHS National Office.

The perfect time to be visiting Yakima Valley.

The perfect time to be visiting Yakima Valley.

Amazing blue sky with cirrus clouds, fog in the hills, and fall across the valley floor.

Amazing blue sky with cirrus clouds, fog in the hills, and fall across the valley floor.

Not bad for taking photos through the window of a moving car! I wish I had time to stop and enjoy the scenery. Next time.

Not bad for taking photos through the window of a moving car! I wish I had time to stop and enjoy the scenery. Next time.

Maria Batayola served as our wonderful host for our book tour. She showed me a side of Seattle I had never seen (see my two previous news posts “Seattle book tour in review: Parts 1 and 2”), and for that, I am deeply grateful. On Saturday morning, October 22nd, my good friend John, who, along with his partner Kris, had welcomed me into their home for my stay in Seattle, dropped me off in Factoria, Wash., where I met up with Maria and Marissa, and away we drove to eastern Washington.

Layers of sky, cirrus clouds, foothills in fog, and forest.

Layers of sky, cirrus clouds, foothills in fog, and forest.

Just another photo of the spectacular sky.

Just another photo of the spectacular sky.

And mountains that will soon be covered with snow.

And mountains that will soon be covered with snow.

I’ve visited Seattle a number of times, but I’ve never been to the eastern part of the state. I had read David Guterson’s 1999 novel, East of the Mountains, and understood that where Seattle was lush, the eastern part of the state was arid. However, I was also told that the region would remind me of California’s Central Valley because it was rural farming land dotted with small communities.

Huge trees in Ellensburg, Wash.

Huge trees in Ellensburg, Wash.

Close-up of the blazing leaves.

Close-up of the blazing leaves.

The drive took some two and a half hours. Along the way, we saw some amazing landscape – clear streams meandering through different varieties of trees in spectacular gold, orange, and red. Bodies of water were low enough to reveal stumps of trees. And then we entered vast farmlands and signs for Honeycrisp apples. While Yakima Valley is the bread basket for numerous fruits and vegetables, the region is well known for its apples. Eastern Washington is home to more than 175,000 acres of apple orchards, with Yakima Valley being the largest apple-producing region in the state.

If you find yourself in Ellensburg, Wash., eating a meal at the Yellow Church Cafe is a must-do.

If you find yourself in Ellensburg, Wash., eating a meal at the Yellow Church Cafe is a must-do.

The interior of the restaurant.

The interior of the restaurant.

One of the best BLTs. Ever. Hands. Down.

One of the best BLTs. Ever. Hands. Down.

We stopped for lunch at this charming and popular restaurant called The Yellow Church Cafe (111 S. Pearl Street, Ellensburg, Wash. 98926, 509.933.2233), which, as you can guess, is a converted church. The food is heavenly, no pun intended. Whenever a BLT appears on the menu, that’s what I order. What was special about this BLT is that it made with their special bread, which tastes like a fluffy asiago cheese bagel, and instead of the tired mayonnaise, it had an aioli sauce. The chai latte was not overly sweet. The place was hopping. Afterwards, we wandered over to a brightly decorated house a few blocks down inhabited by happy artists. Ellensburg proved to be a quaint and beautiful town.

Entrance to the colorful and cheerful house at 101 N. Pearl Street.

Entrance to the colorful and cheerful house at 101 N. Pearl Street.

Beyond the colorful fence is a yard full of mischievous characters, including this runaway bear.

Beyond the colorful fence is a yard full of mischievous characters, including this runaway bear.

Art lives - indeed - and it also nourishes, brings beauty, gives hope, empowers, enables dreams, and so much more.

Art lives – indeed – and it also nourishes, brings beauty, gives hope, empowers, enables dreams, and so much more.

Key details and a hand waving hello and goodbye.

Key details and a hand waving hello and goodbye.

Found art of bicycle wheels makes a lovely tree.

Found art of bicycle wheels makes a lovely tree.

When we arrived in the town of Wapato, we were first met by Kuya Ray Pasqua, president of the Filipino American Community of Yakima Valley (FACYV). Kuya Ray is a leader in the community, but he also worked with Filipino American labor leader Larry Itliong during the years of the Delano Grape Strike and the United Farm Workers Union. It was an honor to meet him and to hear his stories of those difficult but very important times. FACYV’s Filipino Hall in Wapato, Wash., is the first Filipino Hall built in the United States. FACYV was preparing for its 60th anniversary the following evening, which is a big event that was anticipated to feed some 600 members of the community. It was too bad that Marissa and I would be leaving for home the following morning.

The first Filipino Community Hall in the country.

The first Filipino Community Hall in the country.

Let the 60th anniversary celebration begin!

Let the 60th anniversary celebration begin!

The Filipino Community Hall had a nice display of FACYV achievements through the years.

The Filipino Community Hall had a nice display of FACYV achievements through the years.

The Saturday evening event comprised a short reading from my novel, the screening of Marissa’s documentary, Delano Manongs: The Forgotten Heroes of the United Farm Workers Movement, and a panel discussion with Kuya Ray, Marissa, Maria and me, moderated by local reporter Ryan Yadao. Although attendance was light, the community members who showed up were very engaged in the subject and some had been involved in the farm labor movement, which was great to learn about and to meet them after the event. I can’t say it enough: It was an honor for me to hear of their sacrifices in the fields and across the country in the name of social justice for farm workers.

Group photo of some of the wonderful community members in Yakima Valley.

Group photo of some of the wonderful community members in Yakima Valley.

After the Q&A and book and DVD signing, we were invited to the home of FACYV members Fred Fontanilla, who is a retired chemist, and Bob Plummer, retired professor at Heritage University, for a wonderful dinner, which included great conversation among the 12 of us. And then FANHS Chapter 26 members Dori Peralta Baker and her husband Geoff Baker hosted us for the night. In the morning, we were treated to gorgeous views of Yakima Valley. Dori related the activity of casually counting the bald eagles and salmon in the streams, and how the hills are covered in snow in the wintertime. Dori had put together a display of local Filipino Americans who served in the Vietnam War. She told us the sobering news that Yakima Valley bearing the burden of being the region in the country with the most soldiers of color who fought in the Vietnam War. I should not be surprised, but I was still shocked by the fact that the high school counselors advised the Native American, Filipino American, and Mexican American boys to join the armed forces and serve in Vietnam War because they were not college material. I’m sure this practice was rampant across high schools in America at the time and to this day, but to have your home region bear that awful distinction is heartbreaking.

The beautiful view from our host's backyard.

The beautiful view from our host’s backyard.

Beautiful morning, looking for bald eagles.

Beautiful morning, looking for bald eagles. The hills in the background will be white with snow in the wintertime.

The canal feeds into the river, which I am assuming is the Yakima Valley River. Stunning.

The canal feeds into the river, which I am assuming is the Yakima Valley River. Stunning.

We left Yakima Valley early Sunday morning to return home. I learned so much while on this book tour and I met so many wonderful, giving people. And I saw another beautiful part of Washington State. I hope to return to Seattle and Yakima Valley in the near future – to this wonderful community that I now claim as part of my Filipino American home.

Heading back to Seattle and its fall foilage.

Heading back to Seattle and its fall foilage.

Mt. Rainier bids adieu.

Mt. Rainier bids adieu.

Positively Filipino book review of A Village in the Fields

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.
– Anais Nin, French-born novelist and short story writer

Elaine Elinson, coauthor with Stan Yogi of Wherever There’s a Fight: How Runaway Slaves, Suffragists, Immigrants, Strikers and Poets Shaped Civil Liberties in California and the United Farm Workers representative for the grape boycott in Europe, wrote a “thorough and insightful” – quoting my good friend Kimi – review, which was posted on Positively Filipino, “the premier digital native magazine celebrating the story of Filipinos in the diaspora of nearly 13 million expatriates.”

Village postcard marketing regular size

 

You can read the review here. Elinson originally wrote it for the AmerAsia Journal, which is published by the Center Press out of UCLA and is the leading interdisciplinary journal in Asian American Studies. The review will appear in AmerAsia Journal’s upcoming Winter 2015-2016 issue. Stay tuned for that.

Elinson brought up a couple of issues in her review, which I’m grateful for her pointing out. I erroneously stated that Larry Itliong’s hometown province was Ilocos Norte, which is unforgiving, given the amount of painstaking research I conducted. While embarrassing, the error can be (and will be) easily fixed in the next edition.

Reading at the Fremont library during Filipino American History Month in October.

Reading at the Fremont library during Filipino American History Month in October.

The other issue she brought up, which is just as critical if not more critical to fix, is my not using the real name of a Yemeni farm worker who was an important picket captain in the union. As it was my first novel, I was unsure of how to approach real people in a fictional world. Initially, I wasn’t comfortable characterizing the famous people of the era, but somehow their very status helped me overcome the discomfort. I fictionalized in name and characterization these two other characters because I didn’t know much about their personal lives and I also wasn’t sure what my liability was if I did use their real names. But Elinson provides a compelling argument for using the Yemeni’s real name. The novel celebrates the “little people” of the grape strike, the ones who sacrificed and lost so much, and whose lives the world knows little about. So in the next edition, I will include information in the Notes section about who he was and his contributions. While I am deeply grateful for Elinson’s kind words about my novel, I am most grateful for her pointing out areas that need to be addressed because it means the novel will get better.

Where it all started on Labor Day Weekend in Delano for the 50th Anniversary of the Delano grape strike.

Where it all started on Labor Day Weekend in Delano for the 50th Anniversary of the Delano grape strike.

 

Book launch party: Eastwind Books of Berkeley

While we are living in the present, we must celebrate life every day, knowing that we are becoming history with every work, every action, every deed.
– Mattie Stepanek, American poet

I’m late in posting about my book launch party, which was held at my publisher’s bookstore, Eastwind Books of Berkeley (2066 University Avenue, Berkeley, CA), on Sunday, September 13th. I’ll admit that I was worried that not enough people would fill the tiny storefront. I’m happy to be wrong this time.

Professor Dawn Mabalon, who teaches history at San Francisco State and hails from Stockton, graciously introduced me to the crowd.

Professor Dawn Mabalon, who teaches history at San Francisco State and hails from Stockton, graciously introduced me to the crowd (photo credit: David Rossi).

Providing backstory before I begin reading from the novel.

Providing backstory before I begin reading from the novel (photo credit: David Rossi).

Crowd reaction, from Lunafest committee Rhoda and Raissa in the background.

Crowd reaction, from Lunafest committee Rhoda and Raissa in the background (photo credit: Robert Milton).

Harvey Dong, my publisher, teaches part-time at UC Berkeley’s Ethnic Studies department, and his students were in full force. Four of my Lunafest committee members came with a bouquet and a sweet note. Friends whom I haven’t seen in years came, which was a sweet treat for me. Neighbors, old and new friends, acquaintances, and strangers all helped me celebrate the release of my novel.

Reading as if I mean it. Reminds me of when I locked myself in the downstairs bathroom in my college apartment so I could hear how the words I wrote sounded.

Reading as if I mean it. Reminds me of when I locked myself in the downstairs bathroom in my college apartment so I could hear how the words I wrote sounded. (Photo credit: Robert Milton)

My old pal, Steve, whom I haven't seen in years and who I met when we were in the same workshop at the Squaw Valley Community of Writers in 2002.

My old pal, Steve, whom I haven’t seen in years and who I met when we were in the same workshop at the Squaw Valley Community of Writers in 2002 (photo credit: David Rossi).

I haven't seen my friend, Barbara and her husband, Matt, in years. So good to see them!

I haven’t seen my friend, Barbara and her husband, Matt, in years. So good to see them (photo credit: David Rossi)!

My artist/painter mom and good friend Tana. We inspire one another!

My fellow artist/mom muse and good friend Tana. We inspire one another (photo credit: David Rossi)!

Sid Valledor led a tour of Agbayani Village and other important places in Delano in 2002.

Sid Valledor led a tour of Agbayani Village and other important places in Delano in 2002 (photo credit: David Rossi).

Signing my friend Pam's copy.

Signing my friend Pam’s copy (photo credit: David Rossi).

Rhoda and me in B&W (photo credit: Robert Milton).

Rhoda and me in B&W (photo credit: Robert Milton).

My cousin Daniel and me (photo credit: David Rossi).

My cousin Daniel and me (photo credit: David Rossi).

Standing room only, plus overflow out the door.

Standing room only, plus overflow out the door (photo credit: Jeff Blyskal).

A big thank you to Braxtons’ Boxes for the sinfully delicious red-velvet and chocolate mini-cupcakes and to David and Isabella for all those chocolate chip cookies.  And once again, I am deeply grateful to family and friends who have helped me arrive at where I am today. Maraming salamat po!

The line for book signing grows, with my Lunafest family in front.

The line for book signing grows, with my Lunafest family in front (photo credit: Robert Milton).

Happy signing!

Happy signing! (Photo credit: Robert Milton)

Stack of books.

Stack of books (photo credit: Robert Milton).

I have arrived: New and noteworthy.

I have arrived: New and noteworthy (photo credit: David Rossi).

Long road to Delano: A Village in the Fields comes home

No history, no self; know history, know self. – José Rizal, Filipino patriot and national hero, physician, and man of letters

All these past months – a blur to me now – all came down to this Labor Day Weekend, the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike. My novel, A Village in the Fields, came out the Friday before – no small feat. My publisher, Eastwind Books of Berkeley, and I worked hard the last five months to get the novel out in time for this historic event, Bold Step: A Celebration of the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike. It was worth the sleep deprivation.

The Filipino Community Cultural Center of Delano, home of Bold Step: A Celebration of the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike.

The Filipino Community Cultural Center of Delano, home of Bold Step: A Celebration of the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike.

I’ll admit that I was a little apprehensive about the weekend because I’d spent most of those five months focused on editing, production, and then marketing and promotion activities. There was no moment of stepping back and enjoying the moment or thinking about the reception in Delano. As we packed up the van, which our friends Raissa and Mike lent us, with 20 boxes of my novel, I told myself I wouldn’t bring any work with me. I needed to decompress, enjoy the moment, and anticipate what I would say or do up on the stage during the open-mike evening and with anyone who came to our table to inquire about the book. As we drove down Interstate 5 in bumper-to-bumper traffic Friday early evening, I wondered whether I should practice reading the chosen excerpt or choose another passage. I was already stressed that we weren’t leaving when I had hoped to leave.

On Filipino time
If there is one overarching theme, it is that we were on Filipino time even before we left for Terra Bella/Porterville/Delano! I was looking forward to a leisurely dinner to celebrate my cousin Janet and her husband Tim’s anniversary. They ended up getting Mexican takeout and having it ready for us when we pulled up at 10:30pm. After dinner, Janet and I stayed up till past 1 in the morning catching up, even though David and I had to be in Delano before 10am on Saturday.

FANHS Delano Chapter president Alex Edillor welcoming everyone to Bold Step.

FANHS Delano Chapter president Alex Edillor welcoming everyone to Bold Step.

The festivities begin
We were late, but so were the festivities. The welcome and keynote address was held at the Filipino Community Center on Glenwood Street, which was a meeting place for Filipinos made historic during the grape strikes. Alex Edillor, president of the newly formed Delano chapter of the Filipino American National Historical Society (FANHS), welcomed the audience who hailed from cities and towns up and down the state. Other dignitaries included Paul Chavez, son of Cesar Chavez and president of the Chavez Foundation, the mayor of Delano, and keynote speaker, Rob Bonta, California State Assemblyman Rob Bonta of Alameda. Bonta is the first Filipino-American elected to the California legislature and author of AB123, which requires California schools to teach Filipino-American contributions to the farm labor movement in social science curriculum, and AB 7, which requires the Governor to proclaim Larry Itliong Day in California on his birthdate of October 25th and encourage public schools to teach about Itliong’s life and contributions to California.

State Assemblyman Rob Bonita giving the keynote address.

State Assemblyman Rob Bonta giving the keynote address.

From the Filipino Community Center, we set up shop at Robert F. Kennedy High School, along with other vendors at the campus food court for the lunch break. The dance troupe Kayamanan Ng Lahi, adorned in beautiful and colorful traditional dress, put on a wonderful performance, which included the tinikling and a dance to the classic Filipino love song, Dahil Sa Iyo.

A fancier tinikling dance than I'm used to seeing.

A fancier tinikling dance than I’m used to seeing.

Tinikling dance gets livelier.

Tinikling dance gets livelier.

During the lunch hour, we cultivated relevant contacts, including an executive committee member of the National Education Association who was a contemporary of the farm labor movement. I talked with Dr. Oliver Rosales, who teaches history at Bakersfield College and the University of California at Santa Barbara. He was part of a terrific panel, which included Dr. Dawn Mabalon of San Francisco State and Dr. Robyn Rodriguez of UC Davis – she read an advance copy of my novel and blurbed me. During that panel, Dr. Rosales emphasized that he wanted to include Filipino-American courses and materials to his teachings because his Filipino-American students were thirsty for more knowledge about their heritage.

Dr. Oliver Rosales.

Dr. Oliver Rosales.

Once the symposium started, everyone moved over to the learning center auditorium, which was across campus. I wanted to watch and listen, so David stayed behind, only to pack up shop in a little while because everyone had gone in. By this time, Janet and Tim and the kids joined us. It was really wonderful for Janet and Tim to be here with me and learn about the part of our Filipino American history that has been obscured for so long. The rest of the panels included a personal film by John Armington – a tribute to his immigrant father Bob Armington, a discussion of what had preceded and paved the way for the grape strikes, and historical legacies and new activism, the latter a necessity because sadly we still see exploitation and discrimination in the labor force.

Dr. Mabalon and Dr. Rodriguez on historical legacies.

Dr. Mabalon and Dr. Rodriguez on historical legacies.

A mom moment
At the evening event, a reception and open-mike, we were treated to young slam poets who impressed me with their mastery of their poems and the passion in their voice and their artistic ability to express their experiences as “other.” I read the first chapter of the novel when it was my turn. In retrospect, David and I agreed that I should have read a section from the strike, and that the first chapter is more in line with any other crowd. I wasn’t nervous, mostly because the event was outdoors and I couldn’t really see anyone’s face. I confess that I didn’t read the Ilocano sentences or phrases for obvious reasons; rather, I read them in English. I was already anxious about incorrectly pronouncing the word “manong” because I’d been pronouncing it a different way. (I want to call out and give thanks to my cousin Annie who explained to me that the accents change when you address someone using the term versus when you are referring to the group as a whole or using the historic reference to them.)

My first public reading from A Village in the Fields, Delano, Calif.

My first public reading from A Village in the Fields, Delano, Calif. Master of ceremonies Herb Delute kindly held the flashlight for me.

The next day, a few people who came up to the table and bought my book told me that they had listened to me at the open-mike event and said they were impressed and that I read very well. My ease is in part from having to do public speaking in my profession, which has been an invaluable experience. Also, through the years of working on this book, late at night, I would often read revised passages in my head or out loud and transform myself into an unabashed thespian. I was a little more restrained Saturday evening, but my heart was in it. The biggest thrill for me, however, was when I walked off the stage and Isabella and then Jacob came up and gave me a hug. Later, I found out that Jacob had posted on Instagram and wrote: “My mom, reading a part of her novel at the Filipino Community Cultural Center of Delano. Her novel came out yesterday. It took her a long time to accomplish her goal, and I’m so happy for her!” That was all the validation I needed at that moment and now.

Selfie with Marissa Aroy.

Selfie with Marissa Aroy.

I was honored to sit with Marissa Aroy during Saturday’s sessions and chat in-between the session breaks selling our respective DVDs and books. I met Professor Allyson Tintiangco-Cubales, who is using my novel in her Filipino/a American literature class this fall. I talked at length with Johnny Itliong, son of labor leader Larry Itliong. I connected with two Filipino-American librarians from San Jose Public Library, who were interested in a reading at the library. I gained more knowledge about the strike and unions of the past and of today from veteran labor leader Al Rojas. And I met wonderful people like Dale, a student from my alma mater UC Davis, who was just as thrilled as I was about the Aggie connection and the enthusiasm for my book. I’ll admit to enjoying my celebrity moments when people asked if they could have their picture taken with me.

Book signing!

Book signing with a smile!

We missed the luncheon at the Terra Bella Veterans Memorial Building for the 60th anniversary of the San Esteban Circle – and I missed catching up with my cousins and seeing other relatives. We were late to the dance, though we were able to see my cousin Annie and her mother, my Auntie Berta, who at age 93 was being honored for her work with the San Esteban Circle. She is not only a pioneer with the club, but she is the only one left of my father’s generation. We stopped by another cousin’s house to catch up with four more cousins, and we stayed up past midnight talking about Ilocano translations and the book.

Agbayani sign.

Agbayani sign.

The interior of Agbayani Village.

The interior of Agbayani Village.

After the Sunday events concluded, since we missed the bus tour of historic sites, we drove to Agbayani Village, which wasn’t that far away from RFK High School. Growth had indeed come to Delano because the last time I was here in 2004, Agbayani Village was isolated from the rest of the town. The village is still operational and clean and tidy; it is being rented out to retired farm workers. The kitchen and recreation room building was locked up, but we could peer inside and see the photographic displays still up for the tours. The garden, line of trees and cacti, goats in their pens, and vacant rabbit hutches, however, were gone. What stood was a vast empty field of cracked earth with a layer of powdery topsoil. I was sad to see that part of the village gone. But I was excited to share the village with Janet and Tim, and especially Jacob and Isabella.

Vineyards across the street from Agbayani Village.

Vineyards across the street from Agbayani Village.

As we walked through the village one last time and headed out through the main entryway, we came upon an elderly Filipino man who sat on a chair facing out. It seemed as if he was waiting for us, so we stopped to talk to him. His name was Edmundo. He told us he came to Agbayani Village in 1982. When we mentioned that Janet and I were related to Fred Abad, his face lit up. Fred was a good friend of his, and he said he was so happy to know that somebody else knew his good friend. He laughed and smiled and walked us out to the parking lot. That meeting touched my heart.

Resident Edmundo at Agbayani Village.

Resident Edmundo at Agbayani Village.

Because the Sunday afternoon sessions ran late, we were late getting back to Porterville. Our anniversary dinner out for Janet and Tim ended up at Super Burgers on Olive Avenue. We hurriedly ate and then David, Tim, and I headed back to the Veterans Memorial Building for the San Esteban Schools Alumni Association event, while Janet took the kids home. I sat with Annie and her mom. While we waited for my introduction, Annie and I surfed through her family photos, which she has been slowly digitizing. What a wonderful walk through nostalgia.

One of Annie's photos from the 1960s: roasting a pig in her family's backyard. I recognize many of my relatives here and recognize my dad's red sweater. He's holding onto me. I'm guessing the terror on my sister Joyce's and my face is from watching a pig being roasted. Vegetarian friends, look away!

One of Annie’s photos from the 1960s: roasting a pig in her family’s backyard. I recognize many of my relatives here and recognize my dad’s red sweater. He’s holding onto me. I’m guessing the terror on my sister Joyce’s and my face is from watching a pig being roasted. Vegetarian friends, look away!

Kudos go to my cousin Leila Eleccion Pereira: During the awards and recognition ceremony for the community’s student scholars, Leila presented my book to the top scholar, who was attending UC San Diego and wanted to become a pediatrician. She gave a brief introduction and had me come up to address the audience. I talked about my mom and dad, the backstory to the novel, and how I wanted to learn more about our history and contributions to the farm labor movement and share that not only with our community but the global community. When I told everyone that our young generation needs to learn about and embrace their history, I was heartened to see some of the students nodding their heads – such a satisfying moment for me. We sold many books, and I give Leila all the credit for her introduction, her enthusiasm, her pride.

My cousin Leila and me.

My cousin Leila and me.

Addressing the audience: telling them about the book's origins, dedicating the novel to my parents and our community, and waxing poetic about remembering and honoring our history.

Addressing the audience: telling them about the book’s origins, dedicating the novel to my parents and our community, and waxing poetic about remembering and honoring our history.

I was touched by the request by two moms who wanted to take a picture of me with her sons, who were holding up my book. Two college students, one a recent graduate from UCLA, the other still at Loma Linda University, bought a book. We chatted for a bit, and they understood the need to remember our history, which made me hopeful for the next generation’s convictions. We left as the evening concluded and retired to Porterville, the last of our Delano activities for the weekend. Wanting to capture more cousin time, Janet and I stayed up again.

Author hawking my book at RFK High School.

Author hawking my book at RFK High School.

The best way to cap the long weekend, which seemed to zoom by, was to have a leisurely breakfast with Janet and Tim and our cousin Debi, who played her guitar and entertained us with all of these wonderful stories from our childhood and from her incredibly rich and complex life. As we left, knowing that we left late and will encounter bumper-to-bumper traffic when we hit the Bay area, I made a note that we’d connect again so I could write down her stories. We made plans to get the cousins together to compare photographs, share stories, and talk about a San Esteban Circle archiving project. So much to do. So much history back home. And overall, so much to be grateful for.

Towering cypress trees at Agbayani Village.

Towering cypress trees at Agbayani Village.

Sunset over Agbayani Village.

Sunset over Agbayani Village. Most of these photos courtesy of David Rossi.

Lost, found, and forever kept: sisterhood and cousinhood

Jo’s face was a study next day, for the secret rather weighed upon her, and she found it hard not to look mysterious and important. Meg observed it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she had learned that the best way to manage Jo was by the law of contraries, so she felt sure of being told everything if she did not ask.
– Louisa May Alcott, American novelist, from Little Women

Celebrating Jacob's 5th birthday and my mom's 80th birthday, with Joshua and Isabella, June 2005.

Celebrating Jacob’s 5th birthday and my mom’s 80th birthday, with Joshua and Isabella in Folsom, June 2005.

When the kids were younger, I used to take them on weekend trips to my sister’s home in Folsom, about an hour-and-a-half drive from the Bay Area. My mom had been living with my middle sister Joyce and her husband when my nephew, Joshua, was born almost 18 years ago. Jacob was born 3.5 years later. When Isabella came along 2.5 years after Jacob, and David was working a lot of overtime hours, I sought refuge, relief, and motherhood support in Folsom. There, my mom doted over her three grandkids and I hung out, exhausted on the family room sofa, enjoying the cozy retreat. Oftentimes, I had to bring work, but I always carved out time for catching my breath, flipping through Joyce’s stack of People magazines late at night, and gabbing around the kitchen table.

The grandkids and Nellie at my mom's grave site in Folsom, Christmas Day 2014.

The grandkids and Nellie at my mom’s grave site in Folsom, Christmas Day 2014.

We visited a lot, and my kids really loved spending time with their cousin and their “lola,” my mom. Once Jacob started playing youth baseball, my work encroached beyond the 50-hour work week, and the three-hour roundtrip became too onerous, we didn’t visit as much. Joshua didn’t want February birthday parties anymore, so we didn’t come that month, and soon, we only came at Easter, my mom’s birthday in June, and Christmastime, then just June and December. I harbored feelings of regret, which got eaten whole, by everyone’s schedule and the resulting exhaustion. The kids complained about not visiting as often, and after my mom passed away three years ago, it was difficult when we did visit. Somehow, Jacob and Isabella became aware of the fact that when kids graduate from high school, they “go away from the house” afterwards, whether it be for college or work.

Their oldest cousin, Nick, on David’s side of the family, Joshua, and my college roommate’s son Grant are all seniors this year. In Jacob’s and Isabella’s eyes, they were going to be leaving their homes and that meant the two of them wouldn’t be able to see them easily anymore. Last year, they started lobbying for me to set up the next dinner with my college roommates so they could get together again with Grant and his younger brother Michael. They wanted to stay longer in Stockton, where David’s parents live, during the holidays to visit with Nick and their other cousins. And they especially bugged me about going to Folsom more – like old times – so they could hang out with Joshua. I’m glad they infused me with their urgency, which ignited my own urgency, which had been smothered by my to-do list and other obligations.

Ready for the short road trip to Folsom in comfortable clothes.

Ready for the short road trip to Folsom in comfortable clothes.

Though I didn’t have Martin Luther King, Jr. Day off, the kids had a three-day weekend, Jacob finished his semester so he didn’t have any weekend homework, and we had no sports commitment on Saturday. Seize the day, I told myself. Go to Folsom. The kids were ecstatic. And even I looked forward to relaxing a bit, which I wasn’t able to do this past Christmas in Folsom. I even looked forward to driving, listening to mellow music, letting my mind drift, enjoying the gray skies and the landscape bathed in a sheath of fog. I caught myself getting excited to see mom, who used to always answer the door when we arrived. When Joyce answered the door this time, however, I was overcome by that old home-away-from-home feeling, which took my hand and led me in.

Textures again: scarf (Personal Pizazz, Berkeley, CA), stack of rings (Kate Peterson Designs, El Cerrito, CA), Laura Lombardi hoops, jeans, eyelash sweater (H&M), and my own vintage Talbots crossbody bag from the early 90s.

Textures again: scarf (Personal Pizazz, Berkeley, CA), stack of rings (Kate Peterson Designs, El Cerrito, CA), Laura Lombardi hoops, jeans, eyelash sweater (H&M), and my own vintage Talbots crossbody bag in mint condition from the early 90s.

Laura Lombardi spheres hoops and Kate Peterson Designs stack of rings.

Laura Lombardi spheres and hoops earrings and Kate Peterson Designs stack of rings.

Joyce made spaghetti sauce and pasta for lunch for us. Now that she’s retired, she’s cooking, which is saying a lot for someone who had a framed saying that declared “I’d cook if I could find the can opener.” She informed me that she had “ceremoniously dumped it [the framed picture] last month.” I brought our thick binder of favorite recipes, and I marked with stick-it notes the recipes I thought she would like – easy ones with few ingredients – though she requested recipes that didn’t call for exotic ingredients that can’t be found in a regular grocery store. I’m thrilled that she’s cooking healthful meals and not eating a lot of processed frozen foods, which were her staple during her long days of teaching. It was fun to share recipes with her. And I was surprised and delighted to hear that she bought a ukulele and would take up an instrument that she had longed to play for a while. As she talked, I was content to see her finally relaxed because much of her working life was filled with deadlines, stress, report cards, and difficult students and parents. I was happy for her.

Three sisters at Christmastime in our old house, me with my baby doll, middle sister Joyce with Chatty Cathy, and oldest sister, Heidi.

Three sisters at Christmastime in our old house in Terra Bella, with me and my baby doll, Joyce with Chatty Cathy, and oldest sister, Heidi. Check out the encyclopedia dinosaurs!

The Enrado women, sans Mom, Christmas in Folsom, 2014.

The Enrado women, sans Mom, Christmas in Folsom, 2014.

We ran errands, with Isabella tagging along. We checked out the premium outlets. We Enrado women have a history of shopping, a tradition of shopping the day after Thanksgiving to get our Christmas gifts bought and out of the way and the day after Christmas to spend the $100 my mom gave each of us for Christmas. We would get up early and she’d drive us to the malls in either Bakersfield or Visalia. Of course, we would make our dollar stretch and buy clothes and accessories on sale and on clearance. When Joyce and I came home from the Folsom shops, Joshua was sprawled across the family room sofa, his pillow leaning against Isabella, while Jacob was spread out across the other sofa. Aside from the fact that they were watching the dreaded show, Walking Dead, a sense of contentment was draped around me at the sight of the three of them hanging out, if only for a very short weekend.

Joyce and me in our Auntie Leonora's house, our old house, 1972.

Joyce and me in our Auntie Leonora’s house, our old house in Terra Bella, 1972.

After dinner, Joyce suggested we spend the evening watching the movie Bridesmaids, which I hadn’t seen but she did see when her old high school friends were in town a few years ago. I’d always wanted to see it, having heard good reviews, but never got around to doing it, which seems to be a constant theme in my life. The movie was funny, and it was actually heartwarming for me to watch this chick-flick with my sister. At points during the movie, I was conscious of the fact that we hadn’t sat down and watched a movie like this – outside of a few distracted times with kids zipping in and out of the family room – since I was an undergraduate at UC Davis, spending the day or weekend with Joyce, who had recently graduated from Cal State Sacramento and was working and living in Sacramento, about 15 minutes from my campus. Those were the truly endless days when nothing seemed pressing, and it was so easy to pop over and hang out.

Hawk in a tree on our neighborhood walk.

Hawk in a tree on our neighborhood walk in Folsom.

Sunday morning, with the kids in charge of steering Nellie, the family dog, Joyce and I chatted while walking to the park and pond and around the neighborhood. It was cool and foggy, a perfect January day. She wanted me to walk with her because she felt she needed to exercise. I told her it was important to do some sort of exercise every day, how she ought to walk Nellie daily – both she and dog would benefit and she’d get some fresh air. I told her to keep moving. I told her about sleep studies that recommend women going to bed by 10PM. Knowing that she goes to bed late and sleeps in late, I told her she ought to push back her sleep pattern a few hours and her health would improve. I was always worried for her when she was teaching and only getting two to three hours of sleep a night.

Dad (his shadow) taking a photograph of us three sisters at our home in Los Angeles, February 1964.

Dad (his shadow) taking a photograph of us three sisters at our home in Los Angeles, February 1964.

After the walk she made soggy French toast, which we all ate not because we felt forced to, but because of gratitude. She had taken the time to make it. I was really proud of her. Not in a condescending way because David makes really wonderful meals and I’ve been cooking regularly for years, but proud that she was proud of her cooking. The kids took off for Joshua’s room soon after eating half of their French toast. Since we had to leave midday to make it back in time for Jacob’s hitting lesson, and I had precious few hours left that Sunday morning, I decided to wait until I got home to take my shower. I wanted to hang out at the kitchen table and keep talking, just talking. We caught up on old classmates and family and relatives. I felt like we weren’t almost 53 and nearly 55. We were in our 20s in Joyce’s Sacramento apartment. We were teenagers in her Ford Pinto coming home from high school the next town over, fearful of the blanket of hot-white fog on Old Highway 65. We were 7 and 9, playing our homemade version of the Mystery Date Game, laughing at the dud guy behind the white board game door, in the cramped screened-in porch in the back of our house, on an endless summer Sunday afternoon.

Joyce and me in front of our first house in Terra Bella, 1967.

Joyce and me and one of the many dogs in our childhood, in front of our first house in Terra Bella, 1967.