Homesick

Grinding on tamales slathered in homemade, salsa and accompanied by Nana's homemade beans and fried rice, at her house, would be hitting the spot right about now. Her beautiful and delicately gnarled, ninety-year-old hands producing culinary delights that everyone must enjoy at least once in their life. The food of the peasants is the food of the Gods! Being called Mijo and feeling special. The grand-parents' love for my kids. Going to the Food City to get more Cerveza, limon y queso. Looking cooly at an Ese standing next to me in line, who smells of beer and weed, a tattooed tear under each eye, nodding and grinning at one another, knowing that this is the greatest day of our lives as it reverberates through eternity and awesome permanence. 

I miss enjoying the vibe as Ranchero music and Narco Corridos blare out from the dope dealing, neighbor midget's jacked up, souped up Chevy across the street. He is really short and his truck is really tall; go figure. His midget baby tooling around in the yard and riding his little bicycle dangerously into the road. Random, stray pit bulls and mutts strut down the street oozing machismo and closely held sorrow as we eat tangerines from Tata's trees and buzz glassy-eyed @ 68 degrees, staring at the sun faded world through Bud Light goggles (horrible tasting, but drank out of respect for someone sharing their meager resources with you and loving every moment of it) and breathing the dusty, musty, smoggy brown cloud air heartily like we are on a pristine forest glade. Crazy Dave saunters over and spills his tweak rhetoric about cops and militias, we give him a beer. He saunters away muttering to himself, but you know there is love in there somewhere. 

Every so often a ghetto bird buzzes overhead, chopping the air, adding it's own rhythm to the song vibrating in the fabric of time. The calm, quiet of the West Side Phoenix Barrio during the holidays always reminds me of Ice Cube's 'Good Day' song.

Ice Cube - "Good Day"