Raquel Martina Martinez

I am one of those annoying people who not only makes New Year’s resolutions but actually keeps them.   No big surprise, since every day is the start of a “new year” for me, and I have a lifetime of experience. As mother and wife, I have had no choice but move with the flow or get knocked over.   As an ex-teacher, every school year offered new challenges - new assignments, new personalities (administrators, parents, and students), and new horizons. As a writer, we call it Revise and Edit. If life is how you react to Plan B, then you are in for a rough ride unless you learn to use your flexible gene. I have lived through Plan B.   And C.   And D.   If truth be told, I have gone through the alphabet several times over.   I am an expert at bending with the wind .   (Okay, I don’t do “outdoor stuff” very well, but you get the picture.) There are certain resolutions that get listed every year that they have become as rote as the heading on a school composition – full name on the left, date

My dad was born on December 24 th . He was a very intelligent man, an accomplished musician, and a respected accountant. Through all that seriousness, he had another side to him. He was a terrible tease and a practical joker, so when he said he and Baby Jesus had a lot in common, Mama would scoff and we would giggle. He had a stroke a few months after he turned 60, but strokes don't kill you; they just leave you disabled. He was unable to work, write his beloved poetry, or play his clarinet. Right before his 81 st birthday, he had a heart attack and needed surgery. My father had always been physically and emotionally strong, so it pained us to see him frightened and frail. We prayed that God would assuage his fear and return his courage. It took him the better part of one year to recover enough before he was allowed to go home. One morning right after his 84 th birthday, my dad hunted for a snack in his dark kitchen in the early morning hours. He tripped, hit his head on th

I blame the drive-thru hamburger or the coffee shop with the creamy drinks.   I’ve been misled by the Mexican food restaurant with the bottomless bowls of chips and salsa and the to-die-for enchiladas. I’ve been snookered by bags of Snickers and seduced by salty chips, two-timed by an egg and bacon taco (or two), and hoodwinked by a side of hotcakes.    It’s their fault my belts won’t buckle and my jackets won’t zip. I blame them for my shortness of breath and my aching back as I carry armloads of Blue Bell ice cream and glazed donuts to the car. I know I am not alone, so I say we sue those who have made us this way:   they force me to eat that taco (or two) for breakfast; they lure me with their double lattes topped with whipped cream; they snare me with their Number One specials (then try to mask the truth with side salads and diet sodas); they sing their siren songs after a long, hard day with their “Hot and Ready” pizzas and drive through dinners that come complete with des

I bought enough batteries to last a year, uncooked beans and rice in 20 lb bags, filled every gasoline can we owned to the brim.   I collected empty plastic milk jugs for a year then filled them with tap water.   I bought several boxes of old-fashioned matches and several pallets of barbecue briquettes. I even learned now to load and shoot the two firearms we owned. The sky was all purple There were people running everywhere Many laughed at me. It was 1999 and I was preparing for the big Y2K digital meltdown. When nothing happened, it took me several months to water the patio plants with the 250 gallons of water I had hoarded.   It took longer to use up all the other supplies. (I still have some leftover D batteries in the bottom junk drawer in the kitchen.) Now an even bigger disaster is predicted – December 21, 2012 - the day Bolon Yokté K’uh, a Mayan god of war and creation, will descend from the sky, and the pages on the Tortuguero Monument calendar end. We could all die any