Raquel Martina Martinez

People laugh when I tell them I am an introvert.  I am dead serious, yet they laugh and snort at me. They confuse “shy” with introvert.  I am not shy.  I know how to defend myself.  I can talk to strangers easily.  I have social skills.  Anyone who has met me knows I LOVE to talk. I am an introvert.  I like people but I also need to be alone.  As a charismatic introvert, getting along with others is a priority, but it tires me.  After a day of smiling, chatting, and seeing to the needs of others, I go home exhausted. I can go for days (and have) without needing the proximity of another living being, animal or human. I choose my friends with great care.  If you have gained my favor (not necessarily my confidence), I am fiercely loyal.  But I have been known to disown family and friends. They cease to exist in my circle. It takes a lot to lose my friendship, so it should not be a great surprise to those who do.  They only have to look at themselves and how they treated me to

I need a new address book (the inside front cover says November 2004), but I wonder if it would be disrespectful to replace this one with a new one. Names, phone numbers (from those who still own landlines), and addresses with zip codes would be lost.  Some folks still accept letters and thank you’s and invitations, and I do not trust listing everything on my smart phone.  One accident and everything would be erased. I would not feel too smart.    Where would I keep the thousand (it seems like a thousand) of user names and their updated passwords and the security questions (where I lied about favorite vacations spots, first pets, and maiden name that do not exist, at least not in this lifetime)? Sure section “G-H” needs additional pages (maybe I will make note to use “X-Y-Z” since I only have two or three entries in that section). All those scratched out entries document the many travels and the many places my children (whose last name starts with H) and HoneyBunch’s sons (who

Jon Stewart proposed to his wife via a crossword puzzle.  Merv Griffin made millions off his TV shows based on crosswords (Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune). Those employed by the NSA are tested for their ability to decipher a word puzzle.  Even the Queen of England cannot go a day without her daily crosswords. Me? I have been addicted since elementary school when the nuns handed out our Weekly Reader on late Friday afternoons and I would zoom to the last page to tackle the puzzle on the “Fun Page.” My career as an educator for 37 years limited my free time.  I was too busy making lessons and multiple-choice tests, assigning projects and grading essays, and writing tomes and tomes of curriculum guides.  My free time was filled with family and conferences or workshops that taught me how to perfect my classroom teaching.  Walls of to-be-read books piled around me, and crossword puzzles were limited to an occasional foray.  I was lucky to get around to it once a month. I renewed that

1.     Invite yourself to the Pity Party.  You are not only The Guest of Honor but also The Hostess. 2.     Prepare the house.  Don’t vacuum. Don’t dust.  Don’t clean the bathroom or the kitchen.  A Pitiful House sets the tone for an excellent Pity Party. 3.     Prepare the food.  Keeping with the mood, set out a mournful menu: the box of dried up raisins leftover from Christmas baking that have formed a block (no need to rehydrate them; just tear open the box and lay it on the table), a sleeve of saltine crackers, and a pitcher of iced tea without the ice. Hey, it’s your Pity Party.  If they wanted food, they should have thought about you first and brought you some. 4.     For entertainment, drag out the microphone that came with the stereo or the Karaoke machine. If you don’t have one, make one out of a toilet paper or paper towel cardboard tube.  Monopolize the conversation with your speech of woes and moans.  Drone on and on about how your life sucks until your guests st

I have few regrets about divorcing my ex fourteen years ago.  One that weighs the heaviest was separating myself from his family out of necessity, especially the ones who were kind and gracious to me throughout the thirty years of that relationship. I lost a brother-in-law last week.  He was a half brother to my ex, one of two sons from my father-in-law’s first marriage. They were so young when their parents divorced that when their mother married again her second husband adopted the two boys and gave them his last name. When they were of age to travel alone, they made the trek from Arizona to San Antonio, Texas to meet their paternal grandmother and their father’s second family.  Their dad had passed away several years before but they wanted to have a relationship with their half siblings. I saw Bud (the loving name everyone called him) and his family a total of four times during my marriage to my ex. Twice they came to SA and the family gathered at my mother-in-law’s home or a