I arrived at my Madrina Chilo’s house before Danny and Ernie. Chepe greeted me.

When he saw that I was alone, he asked, “Sola vienes tú?”

“Sí, vine de mi apartamento,” I explained. Danny and Ernie were driving from the opposite direction. From Madrina Chilo’s house — the grandparents’ temporary LA residence during the remodeling at my parents’ house, their usual home in LA — we’d carpool to Chavez Ravine for Chepe’s first Dodger game in over 30 years.

Chepe stepped back so I could give him a hug. He was ready for the afternoon game in light blue pants, a white dress shirt and a simple straw hat. His cane was propped up by the door so we wouldn’t forget it in our rush to leave.

He sat down by the open door.

I went to Mamá Toni and greeted her with the usual hug and a kiss. Before I could take a seat next to her, my Madrina Chilo walked out of the kitchen. I hugged her, and asked where I could leave a change of clothes. She took my bag to the bedroom.

I returned to the couch and noticed that my grandparents were watching the video from my quinceañera. They were at my favorite part, el vals! The familiar notes of the “Triumphal March” from Verdi’s Aida rang out as the MC announced each chambelán’s name. They entered two at a time, each holding a gladiola in his right hand.

I stated the obvious, “están mirando el video de mi quinceañera.”

“Sí,” Mamá Toni responded. “Es todo lo que vemos cuando estamos en El Cargadero.”

She explained that due to poor television signals in El Cargadero, they mainly watched old home movies. Weddings, anniversaries, quinceañeras, holidays, birthday parties, baptisms, etc. If it was on VHS, they watched it. My quince video and those from special events were produced by my tío Chuy back when he was still a part-time videographer. They may make me want to cringe at the way I sound or look, but at least they don’t make me dizzy.

I sat down to watch the video with Mamá Toni, but only got to watch a few minutes before Danny and Ernie — two of the chambelanes just introduced in the video — arrived. They rushed their greetings and goodbyes.

“Look what they’re watching,” I pointed out to my brother, hoping he’d want to watch for a few minutes, at least through the end of el vals.

He glanced at the TV, “We got to leave. Eric’s on his way, we don’t want to keep him and everyone else* waiting.”

“Okay,” I conceded and hugged Mamá Toni and Madrina Chilo goodbye.

Danny, Ernie and I didn’t have time to relive 13-year old memories, but we still had time to make new family memories and capture them on digital cameras.

*There were 11 of us cousins who went to the game that afternoon: my tío Chuy’s sons, Eric, Ernie and Rene; Danny, Adrian and I (Lori had to study); and my tía Martha’s girls, Nancy, Vanny and Valerie. Eric took his wife’s younger brother. Chepe was the 11th person.

I went to the DMV today to renew my driver’s license. I could have avoided the trip, but I wanted to take a new picture. Along with a new picture, I also changed my address. My driver’s license has always listed my address as [redacted] Street in Hacienda Heights. I never got around to changing it because I assumed I’d move back after college.

Six years after college, I’m still in the same apartment I moved to eight years ago. Even though I’ve been on my own for a little while, I still had to check with my dad about changing my address. See, I’ve never had my my own car insurance. My dad does that, and I pay him every month for my share of the premium. I wanted to know if changing my address would increase my insurance rates. I figured driving in LA would riskier than driving in the suburbs.

“Probably,” he said. He didn’t tell me what to do, but he seemed to lean toward not changing my address.

I made up my mind hastily.

“I’m going to change it,” I told him. “I’m never going to live there again.”

***

Partly inspired by this exchange between Andrew Largeman and Sam in Garden State:
Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Largeman: You’ll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it’s just gone. And you can never get it back. It’s like you get homesick for a place that doesn’t exist. I mean it’s like this rite of passage, you know. You won’t have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it’s like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

Dear Dad,

You know me. I’m not a morning person, which is a bit ironic because one of my favorite things to do is sing Las Mañanitas on the birthdays of my loved ones. So, being the tech-savvy girl that I am I made a recording using Garage Band and the built in microphone on my laptop. I hope it’s not too complicated to download the MP3 (audio file).

Here it is: Las Mañanitas

Just right click with the mouse, and choose “save as” on the menu that pops up. The file should begin downloading. Now that you finally have a DSL connection, it should be pretty quick. I think you can also begin playing it if you just click on the file. You can call me too if you need help.

I hope you like my version. It would’ve been better with you on guitar. It always is.

Happy 55th Birthday!

Love you lots!

Cindy