Videos, a poem and books for children- Thanksgiving

Que delicioso en noviembre

Published in Revista Iguana

 René Colato Laínez

© 2016

Qué delicioso es noviembre
miro desde la piscina
un gran pavo en la cocina
que prepara mi vecina.

Qué delicioso es noviembre
de pensarlo me dio hambre
y hasta me agarró un calambre
estoy más flaco que un alambre.

Qué delicioso es noviembre
vendrá toda la familia
a comer en armonía.
No hay dieta en este día.

Qué delicioso es noviembre
hay que dar gracias al cielo
por todo el amor sincero
de un hogar verdadero.

Books

Celebrate Thanksgiving Day with Beto and Gaby by Alma Flor Ada and F. Isabel Campoy. Illustrated by Claudia Rueda.

Beto and Gaby anxiously wait for their relatives to arrive for Thanksgiving dinner. One by one, they each call to inform the family that they will not be able to attend because of a great snowstorm. Suddenly, their grandmother appears with a group of elder friends who have nowhere to have dinner, and the celebration becomes really special. Contains an informative section on Thanksgiving Day.

Gracias, the Thanksgiving turkey by Joy Cowley. Illustrated by Joe Cepeda.

Trouble ensues when Papa gets Miguel a turkey to fatten up for Thanksgiving and Miguel develops an attachment to it.

¿Pavo para la Cena de Gracias? ¡No, gracias! por Alma Flor Ada. Ilustrado por Vivi Escriva.

When the turkey overhears a conversation about how fat and tasty he will be on Thanksgiving, he loses his own appetite. He meets a young spider who sets out to find a way to save the turkey.


Molly y los peregrinos por Barbara Cohen. Illustrado por Michael J. Deraney. Traducido por María A. Fiol.

Told to make a doll like a pilgrim for the Thanksgiving display at school, Molly's Jewish mother dresses the doll as she herself dressed before leaving Russia to seek religious freedom--much to Molly's embarrassment.

How many days to America?: a Thanksgiving story by Eve Bunting. Illustrated by Beth Peck.

Refugees from a Caribbean island embark on a dangerous boat trip to America where they have a special reason to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Alfredo Véa Meets Stanford Readers. November's Holiday On-line Floricanto

Alfredo Véa Visits Stanford Alumni Book Group

The Book Club of the Chicano/Latino Stanford Alumni Association of Southern California welcomed author Alfredo Véa to its quarterly meeting Sunday where they engaged the author in spirited discussion of The Mexican Flyboy.



In the course of human events, discussion flowed around and through the upcoming regime change in the United States, the election, and the sundry folk and feelings that seethed out of the political landscape.



La Bloga's Manuel Ramos and Michael Sedano both highly recommend The Mexican Flyboy for its literary quality and arresting story. The Stanford friends share the reviewers' enthusiasm.

A richly literary novel, The Mexican Flyboy raises critical issues about communicating, U.S. justice and processes to achieve or deny that, interpersonal relationships, and a complex array of ideas, allegory, and metaphor.

Blended with humor and science fiction elements, the extensively researched novel introduces historical characters like Joan of Arc and the Rosenbergs, and unnamed people like the 133 slaves murdered by the crew of the slave ship Zong.

The Mexican Flyboy is an excellent gift or stocking stuffer for deserving readers. It's one of the must-read books of 2016. Order from your local independent bookseller, or directly from the University of Oklahoma Press.



The Book Club of the Chicano/Latino Stanford Alumni Association of Southern California meets quarterly. Members include Mario Vasquez, Roberto Garcia, Angel Flores, Deidre Reyes, Manuel Urrutia, Margie Hernandez, Juanita Naranjo, Michael Sedano, and Concepción Valadez.

Area Stanford alumni are welcome to join the discussions. Membership is not exclusively Stanford alums; the regular meeting includes graduates of the University of Chile, UCLA, and USC. Joining the recent discussion were Melinda Palacio, Angel and Mario Guerrero, and Barbara Sedano, who hosted the tertullia.

The April meeting returns to its Monrovia home and features Désirée Zamorano. The Amado Women. For details, email stanfordbookclub@readraza.com.

November Feasting Week: La Bloga's On-line Floricanto.
Raul Sanchez, Linda Rodriguez, Ralph Hoskins Elizondo, Alma Luz Villanueva, John Martinez

"Growing Up in the New Amerikkka” By Raul Sanchez
“In Time of Trouble” Linda Rodriguez
"Household Shrine” by Ralph Hoskins Elizondo
"Warriors of the Rainbow” By Alma Luz Villanueva
“She is a Rock” by John Martinez

Growing Up in the New Amerikkka
Raul Sanchez

Remember….

classroom full of kids, different colored skins
learning the difference between a noun and a pronoun
remember the playfulness everyone had—
all together in the schoolyard?

Remember—

how you shared your lunch and others shared theirs with you
different flavors, different tongues.
Now you are in high school, the faces in the classroom
full of kids, different colored skins all changed

Remember,

how it didn’t matter where you came from
and your indigenous features
were not a subject of repugnant scrutiny
and criticism?

Learning

from others the “differences” between races
and why one ethnic group does not get along with others
notice, the same color :: hang together—
like worms in compost…

Now—
ostracized because of your skin color,
your name, your features, your other language
How does that feel? You— get pushed—
to the end of the line your hair pulled

They tell you:

“you are a greaser and a wet back, your dad
washes dishes at a Mezkin restaurant and your mother
cleans toilets at juvy hall”
they mock you—playing your violin

They tell you,

“go back where you came from
don’t speak your Espanish language
speak English”
there is no class in the classroom.

Only;

class divisions ignorance and prejudice
based on racial differences. Red man, Yellow man,
Black, Brown, White ones too—
what happened to the innocence of the early years?

Everyone—

learns the poisoned language of snakes
they use nouns, pronouns and verbs to hurt others
with their serpent tongues bifurcated contaminated
diseased approach to the culture of hate

growing up in the new amerikkka
 


In Time of Trouble
Linda Rodriguez

I was taught—
go to water,
running water.
Wash.
Build a small fire.
Sing a prayer.
Wash.
Offer tobacco.
Sing a prayer.
Clean up the fire.
Offer cornmeal in thanks.
Walk away,
leaving your illness
or problem
behind you.
 


Household Shrine
Ralph Hoskins Elizondo

Inside the heart of the darkest part of night,
a lonely yellow glow flickers from within.
A window reveals velorio candles---
their tiny fiery tongues carrying light conversations
with a congregation of clayed clergy---
La Virgen de Guadalupe, San Martín de Porres,
El Santo Niño de Atocha, and the not-quite sainted
Don Pedrito Jaramillo. Each holds a rosary.
Old family photographs of the dead keep them company---
and before them, their favorite things:
abuelito's Waltham pocket watch, la tía's crucifix and tea---
recuerdos, or offerings more likely---the random roses---
with Jesus, hanging on the wall and bleeding over all---
an ongoing pilgrimage procession going nowhere,
marking penance on the heavy shoulders of a small armoire
weary with the weight of a family’s faith.
 


Warriors of the Rainbow
Alma Luz Villanueva

“One day…there will come a time, when the Earth is ravaged and polluted,
the birds will fall from the air, the waters blackened, the fish poisoned
in the streams, and the trees would no longer be, humankind as we know
it would all but cease to exist…a new tribe of people shall come unto the
Earth from many colors, classes, creeds and who by their actions and
deeds shall make the Earth green again. They will be known as the
Warriors Of The Rainbow. – Old All Nations prophecy

“Global Warming, a hoax, bullshit.” Trump

Will you drink oil?
Will you eat fracked earth?
Will you hide from the
sun, moon, wind, the fierce Ancestor Stars, the
cries of your children, grand
children, great grandchildren,
the next Seventy Generations, the
human family extinct or thriving,
either way color blind, starved
for Beauty, praising each spring
flower (however spring survives,
Madre Tierra), cursing or
praising the Rising Sun, dreaming
the way to madness or sanity-
what I know is, only those who
remember the language of trees,
clouds, East/West/South/North Winds,
each fragile flower, each fragile
dream, rainbow praise and song,
only those who remember the language of

stone will survive/thrive, love.

To the Standing Rock Rainbow Warriors
 


She is a Rock
John Martinez

She is a rock inside of a rock
That wants to breathe

That wants to unravel from within,
Arms, fingers shouting,
Like dazed dandelions

Wants to stand,
Cloud rinsed torso,
Wants to love again-

Like a flash of rain drops,
She sighs, heaves to breath

She is the small girl, who fell
Asleep, naked by the lake

And then her spirit rose
Into the galaxy’s

And her body became
This rock
Her thighs, round, protruding
From the sand

Rock in rock, a heart beating
In rock, rock without being rock,
Rock, living again

And formed, so delicately
A million years of unspent dreams

And treads her feet
Like a hush of tadpoles
When the water rises

Her eyes, like yesterday’s stars,
Blown out of the darkness

Never lost their lantern glow
Against a full moon
 


Meet the Poets
"Growing Up in the New Amerikkka” By Raúl Sanchez
“In Time of Trouble” Linda Rodriguez
"Household Shrine” by Ralph Hoskins Elizondo
"Warriors of the Rainbow” By Alma Luz Villanueva
“She is a Rock” by John Martinez

Raúl Sanchez. Raúl’s inaugural collection “All Our Brown-Skinned Angels” was nominated for the 2013 Washington State Book Award in Poetry. He was a 2014 Jack Straw Fellow, mentor and judge for the 2014 Poetry on Buses, a TEDx participant in Yakima WA. Recent publications; The 2016 Texas Poetry Calendar, “Poetry of Resistance Voices for Social Justice” ,“Shake The Tree” Volume Two and the anthology “Poets Unite” Litfuse at 10”

Linda Rodriguez. Plotting the Character-Driven Novel (11/30/2016) available for pre-order
https://www.amazon.com/Plotting-Character-driven-Novel-Linda-Rodriguez/dp/097912915X
Every Family Doubt: A Skeet Bannion Novel (forthcoming 6/13/2017)
The Skeet Bannion novels: Every Last Secret, Every Broken Trust, Every Hidden Fear, St. Martin's Press/Malice Domestic Best First Traditional Mystery Competition, Las Comadres National Latino Book Club, International Latino Book Award, Latina Book Club Best Books 2014, Premio Aztlan Literary Award, finalist. http://lindarodriguezwrites.blogspot.com

Ralph Haskins Elizondo was born and raised in Monterrey, Mexico. His family moved to South Texas during the social turmoil of the 60’s. The new cultural challenges he experienced led him to express himself through poetry. Many of his poems touch the cultural and political issues of our times. Today, Ralph lives in McAllen, Texas where he supplements his poet’s income by moonlighting as a science teacher at a local high school.

Alma Luz Villanueva. Author of eight books de poesia, most recently 'GRACIAS.' Four novels, most recently, 'SONG OF THE GOLDEN SCORPION.' Published in many magazines, anthologies and textbooks (which I love, from grammar to university- I receive the most wonderful emails from students). I've taught in the Antioch University, Los Angeles, MFA in Creative Writing program, the past twenty years. Have lived in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, the past twelve years, and I love buying fresh strawberries, honey (and more) on the street, the sound of Spanish in my ears- where I'm called 'Almita.' Today I bought the largest, most beautiful, strawberries, from a young guy on the street, his plot- his smile, you can always tell when someone hasn't been called "spic, wetback greaser, illegal" etc...the dignity is intact.
My Authors Guild site www.almaluzvillanueva.com

John Martinez has published poetry in several journals, including, LA WEEKLY, EL TECOLOTE, Red Trapeze, Poetry Of Resistance 2016 (Odilia Galvan Rodriguez/Francisco Alarcon Editors) La Ciudad 2016 (Ana Chig Editor) and this will be his 23rd poem published in LA BLOGA. Martinez studied creative writing in the early 80's at Fresno State University under, the late U.S., Poet Laureate, Phillip Levine and has attended seminars with several established American poets. For the last 30 years he has worked as an Administrator for a Los Angeles Law Firm and has recently complete his long awaited manuscript of 60 poems entitled A Tale of Submission, which will be published by IZOTE Press in late 2016

Mexicans in El Norte Will Survive President Trump

Latinos gather outside Donald Trump's Dallas rally to protest his stance on immigration. (Reuters)

Guest essay by Dr. Alvaro Huerta

After failing to predict the 2016 U.S. presidential election, I recently attended and returned from our monthly Mexican meeting in Los Angeles, California. At these monthly meetings, all individuals of Mexican origin gather at 3:00 a.m. in towns, cities and counties throughout the country, while the hustler Donald Trump is busy on Twitter. We’re talking about millions of U.S. residents, minus the self-loathing Mexicans who voted for Trump. According to the Pew Research Center, based on Census data, in 2013 there were approximately 34.6 million individuals of Mexican origin in the U.S., which includes immigrants (11.5 million) and U.S.-born citizens (23.1 million). While I spent the first four years of my life in Tijuana, Mexico, I’m part of the latter group. Where do we meet? Thank you for asking. Well, we gather inside of taco trucks, hotels, campuses, restaurants, churches, baseball stadiums and other places where Mexican toil while most Americans get their beauty sleep.

As our main agenda item consists of the “The Taco-Truck-in-Every-Corner Campaign,” we’re also reflecting on how resilient, proud and generous we are as a people. After surviving the military conquests of Spaniards in 1521, the Americans in 1848 and the French in 1862, Mexicans—on both sides of the border—remain a resilient people. What can Trump do to us that we haven’t experienced during the past 500 years? In response to his racist rhetoric, for example, where he launched his presidential campaign by referring to Mexicans as “drug dealers,” “criminals” and “rapists,” Mexicans wasted no time in composing anti-Trump corridos and hitting Trump piñatas at kids’ parties. For Mexican kids, hitting Trump piñata with brooms or baseball bats represents what President Barack Obama refers to as “teachable moments.”

In addition to being resilient, Mexicans are a proud people. If you don’t believe me, just go to a U.S.-Mexico soccer game in Pasadena, California, to see how many people at the Rose Bowl with jerseys of El Tricolor. For instance, like millions of Mexicans, I screamed at the top of my lungs after Mexico’s 2-1 victory against the U.S. in Columbus, Ohio, on November 11, 2016. It makes no difference to many Mexicans if Americans have more access to financial capital or human capital. Their (or our) pride or happiness doesn’t rely on accumulated capital or earned university degrees. What does it matter if you’re extremely rich or highly educated, for example, but you suffer from poor ethics?

Moreover, at our November meeting, we also mused about our generosity. While we continue to be scapegoated for America’s ills, we give more to this country than we receive. This is especially the case for those without legal status. For instance, millions of Mexican immigrants without legal status pay into the system with their labor power and taxes, yet don’t qualify for key federal benefits, especially when they’re elderly, such as Social Security and Medicare.

Also, at local/household level, I’ve found Mexicans to be very generous and hospitable. For instance, if you happen visit a random home in the poorest barrio in this country or poorest village/rancho in Mexico, without asking, you will quickly be offered drink and food—even if its the last piece of chicken they have to consume!

In fact, we’re so generous that while the Americans were settling in Mexico during the early to mid-1800s—what is now Texas, California, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, etc.—when my ancestors said, “Mi casa es tu casa,” the Americans took them literally!

Approximately 200 years later, we’re still here and not going anywhere.

Dr. Alvaro Huerta is an assistant professor of urban and regional planning and ethnic and women’s studies at California State Polytechnic University, Pomona. He is the author of Reframing the Latino Immigration Debate: Towards a Humanistic Paradigm, San Diego State University Press (2013).

Dear Ashley: A Post-Election Letter

By Guest Blogger Sandra C. Muñoz

Dear Ashley,

I don’t really know you very well.  I met you for the first time when my family and I travelled to Rogers, Arkansas to see you marry my nephew.  I knew my nephew at some point.  I saw him grow up here in Los Angeles until my brother and his wife thought the streets of Woodland Hills too gang-infested and uprooted their entire family to the enclaves of my sister-in-law’s home state.  Shortly after, sometime in the 1990s, my mother and I travelled to Arkansas on an Amtrak train for two days (don’t ask – I still haven’t forgiven my mother for refusing to fly) to visit and see our family’s new dwellings.  You weren’t in the picture yet – your husband was still a teenager. Despite the torturous train ride, we relished the opportunity to spend time with my brother and his family.  We were even excited to see a new part of the country.

Years later, our entire family travelled to Arkansas to attend your wedding.  It was a lovely reception.  You and your husband played Enrique Iglesias’ Hero in Spanish as you walked down the aisle.  A mariachi was hired to play at the small reception that took place in the backyard of my brother’s house – the one my mother helped him buy.  I even remember my sister-in-law’s sister remark “there’s so many of them – like roaches” when the Mexican side of the family congregated inside the house, waiting for the reception to start.  It was, for the most part, a really good time.  

I haven’t been back to Arkansas since then.  Life has, you know, happened.  I’m a lawyer now.  I have my own office.  I got married and last year my husband was denied entry into the United States for reasons we don’t know or understand and so I use any time I can get away from the office to visit and spend time with him in El Salvador.  If I’m being honest, I couldn’t tell you that I would visit Arkansas even if that wasn’t the case.  I’ve always had dreams of travelling to Paris and Barcelona and London.  And I definitely would like to make it to Germany at some point because, I don’t know if you know this, my father who was my mother’s second husband was in the United States Army and fought in World War II.  I’ve been told he was stationed in Germany but I can’t verify that because he died when I was 10 years old after many years of battling an alcohol addiction.  His family stopped talking to me after he died.  Between you and me, his family never liked my mother because she was undocumented and already had three children in Mexico when they married.  My brother, your father-in-law, was one of those three children.  

Anyway, I’m getting so sidetracked.   For now, I’ll just say that I still haven’t lost hope that one day I’ll be reunited with my husband but that hope certainly did take a hit on Tuesday, November 8th. In case it’s slipped your mind, that was the day our country voted Donald Trump into office.  Now, I’m not going to kid myself, I know you voted for Trump.  I know my brother, his wife and the rest of his kids voted for Trump too.  I knew that going in and while I threatened my mother that I would never go visit my brother should he ever come out to Los Angeles to spend time with her, I was only half-serious.  I wouldn't put my mother through that turmoil.  She just wants us to get along. 

That was a really tough day though and, I’m not going to lie to you, the days since haven’t exactly gotten better.  Trying to describe what the election of DT felt like to people who voted for him is hard.  At least I imagine it would be hard. I haven’t really talked to anybody who voted for him.  I did have some brief exchanges with a couple of Trump supporters on Facebook but then I deleted their accounts.  I don’t know if you heard but I also deleted my brother and his wife and his children.  I didn’t delete you and your husband’s account because you two deleted me on Facebook years ago.  If I’m being honest, I may have proclaimed your deletion of my account as a badge of honor at some point.

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked again.  November 8th and the day after.  I know this sounds melodramatic, extreme, unbelievable perhaps but those were probably the worst days of my life.  Worse than the day my father died.  Worse even than the day I learned my husband was denied entry into this country.  I suspect you will never understand why the reaction was so severe.  I have a hard time understanding it myself.  But it was like someone had punched me in the gut.  Hard.  Knocked the air out of me and then kicked me when I was down.  I didn’t know it would hurt so much to learn this country hated me.  It’s not like I didn’t have my suspicions.  I’ve been fighting discrimination and bigotry all my life.  In case you didn’t know Ashley, I’m an employment lawyer here in California and I represent workers who have been discriminated against in the workplace.  My clients have included Latina women, Gay men, workers with disabilities, White women, White men, undocumented workers, and even women raped by their supervisors.  Discrimination is everywhere.  Even here in California.  I’ve known that for most of my life.  I’ve felt it.  I guess I just didn’t think this country would ever celebrate discrimination and elect its greatest perpetrator.  I was naïve.  I believed, despite my wildly proclaimed cynicism, in the good of people.  Yeah, it’s been tough.  Really tough.

I won’t pretend that I know exactly what November 8th and 9th were like for you.  I don’t know if you celebrated, felt a sense of relief, got a good night of sleep or simply checked the results and moved on with your life.  The only thing I know is that on the day after your candidate was elected, you sent my sister an email.  There was no mention of the election of course.  You know that we all here in California voted for Clinton.  You know that we are political polar opposites.  Instead, you sent an email asking my sister for a favor.

On the day after Trump was elected, you wanted to know if she could get our mother to write out her favorite recipes by hand.  You wanted to frame those recipes as a Christmas gift for my brother.   I’m presuming you didn’t ask my mother directly because she doesn’t speak English and you don’t speak Spanish.  I’m presuming you didn’t ask your husband to call his grandmother directly because he doesn’t speak Spanish either.  In some ways it’s good you weren’t able to call my mother directly because I don’t think she would have taken your request too kindly.  First, there are no recipes to write.  She makes her pozole and her frijoles con chorizo and her sopaipillas from memory.  Second, my mother is not very sentimental but it’s not fair to expect you to know that.  You don’t really know her.  I think you’ve met her twice.

Wednesday.  The day after the elections. The day I saw your email. I was pretty useless that day even though I had a lot work that had to be done that week.  I hadn’t slept much the night before.  I didn’t find the energy to get out of bed until past 10:00 a.m. and, even when I dragged myself to my office, I spent much of the day bursting into tears in complete shock that this country that I had finally felt a part of had rejected diversity so swiftly.  Trust me, I was as surprised by my reaction as you probably are reading this letter.  I mean this is not how I reacted when George W. Bush won in 2000 and 2004.  This was not how I reacted when his father won in 1988.  I didn’t react this way even when Geraldine Ferraro and Walter Mondale lost so miserably in 1984.  (I didn’t vote in that election because I was too young but, yes, I have been interested in politics for a long time and I remember vividly the shellacking the Democratic ticket took that year.)  (I remember too that my brother’s wife tried to convince me that no woman should ever be near the White House because there was no way to know what she would do when she was on her period which, in retrospect, is a really terrible thing to say to a 15-year-old girl already showing an interest in politics.)  None of those previous political losses had ever caused such grief, despair, and utter hopelessness.

Anyway, what I’m trying to telling you is that I was livid when I saw your email to my sister.  I did not and could not understand how you could send that precise email on that precise day. I hadn’t talked to my mother the entire day after the election because I was a mess and I knew that I would burst into tears upon hearing her voice.  And there you were contacting my sister like it was just a regular day, like nothing had changed.  There you were reducing my mother’s experiences in this country to some recipes and some food.  There you were treating this side of your family like an asterisk in your life, like adornment in your Pinterest life.  The day after voting for a man who had reduced Mexican immigrants to rapists and murderers and promised to deport every single undocumented person in this country, there you were asking my mother to write out her favorite recipes with the same hands she used to work all her life in menial jobs so that her children could enjoy a better life than hers.

I won’t tell you how I suggested my sister respond to you because it was not very nice.  But, Ashley, I do want you to know that we are not your Cinco de Mayo celebration, your Taco Tuesday, your Happy Hour Margarita.  We are real people.  We have dreams and goals and fears just like you and your family.  We have made contributions to this country that you will never know of.  And, yes, we also have flaws just like you.  In my world, you don’t get to vote directly against us and then celebrate our food and the things about us that are not threatening to you.  But, alas, it’s not my world.  My mother will begrudgingly write out her recipes, my sisters will take the time to send them to you, and you will gift them to my brother.  And they will all go on pretending that you didn’t vote to deport our cousins and my husband because they are better people than me.  And I guess those recipes will make all of you in Arkansas feel better, maybe assuage any pangs of guilt for voting the way you did – the existence of which are in serious doubt. Perhaps those recipes will serve as proof that you are not, in fact, racist.  Me?  I know what you are.  I know how you feel.   And the recipe card I wanted to send you would have read: If you want Mexican food, I hear the Trump Tower has a good taco bowl.  

                              Sincerely,

                              Sandra

Sandra C. Muñoz has an MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University. She is the owner of the Law Offices of Sandra C. Muñoz located in East Los Angeles. For over 15 years, Sandra has worked on cases involving employment discrimination, harassment, and retaliation. She has been featured in the Daily Journal, written for the California Business Law magazine, and participated on various education panels. Her creative work is featured in the play Black Butterfly, Jaguar Girl, Piñata Woman and Other Superhero Girls, Like Me by Luis Alfaro. 

Mermaid Birthday in Disneyland 2016

Melinda Palacio

Disneyland is one of the few places in California with water fountains. 

The presidential election results sure gave me a bad case of the blues. Things were so sad at Casa Palacio, so much so that my husband cancelled our birthday party. Every year, we give a November birthday party for the two of us and any friends with birthdays in November. Mine usually falls close to Thanksgiving and Steve's is always two days after Veteran's day. Although none of our friends were in the mood for celebrating, we still managed to gather at my insistence. However, with the possibility that our way of life will take a dramatic downturn during the next four years, not to mention the rhetoric of hate and lack of decency bubbling up as the new normal, we were both dejected and not in the spirit for celebrating. 

As someone who is now living the adult life that my mother did not have the opportunity to experience, I vowed that I'd see every day as a gift. When my sister invited me to spend the day with her and the Prince Palacio at Disneyland, I decided to shelf my anxiety and try to have fun for the day.

Melinda Palacio, Emily Palacio and the Prince Palacio

My mermaid Halloween costume had inspired my sister to declare that we should go to Disneyland as mermaids. I went ahead and made her a mermaid crown. We wore long curly wigs and our crowns, which were a big hit. Many people stopped us to ask where they could purchase mermaid crowns. Expect to see mermaid crowns on the streets of Los Angeles. I'm not especially crafty and don't even know how to make clothes for myself, but I did figure out how to make a mermaid crown. It's easy and only requires 3 things: a headband, a glue gun, and lots of sea shells. When I made mine for Halloween, I was surprised by how well it held up during the parade I joined in New Orleans. Sturdy and easy to make.

When we reached the tram that takes you from the enormous garage complex to Disneyland's main entrance, a phrase from the helpful recording about how to enjoy the theme park jumped out. It said something about a rule prohibiting any guest over the age of 14 from wearing a costume or mask. I recalled my last visit to the Magic Kingdom of two years ago as being surprised by how much the park had changed and even more surprised at seeing so many adults dressed in costume, many as their favorite Disney characters. At the entrance, I was a little nervous and half expected to be told when we bought our tickets that we would have to leave our mermaid crowns and wigs in the car. It was a long trek back to the car, and too long to make with an anxious toddler in tow. We bought our tickets and entered the gates with no problems. The rest of the day we received endless compliments from guests and park staff, even Tinker Bell was envious of our crowns. We even managed to get a table at the sold-out Blue Bayou restaurant for a special mermaid birthday celebration. Politics and its reality were forgotten for one day at Disneyland.

A mermaid birthday celebration at Blue Bayou.

While I've already received some great gifts for my birthday, including a trip to Disneyland and a fabulous antique hat, I am asking that anyone who would like to celebrate my birthday with a gift, to kindly offer a donation to Reyna Grande's toy fund. Bring the gift of Christmas to a needy child in Iguala, Mexico. I am grateful to all my friends and family, including Steve, who have donated to Reyna's toy fund. Thank you for being in my life. I appreciate every one of my friends. 

Rainbow Weaver/Tejedora del arcoíris

By Linda Elovitz Marshall

Illustrated by Elisa Chavarri   

• Age Range: 4 - 8 years
• Grade Level: 1 - 4
• Publisher: Children's Book Press (October 15, 2016)
• Language: English/ Spanish
• ISBN-10: 0892393742
• ISBN-13: 978-0892393749

Ixchel wants to follow in the long tradition of weaving on backstrap looms, just as her mother, grandmother, and most Mayan women have done for more than two thousand years. But Ixchel’s mother is too busy preparing her weavings for the market. If the weavings sell at a good price, they will have money to pay for Ixchel’s school and books. And besides, there is not enough extra thread for Ixchel to practice with.

Disappointed, Ixchel first tries weaving with blades of grass, and then with bits of wool, but no one would want to buy the results. As she walks around her village, Ixchel finds it littered with colorful plastic bags. There is nowhere to put all the bags, so they just keep accumulating.

Suddenly, Ixchel has an idea! She collects and washes the plastic bags. Then she cuts each bag into thin strips. Sitting at her loom, Ixchel weaves the plastic strips into a colorful fabric that looks like a beautiful rainbow—just like the weavings of Mayan women before her.

LINDA ELOVITZ MARSHALL grew up near Boston, graduated from Barnard College, and raised four children and a flock of sheep on a farm in the Hudson Valley of New York. She is the author of several books for young readers and was inspired to write this story by dear friends and founders of Mayan Hands, an organization of weavers in Guatemala. Marshall liveswith her family in Selkirk, New York.

ELISA CHAVARRI is a full-time illustrator who graduated with honors from the Savannah College of Art and Design, where she majored in Classical Animation and minored in Comics. Born in Peru, she now lives with her husband and their daughter, cat, and dog in northernMichigan.

chel has an idea! She collects and washes the plastic bags. Then she cuts each bag into thin strips. Sitting at her loom, Ixchel weaves the plastic strips into a colorful fabric that looks like a beautiful rainbow just like the weavings of Mayan women before her.

Reviews

A Guatemalan girl named Ixchel longs to learn how to weave like her mother and the other women in their community, but her mother tells her that she is too young and that there isn’t enough thread. Searching for alternative weaving materials, Ixchel collects the plastic bags that litter the countryside, tearing them into strips and using them on her homemade loom—while also leaving her village looking cleaner. Chavarri incorporates bright splashes of color into her expressive illustrations, which emphasize Ixchel’s innovation and pride. An author’s note describes the real-life story that inspired Marshall’s fiction, an inspiring example of ingenuity, dedication, and small actions with big results. -Publishers Weekly

Fans of Omar S. Castañeda’s Abuela’s Weave will enjoy this lovely selection about perseverance, community, and the ancient Mayan art of weaving. In order to earn money at the market, the women in young Ixchel’s Guatemalan village “weave thread into fabric as beautiful as a rainbow.” The girl desperately wants to learn and participate in this traditional art, but her mother gently refuses. Mama tells her that the money she earns from the cloth will be used to purchase books and fund an education for Ixchel. The cloth must be eye-catching in order to earn a good price. Ixchel is disappointed but determined to help and soon comes up with a creative way to clean up her village and weave a unique type of cloth. Vibrant illustrations bring the story to life and provide readers with a glimpse of indigenous Guatemalan culture. The images could also be used during a discussion about facial expressions and how they communicate emotions. The English and Spanish texts are clearly delineated. The author incorporates several words in Kaqchikel, one of the Mayan languages spoken in Guatemala. A glossary and pronunciation guide are provided at the beginning of the volume. A detailed author’s note at the narrative’s conclusion explains the inspiration for this tale. Pair this with a simple weaving project and some primary source photographs. VERDICT An uplifting offering that would be a wonderful addition to picture book collections and STEAM programs. -School Library Journal

Ixchel wants to help her mother weave so that she can pay for her school fees. Because there isn’t enough thread available, Ixchel must find alternative materials if she wishes to make weavings to sell at the market. Set in Guatemala and based on Mayan women’s resourcefulness and the tradition of weaving, Marshall’s bilingual story tells how Ixchel uses plastic bags littered in her community to create beautiful, rainbow-colored weavings. Although Marshall relies on the monolithic term Mayan to describe Ixchel’s background, the glossary/pronunciation guide provided at the beginning of the book identifies the Mayan language used briefly in the text as Kaqchikel. Chavarri’s illustrations bring the story to life, incorporating vibrant colors and intricate patterns into the characters’ clothes and weavings in a way that allows young readers to see how the amazing tradition of weaving is passed on from generation to generation. A cheerful tale of innovation with strong multicultural ties. For another story on weaving in Guatemala, see Abuela’s Weave (1995), by Omar S. Catañeda. -Booklist