Noise, Part I

First, some shameless self-promotion

New Mexico Magazine, July 2011

After I posted on Facebook a photo of my bio in the Storytellers section of this month’s New Mexico Magazine, my friend Tony commented, “You really need to do more self-promotion.” So, here I am, shamelessly directing you to the July issue of New Mexico Magazine (on newsstands now!), which features my article on the Pimentel family of guitar makers.

And now, Noise

Such are the contradictions and complexities of my life that I could conclude a week of not writing by talking with a group of young writers about writing. Here was the week:

Friday: magazine deadline

Saturday: AgriCultura stand at Downtown Growers’ Market

ArtSpark Social Media Training

Sunday: Breakfast w/ Henry’s family

Ring shopping

Graduation party

Family time

Monday – Wednesday: Academy for the Love of Learning Teacher Renewal Institute

Thursday: Write 30 minutes

Meet w/ friend to plan wedding centerpieces

Bake lemon bars

House party for a friend who was in a car accident (lemon bars well-received)

Friday: Voces Summer Writing Institute

When I returned to the United States from Oaxaca in the summer of 2006, I was struck by all the noise, cars and televisions and sirens, but mostly, the constant sound of conversation in cafes, homes, parks, sidewalks, office buildings. Everywhere I went, people were talking; and it was driving me nuts! When I found myself longing for Oaxaca, I realized that what I missed was not the absence of conversation, but the ability to disconnect from it.

Oaxaca is not a quiet city. Without ever looking at a clock, I could track the hour by the sounds of workers and street vendors. Street sweepers brushing their long twig brooms along the curb just before seven. Men with foghorn voices calling out, “aguaaaaaaaa, aguaaaaaaa,”  at eight. The clank of chains hanging from the back bumpers of trucks delivering propane tanks at ten. On and on until the buñuelo man blew his whistle around nine o’clock.

Those are the sounds of community. The agua man and the propane chains reassured me that the rhythm of life continued as I wrote in my apartment and that I could be part of it once I finished writing for the day.

Next Week Noise, Part II: Electric Boogaloo

Published in: on June 21, 2011 at 3:18 pm  Leave a Comment  

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