Diary 266 Fulton St

So here we are once again, at 266 Fulton st. The house has changed to reflect Manuel’s taste and his love for terracota colour hasn’t diminished over the years. Old 266 Fulton st is but a faint memory, only a photo of yesteryear reminds of that old 70’s house I once lived in. I now feel bad I critized my cousin’s lack of house reparations. He at least gave me a chance to remember the house as it once was, even if the lightswitch was worn out or the hole beside it which I recall shocked me to see it left unattended. My cousin’s room has no longer access to the bathroom. I only fondly remember the first floor of the house, the living room, the entrance room. My uncles’ little shrine to la Virgen still remains though. Un católico de hueso colorado, athough he shows no sign of it. So many things change, even 266 Fulton st. The outside is different, the wooden garage gate I once crashed into with my bike is gone, now a metal one is in place, the entrance has now a lion keeping watch over the passerbys and the eternal fight my uncle battled with the pine trees is now seemingly nice. Was there a comprimise? Who knows. I havent seen the whole lot. Being back here is always aflush with the old memories, my own discomfort which undoubtedly emanates from the vibes I get. I try to ignore them, I want to be true to my own emotions and intentions, I have no self interest or to ain by it. Except to show my gratitude, my love, however simplistic and plain that is.

It feels weird to be back yet at the same quite nice to be able to be accepted in my old family, my old adopted family. I guess and I realize that sharing the bonds of memories are sufficent. Some old stories never die and everyone is in the joke of my terrible behaviour. We didn’t have autism before so I guess I was spared that label. I was just a hyperactive kid backthen. And here I am, in the kitchen at 266 fulton st, remembering loads. I hope am not overimposing myself upon my kin. One nagging point in all of this is the elephant in the house, am adopted but I feel their love. I feel welcomed but I guess I myself can never get to reconcile that in my bodyworks, always that nagging feeling I don’t belong. I guess it ought to keep me in check, humble.

Inadvertedly, I got to travel the Caltrain again, the memories. I was amazed at how the wagons of the highrise train, it is a double decker, still hasn’t changed over the years, I remembered Åsa in all of this. Being here is also a reminder of Åsa. We’ve must of have travelled the Caltrain dozens of times together yet I can not recall it. Maybe because Åsa preferred to drive everywhere. I wish to go to Cañada College, I wonder if I will. My kin have loads of plans, I guess I get them out of their routines somehow. Again, this displays of love is quite alien to me, no matter how many times I go through it it still baffles me, love. I guess it is what it is or as Consuelo said it, no me dejo querer, es dificil para mi eso.

La gente acá se está levantando, habrá que dejar esto un rato.

9 de febrero del 2020, practicamente la segunda noche que pernocto en 266 Fulton st. Quizá las últimas de mi vida.
Everything is diferent, as it should be really, everything has a beginning and an end, the enivitable aspects of life, there is no denying by any means, I acknowledge its fact but it is becoming increasingly irritable that I have to subject myself to its tyranny. I am by no means free of its shackles but seeing its very tyrant nature makes one rebel at it. Specially when people readily become its subject and subjct themselves to its enivetable unalterable truth. Life ought to go on, shake off the chains of the impending second coming. As the old ones have argued for millenia, Carpe Diem! But life does have its own drudge, its own rat race, its own daily rut. This is even more true as we age, we become older and shit hits the fan for the ninny figments the brain concocts to entertain a simple juicy sauce alive in this puddle of mud just to spice up the air and sun we take in for granted. People age and deteriorate, just like any other organism in this planet. Dealing with these are a myriad of diferent reactions. Some carpe diem the crap out of it; others succumb to the rabbit hole as they choose to live the everyday facing the end when the end is not even yet on the horizon, what a drudge. Vivir de la esperanza, that is what I said yesterday in Marios house, my uncles cousin whose life is now riddled with cancern, que gacho. The meager crumbs of hope aren’t enough sustanance for the soul, but what do I know, as I re-read this I find myself seeing a cruelty of thought, words, what do I know of living on the crumbs of hope? Whilst at the same time I feel anger creeping in my skull because there is no appreciation for life, nor thanks for the gifts God bestows upon on the everyday, what do I know of it, yet hee I am writing about it. Weird I think because I renounce God, I hate life and I even skinny dip dive on the muddled waters of the vortex of chaos, oblivion, styx and waving at Charon. These old friends of mine, it just seems legit and ripe they appear once more where they spawned, Redwood City.

So today will be a good day if one will, we will eat at my cousin’s. I bought two bottles of wine in San Juan Bautista and am planning to get some flowers when we are out shopping. Cousin Ruth is also planning some cooking. Cousin Nellie is somewhere. The dynamics of the family escape me but I get hunches of this and that, I really try and shut off myself from whatever it is going on, I really do not even allow myself to speculate anything at all, one day at a time if one wills. The politics of the family are best left being untouched since I have really no say in these matters. For one, I do not share their lives on the daily, so, who am I to put my two cents on the matter. Again, whether am being tested or not is beyond me. I’m just here to pay my respects and show gratitude in whatever measure I can, that is and will forever be my intention. Like mi amico geniali dice: you are a different set of ears, you take them out of their routine. My place in the family is a weak liasion of the past, memories of a family quickly disappearing into the mist of the saga that started in Zacatecas 1921. So many generations, so many births and so many deaths along its banks came along my mother, an appendage, a shoot attached to another family tree which now seemingly is giving way.

Monday the 10th. The home that doesn’t feel like home. Little Michigan. We went to eat at Alexes’. Quaint little place, nicely done. Loads to say by way of the emotional vibes I got there. Overall there seems to be tensions. There is some bickering going on in the Diaz nucleous, like in all families I suppose. I had enchiladas that Carmen made. Quite delicious. They came preceded by a a rumour that Carmen’s cooking was good. And they were. We sat a few hours there until my cousin yawned. I was surprised that Kayla was 17. Boy, the years sure fly by. We started dissecting our family. Manuel got the best out of us. Seemingly, everybody can agree that he is something and the glue that binds us at some point. What am I suppose to do? I get to be part of the mawling and nagging. I always thought it was a small bickering between him and my Tío Alex but it turns out he dishes it out evenly and suarely. Then I realized something. My cousins are worn out. Is the Silicon Valley exerting some kind of undue stress upon them? Is it normal wear and tear for a human being? Who knows, may it’s financial stress as well as my poor brain would suggests. Again, loads to say by way of emotional sponge bob here, ye’ol empath. I try to keep it humble and in the here and now. I let everything slide off of me, I haven’t allowed my empath to fester. I detect it and let it go. No use in letting it burrow itself. Well, I hope me coming here has been a change f pace for my aunt and uncle who are struggling to adapt to Redwood City. As for me goes am still trying to fit my puzzle bit in the gran squeme of it all. I know am loved and they express it well and I have said two times how grateful I am for all the help their love and money the so generously hve given us over the years, their love and mercy has not gone by unnoticed I hope. I plan to remind them once again of it and making sure everyone listens to it. I feel the need to explain myself and my constant visits to my aunt and uncle. While at Lucky’s Irealized I want to take some food back to Sweden. Boy, are there so many things I wish I could take back. Hopefully, I will be able to take some back. I haven’t had a hard drink in a while. Feels good. I guess it is easy to get boggled down in the family quagmire, am glad I am Switzerland that way. We went to see Tía Tina and boy old age has a funny way of presenting itself upon the youthness of others. I see it in my aunt and uncle as well, they seem to have lost interest in their appearence. Does old age even need to look good? My aunt Nelly asked me how did I see Tía Tina and answered that seemed to lack vitality. My aunt and uncle sleep a lot as well, get tired easily, maybe duing the upcoming warmer days they will regain some energy. Indeed they have become sluggish. Death does seem to be in everyone’s lip but isn’t death pan de cada día? Memory is at a loss, everyone is getting forgetful about this and that, old age is on everyone’s lips as well. I guess that’s why everyone gets scared of old age, the role model aren’t the picture perfect image of aspiration. Bokslutet, como dicen los suecos, time to close that chapter.

Tuesday the 11the February 2020. The case of the prickly pear stealth disappearance or robbery.
The cousins and the inlaws are more worried than I cared to notice as well as my nearest kin. Or it seems as if everyone is losing their mind. Me too. I just didn’t realize how easy it is to get wrapped in everybody elses opinion abobut their matter. As fas as am concerned when it comes to my cousins I firmly believe they are concerned though they express it their own way. Ruth is doing a great job. Everybody is, in their own measure I guess. What a dairy indeed. S Manuel wanted to speakt to me his machiavellian scheme of things. He i just ventilating I guess.

So how do I assess the situation? Well, for once, am taken aback. I need to say my two cents on the matter. Unwillingly if one wills. Who wants to face a reality such as memory loss? Or its early stages? I suppose the easy thing to say everybody should just chill. Take it easy as my uncle does. The other is manage it. It ain’t that bad yet. There are memory skills and tricks to train and slow down the thing. I am no expert on the matter but as a teacher I have compared the issue at hand as comparable to a teenager. Teens have structure needs on how to memorize. Repeat, write a diary, eat omega 3, reflection, go over the day. I do not know.

Supertuesday today, Half Moon Bay awaits, dinner at Ruth’s and tomorrow am off to SF. I think am buying a cheap maleta somewere.

266 Fulton st. Last day. Wednesday the 12th. Catching up with RTP or Round Table Pizza. Frankie passed by Ruth’s dinner last night. Carne asada, refried beans, some spaguetti with pesto, queso fresco and aguacate, which I now wonder if it was from Manuel’s yard. Served on a paper plate. In my cousin’s kitchen. They keep it Mexican, with Talavera ceramic and a quaint wiff of New Mexican or southwestern arquitecture. Wooden furniture from yonder years. As the Mexican houses go, the central nucleous of the gathering was the kitchen. I felt sightly bad because the men sat while the women cooked. For dessert we had pico de gallo with fruit. Nice atmosphere, Frankie came by with a bottle of Pinot. The conversations went from Mexican politics to the supertuesday primaries of NH. We spanglished a lot. Everyone correcting everyone when we spanglished too much. The atmospere was relaxed and I ignored my empath powers. It was fun, we started watching an old movie from 1946. Everyone was wondering about megastores, if we had walmart’s or Costco. Nope. Before the dinner we ended up in Santa Cruz and Pigeon point. We went to mass at Saint Carmel earlier during the day or 8 o’clock mass if you will. Nice mass, the priest was a jester, as it turns out the mass centered on the party were jesus made wine out of water and the sick as John Paul the II declared via a bull that the 11th of feb was to be dedicated to the sick. My aunt and uncle seemed more relaxed, their worries dissipated for a while.

I would like to think that I make a small change, that me being here makes a small difference. At least for the upcoming days. I hope my aunt and uncle get used to 266 Fulton st again. Though am afraid cerberus lurks somehow but I must trust their offspring can fend them off. I leave at 11 o’clock by myself to the Caltrain station. It’ll be fun. Am still affraid somebody might ask me to give my opinion on my aunt and uncle’s “state of mind”. Personally I think they aren’t that prepared for the task at hand. Who ever is? I feel they negatively reinforce the bad, my kin are keenly acute of their memory deterioration which one even wonders if one can call it that since it is part of the age phases of life. No stress, do not overexagerate their flaws, don’t make them feel bad when they ask to remember, lay off the heavy joking. Understand their fear of loss of independence.