my lucky huarache

this morning, crack of 1, i rolled out of bed eager to reignite what was/is to be the summer of the huarache. there've been silent vows to not cop out on the long line & frequent miscommunications at the front of the line at the huarache stand, and head over to the pupusa booth. there does exist a wide degree of interest in fully exploring the salsa buffet line, all of which is too hot for me to eat but i'm giving it a go, and giving each salsa it's own huarache to accentuate/incinerate for me. so, i headed over to the ballfields. the initial interest of the brooklynites seems to have weaned dramatically in the food vendors, as there were really no lines today and not a lot of people out there, despite the unseasonably mild weather & sunny saturday atmosphere. i got to move to the front of the line, and to see the nopales close up & personal, as today they were not diced but cut into long delectable strips. i buy the huarache, try new salsa #2, which i think could best be desribed as a lightly pureed pico de gallo, still a little pulpy but tasty & warm but not uncomfortable. i head over to my bench & get into my first bite and...problem. i think i just lost a tooth, as i just crunched into something rock hard. i assumed it was one of my teeth, & the inevitable dental anxiety sinks in. i reach into my mouth to examine the loose tooth, & it's not a tooth at all, but a shiny new dime. somehow in the exchange, a dime had been dropped into my huarache. i wiped it off & put it in my pocket, i'm hoping it'll be a lucky charm.

i just returned from a trip home to oklahoma, and added a bag to my luggage on the flight home. my grandfather died on new year's eve of last year, and when my sister and i were cleaning out his room & deciding what to do with all of his possessions, i came upon his collection of suits. though i have no idea why, this collection of vintage suits from the 60's & 70's seemed to me to be the last thing that i could willfully surrender to the goodwill. in the inside jacket pockets of every one of these suits were a collection of the pamphlets given out at funerals. my grandfather, thomas vaughn (TV), was a very genial and social man, but he had a very genial and social fascination with death. he bought plots in the cemetery where the rest of his family was buried for himself and all of his children many years ago, and would often cart his lawn mower into the back of his pickup and take it down to the paoli cemetary, and mow the whole fucking graveyard. for fun. he outlived one of his children, his wife & most of his brothers & sisters, and saved the memorials in the jacket pockets of his suits. i couldn't surrender them. so, i've been slowly moving them back to my apt., as many as my luggage can support with each successive trip back to oklahoma. i'm going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant with a friend this evening, and i decided to wear a pair of the suit pants from one of my grandfather's suits. inside the pants pocket, i found a little segment of a tan shoelace (the suit is white, brown, & tan). i'd like to think that he carried this around as a lucky string, though i know being the forgetful and thrifty man that he was, the shoelace probably broke, he picked it up to save it & possibly repair it, and forgot about it. but now, it's my lucky shoelace. i'm pairing it with my lucky dime, and hoping for gobs of the luckiest days in my direct future.