It has been about weeks since I crossed the border from my native land, intent on making a new life; crossed over in my overstuffed little car with a carrier on the top; me, my son who immediately returned to resume his busy Chicago life, and my black, mixed-breed canine companion Jazzy. Crossed over to revel in a land where the sun warms every day, to feel a tinge of guilty delight at reports of record cold and snow in what used to be home. I am in a land where my command of the language consists mainly of greetings which I use copiously in the morning when Jazzy takes us for our wake-up paseo in the park by the lake.
Where snow-white egrets line the shore, where pelicans float upon the water like graceful swans, we greet a bustling community of jolly souls, human and canine, leashed and free. An assortment of shouts cross the park: "Hola. Buenos dias," mixed with choruses of "Hi, good morning," and an occasional "Bruno", or "Chichi, you come here this minute!" Occasionally we'll stop to ask of someone we think we've seen at least twice, "How long have you been lakeside? Where are you living? Are you here permanently? Where is home?"
In my seventh decade, in this still-strange land, my major tasks are to keep Jazzy happy, to make sure the rent is paid and that we don't run out of drinkable water, and to figure out how to fill each beautiful, sun-drenched day. All in all, between trips to the ATM, save for a few bouts of homesickness, and thanks to the miracle of internet, I guess I'm doing pretty well.
Sunday floats in across the lake, like every morning. The day passes. It is afternoon and Jazzy nuzzles me out of my near-slumber. "Okay, little doggie". I find the leash and check to see that the key is in my pocket, I do that a lot now, and off we go. The scene at the lake is a jumble of joyful chaos. On the strand, cars are everywhere, and there is a mariachi band, at least I think it is, toting its ensemble of instruments. Horses with riders stride here and there amidst the strange mix of assorted vehicles. Loud joyful music emanates from somewhere. A father leads a horse, a little girl of maybe four, placed carefully upon its saddle. She's irresistibly cute. I wave. She smiles and waves back. We turn west, Jazzy tugging on her leash, and amble past the pier to the park.
Sometimes in the morning I let Jazzy free to play with the other dogs, and search the fire grills for leftover morsels of yesterday's picnics, but here, on this Sunday afternoon, the park teems with people of all ages. Two little boys kick a soccer ball across the path, oblivious to our approach. Kids play on the swings and slides, as venders of all ages sell toys and balloons, and refreshments. Families loll about at tables bearing giant coolers and bags of all kinds. The aroma of meat wafts across the park. Jazzy, ecstatic, tugs at her leash to wander here and there, from group to group, hoping for a handout from some smiling soul. I pull her back. I stop her from investigating a stately German shepherd snaking his way through the crowd.
Suddenly, I'm lifted by a dream to a far-off summer day when I am fifteen, and there are Mom and Dad, my aunt, and my great aunt as well. We're at a lake, at a table where my uncle is setting out plates, and mom reaches into a basket filled with fried chicken, potato salad and a host of other goodies. My sister and my cousins, in bathing suits that display chubby arms and legs, wade into the inviting water. Dad is there, out a ways, floating on his back, his massive belly out above the placid lake. Here and there other families play. They are short and tall, stout and slender, here, like us, to take advantage of a sunny summer Sunday.
Many summers have passed since then. Gone, I think, are the days when moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, and assorted aunts and uncles, piled in caravans of cars to lakeside parks and beaches, bearing baskets of goodies so painstakingly prepared, enough to feed an army of relatives and friends. This was in a time before I went halfway across the land to seek my fortune, to "become someone," leaving childhood behind. Once I left, it never was the same. Sisters and cousins went away, and one by one the souls who filled my dream were seen no more. Neighborhoods changed and with them so did I, yet here in this foreign land, amidst the families, here and there I see them all. There's Aunt Rose, her special Sunday smile, and Uncle Jack, and Mom and Dad, and there am I, in a world I left behind.
