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last mexican restaurant - 29.jan.03
As I've been saying throughout this ordeal, "Death is just
as much a part of life as being born or being alive." There
is nothing hollow or empty in those words. They are true. It is
hard, but so is life and so is being born. No one is promised tomorrow,
all of us are promised death.
I'm having a memorial service in the dining hall of the retirement
community here and I'm giving her a "Peckinpah" send-off.
I've hired the Mariachis Chapala de El Paso to play "El Daguello"
(the Cutthroat Song) - the song that Santa Anna had his mariachis
play for the defenders of the Alamo during the 13 day siege, meaning
that no quarter would be given. Then, Pastor Rock (real name) the
black administrator here will give the invocation. A local gospel
group will sing "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder" -
I'll give the eulogy - praise and thanks for all of the fine people
here who made the last two and a half years the happiest of Ida's
life, and then the mariachis will play "Los Golindrinas"
(the Swallows) - the song of no returning - i.e. "The swallows
will return, but I won't. The swallows will return year after year,
but not always the same birds or the same flock, but always the
same feather." It is the song that the people of the village
sing to the Wild Bunch when they ride off to meet their fate in
Peckinpah's film. Finally the Mexican pastries I've ordered from
a local caterer will be rolled out. Tres Leches Cake (a local delicacy)
and flan along with coffee. Shoot! I wouldn't mind being sent off
like that myself.
<YESTERDAY | TOMORROW>
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